The waiter asked me if I wanted a large or small stein of beer. I opted for the large, the same size as the kids across the table from me ordered–there are no tables for two at German beer halls. Marcia opted for a small blonde lager and lemonade shanty called a “randler.” The small was 16 ounces. My large was slightly smaller than Lake Ontario. I mean you could either drink it or do the backstroke in it. Marcia, me, and about 500 of our closest friends drank and chatted as the oompah band played polkas and other music of German-conquered countries. But, everyone was jovial, even the short guy in the subway on our way to the beer hall, who I swear looked like Hitler right down the the mustache and forelock of hair.

Haufbrau House is a state-owned beer hall. The Germans have the right idea when it comes to spending public funds for the benefit of its citizenry. We drank our beers with a poached white veal sausage called weilbwurst and a pretzel. Pretzels . . . they actually serve them at breakfast. Quaint, but cute.