Astoria's Infamous Beer Garden: 4.8 out of 6.0

It's really far away. Unless, of course, it's close to you.

This Saturday was my first time. Most of my friends are semi-seasoned patrons, so I decided that last saturday night was a good time to see what all the fuss was about. It was pretty cool, but not quite worthy of said fuss. What makes it cool is not so much the setting and not so much the prices. Its virtue seems to lie, instead, in its popularity -- a dangerous game to be played with so much real estate no matter what borough you are in. The game is this: Why do people go there? Because that's where people go. It's not that there's anything special about it. In fact, the name is kind of misleading. They call it a "Beer Garden" but it doesn't look much like one. There aren't any cherubic statues or raised beds of daffodils. It doesn't even rain beer. No beerfall either. No beer fountain. No normal fountain, even. No naked people. No trashed gnomes peeking up flowy skirts. No bunnies. No slugs. No giraffes. Really kind of pushing the lexical elasticity of the term here, guys.

There are some tents in a big fenced-in lawn, basically. And there are some semi-frattish young people under the tents. The beer is mildly inexpensive, the sausage is good, the fries suck, and everything that's "German" is, well, not. Not even the urinal. It was broken. No German engineering in that. It was just sitting wrapped in a big black plastic bag. Useless and quiet as dark death himself. A shame it is, when one has to pee so badly.

But, you know, I had a decent time. It's a good place to watch people and feel a part of something bigger. White plastic tents and artificial foreignness: there is something quintessentially American about it, sad as it may be. Sausage & Stripes. Bless this golden land. Oh, here comes a tear. Let it not fall in my Hoegaarden.