Killer Beer
Horror-movie producers, here's my pitch for Beer Mug Man: A Bukowski barfly-doughy skin, coal for eyes, greasy spaghetti hair-has lost his family in a freak brewing accident ("Oh, no! Carbonation!"). Now he haunts bars, slugging whiskey like water. At closing time, he'll select his beer-addled victim and withdraw a bloodstained mug. And then-crack!-last call for the lush. Where could the killer dwell? Killmeyer's Old Bavarian Inn.
Its location is as scary as its name: far-southern Staten Island, though closer to Germany in spirit. The Bavarian Inn's a 19th century beer hall, cheerfully staffed by waitresses wearing poofy-sleeved dresses. They roam a dark-wood room styled with taxidermied animal heads, beer-motif stained glass and a gorgeous, 85-foot mahogany bar (handcrafted on the Bowery in 1890). It's a bewitching beauty, so much so that our expedition party biked there on a recent Sunday.
From the ferry, the journey was a twisting, hilly, hour-plus ordeal. But aching legs were rewarded with more than three-dozen bottled German beers and drafts like Hacker-Pschorr Hefe Weiss, Spaten Optimator and Pilsner Urquell. Common sense would dictate ordering half-liters ($6) and returning for a cold second round. In a German beer hall, however, hungers and thirsts turn gargantuan.
We select Chihuahua-size, one-liter mugs ($12), filled to the foamy brim by a morose bartender. Grasping our glasses takes two hands, and an accidental swing could fell a giant-the perfect Beer Mug Man weapon. We're not concerned with murdering people so much as our sobriety, so we retreat into the bright, open beer garden.
It's a cozy picnic table sanctuary, ringed by blooming trees. We sit, sun baking our skin, while marveling at our beers' girth. "Not since college has drinking seemed like such an aggressive challenge," says one drinker, grasping his glass like he's entering battle. "It's my daily allotment of drunkenness."
To insulate our stomachs, we order fresh-baked pretzels ($1.25 apiece) and glistening tubes of grilled pork. The pretzels are warm and comforting, made doubly delicious by coarse-grain mustard. The knackwurst sandwich ($6) is layered with tender, tasty sauerkraut, while the three-sausage sampler ($17.95) is a monochromatic grey-meat wonder: snappy, juicy bratwurst, weisswurst and kielbasa served alongside a wonderful red cabbage infused with cinnamon.
"I never knew cabbage could be?good," says an avid meat eater, spooning up cabbage scraps.
Where there's a yin, there's a yang. "See what you got for ordering from the Bavarian seas," says one friend, pointing to two kitchen missteps: a mushy crab-cake sandwich and seemingly quadruple-fried fish and chips. Stick to the standards: Killmeyer's excels at serving beer and old-world charm. We could blissfully spend hours in the beer garden-mostly empty on this dazzling afternoon, save for several cigar puffers-and listen to?Steve Miller Band music? No, no, this won't do. We need live music, songs with some oomph.
"I just want to drink this beer and sing," says one friend, swinging his mug like a torch.
Lucky for him, Sundays find Killmeyer's graced by the Happy Tones, a septuagenarian oompah duo. When the weather warms, the lederhosen-wearing band plays in the beer garden. Today they're unleashing accordion standards in the main dining room, beneath a beer-mug collection.
"Do you guys want to do the chicken dance?" the sprightly band leader asks. He's playing the electric accordion with hand-pumping panache.
We politely decline. Then we listen. Perhaps it's the beer or the band leader's insistent winking, but we're enraptured. Our reverie is only snapped by the call of the bathroom, which is where things turn weird. Above the urinals are computer-printed signs that read: septic tanks are full: please do not flush. Toilet water is yellowed, some filled with other German-beer byproducts. Outside, a rooster crows. Truly, Toto, we are so far from home.
Too bad home is no heel click away. While daylight remains, we wobble to the closest train station. From there, it's 35 minutes to the ferry, and then another 25 minutes to Manhattan. This time commitment makes us analyze Killmeyer's cost-benefit ratio.
Truly, the bar is stunning, and the meats are succulent. Yet they're also overpriced, as is the beer. However, how can you slap a cost on intangibles? Drinking at this ancient beer garden is a vacation from the city-and the 21st century. So sip away, savoring each King Kong beer like it's your last. If I had my druthers, it just might.
718-984-1202; killmeyers.com