Sturm Und Drank

I mentioned yesterday that we spent an arduous day dodging thunderstorms. Well just look at those clouds in all of their ominous Teutonic rumbleness!

Sharp-eyed Readers will observe on the left a conveniently placed Beer Garden where best wurst was to be obtained

along with beer, naturlich.

After we had our civilized drinks at the Stork Bar it was off to dinner. As Ave knows that I am a calm pacifistic fellow at heart she knew that I would appreciate dining at a 600 year old armory.

I mean, what’s not to love about a place where you walk in under a 20mm cannon?

Now, if you’re from the Midwest you know that all good local restaurants have either Pike or Walleye on the menu.

Here, they have Pikes on the walls

along with racing helmets. I guess that’s sort of modern armor? Yes, yes, I know those are actually halberds; the pikes were across the room and the picture wasn’t in focus. Or maybe my eyes were starting to blur just a tad. Anyhow, that doesn’t really matter because we came here for beer

served in very conveniently sized 1 liter mugs. Oh, and ginormous Cordon Bleu and super-scrumptious Rosti

which are these grated fried potato thingies which did I mention they were scrumptious? Rosti are the apple pie of Switzerland. Sort of.

Oh, and more beer was involved

All in all a very pleasing Sunday in Zurich.

3 Responses to “Sturm Und Drank”

  1. JeffS says:

    Mmmmmmmmm…….Cordon Bleu!

  2. Winston Smith says:

    Don’t they fill the glass in Germany?
    That’d be why all those totally pissed off Americans and Brits turned up there in 1945. They realised just how much they’d been ripped off.

  3. Mr. Bingley says:

    I have to say, Winston, that the only thing to drink in Europe is beer. The goddamned EU regulations make them measure everything, so glasses of wine are premeasured and don’t even get me started on how tiny the whisky pours are. Beer is the only economic booze they’ve got.

    There is no surer sign of the decline of Western Civilization than when Bureaucrats and not Bartenders control how much hootch goes into my glass.

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