Too's a Crowd

Too’s a Crowd

A great man once stated, “Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded.”.  I know he is a great man because when I was just a lad he adorned the ads of my favorite beverage, Yoo-hoo.  While I will still never pass up a Yoo-hoo, my beverage of choice has changed over the years.

 

Beer, glorious, beer.  What wouldn't we give for that extra bit more…

Now I had become a beer drinker earlier than my liver would have preferred.  One can say I became a beer drinker in High School, but the real transformation did not occur until I mistakenly walked into a bar proudly proclaiming “No Bud, No Coors, No Miller”.  My instincts immediately wanted to order those 3 like the B-Side of a George Thorogood song.  I however ordered a Brooklyn Brown, as the word Brooklyn was the only recognizable locale among the offerings.

This wonderful watering hole, Croxely’s Ale House, became a favorite.  Anytime I wanted, I could get a bar seat.  The barkeep kept my pints full.  I even got to know the owners…Everybody knew my name.  Then came THE ad.  The one on the radio (remember radio?  MP3’s killed the radio star).  It was more horrifying than the War of the Worlds stunt.  Croxley’s ran an ad on the then young demographic radio station, WLIR.  The bar expanded, the people came.  Now I don’t go there anymore.

A fellow follower of finer fizz suggested we go to the source.  The Brooklyn Brewery.  It offered cheap pints of their finest every Friday night.  You drank among the burlap sacks of hops and barley.  The scenery was concrete walls and vats.  Your resting place, mere run down picnic tables.  And it was empty.  It was beautiful!  Once again, the pourers were our pals.  The brew master happily regaled his secrets with the two beer connoisseurs who had helped keep the brewery on the map.  Then something changed.  Someone said it was hip and trendy to live in Williamsburgh, so the hip and trendy had to follow their marching orders.  It became gentrified.  They came in droves, like a colony of trust fund termites and infested the Brooklyn Brewery on those Friday nights.  Now I don’t go there anymore.

What now?  Horace Greeley once said “Go West, Young Man”.  Since young was no longer an adjective associated with me, I wound up following his command in reverse.  East!  But how far east to escape?  Well, about as far east as one can get on Long Island.  While I still have a fondness for the barley based beverage, the siren song of the grape called my name.  The North Fork Wineries…here I come.  The roads were winding and desolate.  The scenery sedating.  You approached each winery, looking so empty, you thought it was closed.  You were greeted like royalty since you had chosen THEIR winery and would like to try their efforts.  You were given an in depth explanation by your host, sometimes it was the wine maker or even the owners themselves.  And it was free.  I had arrived…far away from the masses (and you can’t spell masses without asses!).

It was good.  Alas, too good.  At first it was only a smattering of buses and limo’s.  But soon, they were arriving like someone built a baseball diamond in a cornfield.  The crowds came, and the thing I hate most about crowds… it usually contains people.  Droves of drunks driven diligently to this destination.  The tasteful tastings turned into turmoil.  Slur became the official language of the North Fork.  These establishments became animal friendly…but they were already there.

Now, I still frequent the wineries (as you might have read on Facebook)…because "The game's isn't over until it's over."…

But soon I won’t go there anymore…It’s Too Crowded.