Drunken Monkeys: Union Hall

In late 2009, a few days after my 35th birthday, I was up visiting the parents in Southern NH for the Thanksgiving holiday. A few days into my stay, I was reflecting on my middle age status & thought to myself "what ever became of George, my beloved childhood stuffed gorilla?" In between the holiday's familial obligations, I hunted through the house from the attic to the basement, trying to find George.

By the time I'd departed back to NYC at the end of the weekend, I hadn’t been able to locate him. The following week, my mother called me to inform me that she'd found George & would be sending him down to Brooklyn via the postal service. A few days later, after a few decades apart, we were finally reunited.

Since that time, George has sat on shelves & bookcases in my apartments, observing what I've become since we were last together. A few days ago, we were talking & decided that, after decades indoors, it was high time that he got out & started meeting people again. On Sunday, I was heading out to meet a few folks at Union Hall, so George tagged along.

He'd drank an epic amount the previous evening whilst watching the NCAA Tourney, so to prevent stuffed animal pukeage, he just had tiny glasses of water poured from a pitcher at the end of the bar. After a brief spat where I informed him that he was a "pussy," I waded through the respectable selection of Union Hall beers and opted for an Allagash White, a tasty, lemon-adorned wheat beer brewed up in Portland, ME.

Halfway through my beer, George turned to me & said, "Um, is that a midget playing bocce?" I hadn't noticed it, but there was in fact a midget over by the bocce courts. Personally, I only know one midget, but George has lived a sheltered life so he’s never seen an actual midget in the flesh, let alone one playing bocce. I forgave him for his crassness though. After all, he's only ten inches tall himself.

By the time I was ready for my second beer, George was still feeling ill & was still trying to take in both the harsh realities of society & what will from this moment forth be known to him as the "midget-bocce incident," so I got him a second cup of water. I ordered up a pint of Portsmouth, NH’s Smuttynose Big A IPA for myself. As a New Hampshirite, I'm quite proud of Smuttynose. They've become so established that on a random March Sunday in Brooklyn, I was able to enjoy one of their better, hoppiest beers whilst sitting in an easy chair surrounded by books & bocce players & a group of folks to our right who were large enough to have formed a softball team. While I don't understand bocce & need to be drunk to fully appreciate softball, George enjoyed the competitive, alcohol-filled atmosphere. If I had told him that Michael Showalter would be displaying his comedy stylings downstairs later in the eve, I'm pretty sure he would have lost it.

Hours later in the evening, when I was back home trying to embrace my drunkenness & watch the season finale of Shameless in peace, George asked me "is Union Hall considered a 'cool' Park Slope bar?" I thought about it for a moment. They've got a good beer selection, a clientele that's relatively low on the meathead scale & a concert or performance or or two daily. While it may not be the best bar in Park Slope, it's one of the better ones, so I guess it’s "cool"…especially if you’re a stuffed monkey who's lived a sheltered life.

Read way more from Shawn at eatdrinksnack.com.