Hangovers.. Revisited..

Don’t you just hate when you’re the single person in the bunch, struggling with the worst hangover known to man? I know I do, and I feel like it’s been happening a lot to me lately.. Quite possibly, logically some would argue, because I’m fucking 27 years old and partying with people years my juniors.. But I, of course, refuse to recognize this fact.. Anyways, it happened again this Sunday when I woke dazed and confused, struggled to my feet and ventured down to Domhuset for the traditional warm-up before the day’s home game against Køge.

Bitching, moaning, wincing and groaning, I found a spot at a table and was met with pointed fingers, laughs and cheers by a couple of the regulars. Champ and Louise eventually joined us as I was struggling through my first beer of the day and didn’t make matters much better by pointing out that they weren’t feeling half as bad as I was which I, of course, thought wholly unfair – yet, I bit the bullet, had another beer and eventually ventured – or more like limped, sprained thigh muscle and all – alongside the rest of KFC Support down to the Stadium to try and set the mood for the game.

A task which we took some time to accomplish as we were quite a handicapped fan fraction, managing to pull only half of our usual numbers.. Or so it felt anyways. It wasn’t really before well into the second half that things really kicked off, and it was of course right around this time that my mom decided to give me a call and was scared half to death by the roar of cheering supporters, the beat of our drum and random crazy chants about the size of people’s penises. Once I managed to convince her that WWIII had in fact not broken out and that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the noisy backdrop, she explained the nature of her business.. Apparently she’d bothered me during a footie game to ask me to go buy her some footies – which apparently is not only a funny coincident but also a special kind of socks. I listened to her humble request and then promptly forgot all about it as I hung up, headed back to the stands, passed greetings to those she knew and got back into the game.. Which, I guess, I could’ve spared myself because our boys delivered a pretty lousy effort and the game ended without any goals at all.. Setting a pretty somber mood for our trip back to Domhuset on which we also managed to lose most of our group so that only Champ, Michael, Louise, Visla, Me and one of Visla’s friends made it back there.

Oh well, at least we still had a pretty good time, chatting, having fun and having a beer or two or three and witnessing a few interesting episodes as a couple of Brits, pissed off their asses, started getting into a fight about fuck knows.. The funniest aspect of which was probably the fact that two of them, while the episode was going in, was trying to talk me down going "It’s awright, mate, he’s just a bit pissed, we’re on ot." .. Yea, like the 110 pound long haired dude with the pink horse is gonna get up and start whooping ass.. Oh well, good times, and I got to talking to one of the blokes afterwards who, for some reason, started telling me all about not only Aussie rules football but also his problems with his ex-wife and kids, at which point I kinda broke off the conversation to hug Louise goodnight as she was leaving which he apparently took to mean that I wasn’t very interested in his emotional life.. Actually, he might not have been too far off on that one.

Anyways, with not only Louise but also Champ and Michael gone, I sat down and chatted with Visla and his friend for a while before hitting the bar and having a talk with the manager, Frank. I did so because I’d noticed a bottle of Ron Millonario on his top shelf which I’d heard rumored to be nearly as good as the (outrageously expensive but much adored) Zacapa Centerinario placed just next to it and of course I wanted to know how much he wanted for a shot. Much to my surprise, his reply was simple but honest: "You don’t want this one! – "but," he quickly added "I’ll give you a sample of something else on the house". "Allright," I ventured and watched in amazement as he poured a small measure of Glenlivet 16 year old for me. Not only because I was amazed this was actually happening, but also because I was having a hard time figuring out how the hell a smoky, cask strength whisky (56,9% alcohol by volume in this case) compared to a reportedly smooth rum. But oh well, I sipped and pretty much immediately had to confess my love for Frank.. This guy knows how to treat his customers!

The sample was much appreciated and I, of course, thought I had to give something back, so I ordered a shot of Laphroiaig off Frank and he poured me one at an unreasonable price which naturally prompted me throw in at least a reasonable tip for good measure.. And that’s when things started going downhill as the new, long-haired "kid" hanging in the bar apparently caught the attention of some of the more regular customers who ventured over to see what was up. One guy in his 50’s remarked on my Ramones t-shirt which led to a discussion of old-school bands that inspired my taste in music and a couple of free Jäger bombs for Johan in what I can only assume to have been recognition of my taste.

From then on, things went from bad to worse as another regular started chatting me up, apparently intrigued by my talks with Frank about quality spirits. He turned out to be a Vodka man himself and as I knew absolutely nothing about the subject, I asked him to recommend one for me which I then ordered. It turned out to be the second best on Frank’s list and Frank, being in a generous state of mind supplemented my order with a free shot of his third best and a small sample of his premium, top of the line vodka.. Which was admittedly impressive.

Frank and I then went into a long discussion about mixology, glassware and the general crappiness of many Danish bartenders. I was well-impressed with his knowledge on the subject as it wasn’t really something you’d expect from a bartender in that part of town, but was also quite shocked that, even with this knowledge he didn’t know how to make a Daiquri 😀 So, I of course had to make him whip out his shaker, ice, fresh limes, a slightly aged Havana Club and some simple syrup. After some team-work, a little fine tuning, some insisting on Frank’s behalf about the rum to mixer ration, and quite a few looks, Domhuset saw its first ever Daiquri.. And ‘lo and behold, it was good.

Knowing fully well that getting drunk on barrel ages spirits is a bad idea and that I obviously couldn’t order anything without having my order doubled by one instance or the other, I should’ve known to call it quits by now.. But damnit, I was getting stubborn and really wanted to try the Ron Millonario, and so I told Frank. He agreed and I ended up finally trying the Millonario, along with a couple of others which was apparently the theme of the evening. Evidently, I wasn’t allowed at the bar without three glasses or so in front of me. So? Well, it was good.. But certainly not as good as the Centerinario I was hoping it’d match up with. I guess I should’ve just listened to Frank. If there’s one thing I walked away with that night, other than a hangover which left me catatonic for an entire day afterwards, it was the realization the he sure knew what he was talking about in terms of spirits and mixology..

So thanks are in order for Domhuset, and for Frank, for showing me a good time, some great sipping experiences.. And for taking good care of my scarf which I completely forgot in my rush to get home for a decent night’s sleep.. I was more than happy to get some fresh air by going down and picking it up while purchasing an ice cold coke the day after.


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