Munch goes to the Pittsburgh BottleShop Cafe
Friday, April 01, 2005
Despite copious meteorological evidence to the contrary, the United States Naval Observatory reports that spring began in the northern hemisphere at 7:34 a.m. March 20, when the sun crossed directly over the equator in what is known as the vernal equinox.
"Bullfeathers!" says Munch, who has suffered through this extended period of Indian Winter, incarcerated indoors like a mole person. Hallucinations of actual sunlight taunt Munch, yet Madre Natura denies parole like Warden Norton at Shawshank. Munch has been jonesing so badly as to consider a visit to the electric beach, so the bod will match the brown-bagged dome. Perish the thought.
Only the three B's can dull the agony: Basketball. Beer. And bar food.
A call was placed to Munch's ace, the pal with whom Munch shares a common brain -- Wavelength Friend of Munch (WLFOM) -- for some soul-soothing suds and grease. Wavelength heard that the Pittsburgh BottleShop Cafe had plenty of both.
Located in the Collier Town Square, the PBC was opened last year by Mark Davis, a former brewmaster at Pittsburgh Brewing Co. A fervent Iron drinker, Munch was impressed by the pedigree. But Munch is also an erudite tippler, a citizen of the world who likes to lube the palate with beers from Reading to Riga. With 250 foreign and domestics to pick from, the PBC is one of the few outposts in the South Hills that can handle the order.
Craving the tastes of spring, Munch thought hard about a clean pint of Penn Weizen ($3) or O'Hanlon's Wheat ($4) but decided a darker beer would best complement the chill that still lingered in the air. A Kulmbacher Eisbock ($4) it was.
The Pittsburgh BottleShop Cafe is located at 1597 Washington Pike, Bridgeville. 412-279-8170.
Munch and Wavelength remembered from high school German that Eisbock translates literally to mean "ice goat," though Munch could not detect the presence of any hoofed mammals. Munch dug the smooth chocolatey taste of the rich, almost black beer. WLFOM opted for a Dinkel Acker ($3) which he said translated to, "this is an excellent Bavarian pilsner, and it is giving me a buzz." Or something like that.
Amid intense discussions of that trippy Burger King commercial with Hootie and Brooke Burke, the proper pronunciation of Pittsnogle and a recitation of lines from Anchorman, we took about 90 seconds to destroy a dozen wings ($5.99) slathered in a tangy, sweet barbecue sauce made with a touch of Chimay Belgian ale.
Munch and WLFOM scanned the crowd gathered to watch collegiate cagers on the PBC's plasma screens. A group of twenty-somethings ripped from the pages of an American Eagle catalog got their drink on, while a pack of paunched Barney Gumble types discussed the sanctity of the home run record in the anabolic era.
We chuckled at a wing-tipped gent who sat alone and feigned importance by talking Euro exchange rates on his cell phone at top decibel. But we downright guffawed at the guy who slugged down several Coors Lights. With the inventory of premium brews available at the PBC, Munch mused that this would be like going to Morton's and ordering Hamburger Helper.
The EEOC could cite Munch for bias against dining establishments that are nestled in shopping centers, owing to the notion that one might be noshing or quaffing ale in a space that could just as well be a SuperCuts or a Dollar Store (though if the beer were a dollar, that would be fine). Indeed the PBC's hockey arena-high ceilings give the place a cavernous feel, and the huge fishbowl front windows offer a scenic vantage of the blacktop parking lot and the rear of a Damon's.
But otherwise, the PBC has the makings of a cozy pub. Framed vintage art nouveau alcohol advertisements adorn the walls, along with mirrored beer signs and neon lights. Playing the middle, a large Pitt flag hung on a back wall while an autographed glossy of Joe Paterno was prominently displayed up front by the long wooden bar. The massive 3,600-bottle-capacity wall of coolers beckoned us to wet our beaks again.
Munch and WLFOM obliged when our victuals were served. Wavelength shoveled down a tasty Guinness Pot Roast Sandwich ($7.50), a huge collaboration of stout-braised chuck roast, roasted red peppers, onions and cheddar cheese. Eschewing a namesake pint to complement his sandwich, WLFOM nipped a bottle of Czechvar ($5), which has been known in Europe as Budweiser for more than 700 years. Wavelength thinks the folks in Missouri might do well to emulate their Bohemian cousin.
Munch opted for the Latvian-brewed Aldaris Porterus ($4), a strong porter style beer with hints of caramel to wash down the titanic Pulled Pork BBQ Sandwich ($7.50).
To our chagrin, the sandwiches arrived sans the WDVE-inspired "Stanley P. Kachowski deep fried pickle" promised on the menu. Apparently "P" is for "small tip." But it was of no consequence as Munch inhaled the accompanying seasoned fries as if they contained the cure for baldness, swabbing them in the leftover wing sauce.
Stuffed, slightly soused, and elated to still have a bracket in play (Go Heels!), mopey Munch ceased any weather-related bellyaching. And lo and behold the forecast granted a furlough of 60-degree days.
Musta been the beer.
