Bili Rubin: Austrian BBQ

This Memorial Day, I had the pleasure of crossing three 'firsts' off my list of 'firsts', some of which I never knew I had and would be so proud to accomplish.

It all started (and ended) in Prospect Park, which is the first 'first' on my list. Someone told me Prospect Park is almost twice the size of Central Park, and better because it was designed by the same person later on. I haven't looked up either of these suspicious party facts, but I do know that there was an important Civil War battle in Brooklyn, which makes it an appropriate place for a Memorial Day BBQ (don't you love the acronym BBQ. It's addictive. Try saying BBQ as "bee-bee-cue," instead of "barbeque" and you wont be able to stop).

As you can see, there was a lot of meat. Cured duck meat, ropes of sausages meat, skewered chunks of various meat, and a seriously fascinating salad made out of shredded bologne that I nearly convinced meat-phobic Emily was
buckwheat noodles.

Austrians love meat. They love meat so much that they force their guests to rapidly consume large quantities of watermelon in a "contest" that only they, the Austrians, get to judge, thereby protecting the meat from hunrgy non-Austrians and ensuring propriety on 2nd helpings.

Here's proof in the "winner," who was not even able to look at another weiner, let alone a 2nd bratwurst with spaetzle. The poor non-Austrians were duped again.

Witnessing, dare I say participating, in these furtive Austrian meat-worshipping festivities was another 'first' for me. I can't say it will be a last though, because I began working at these Austrians' restaurant a week ago. Two days a week, I stand in the doorway of ________, greeting displaced Austrians who file in with the glimmer of schnitzel in their eyes. If I don't get paid in meat, I will be pretty shocked.

The other Memorial Day 'first' is unrelated to Austrians, but notable nonetheless. I've crashed weddings and parties, but never a picnic. While wandering around, looking for the Austrian BBQ in a park twice the size of Central Park, Emily and I discovered a picnic that looked like a plausible group. We believed we had found our party for about 4 seconds, but in that short amount of time the beer had sent us its siren call and we couldn't back out. After cracking a couple jokes at the keg and filling up our cups we were asked to leave. We absconded 2 beers in less than 3 minutes, which is more of a recording begging to be broken than a 'first', but I had to brag.