Eins, Zwei, Drei... Suffa!

Oktoberfest (ok-toh-ber-fest)
1. a traditional festival held each October in Munich, Germany.
2. any similar festival held usually in the autumn.

Walking in, the smell of stale, spilled beer permeates the air, residing in your mouth and tantalizing your tastebuds with the promise of foamy, frothy alcohol. The tent is packed with people, a range of 20-somethings to 60. Steins are raised in unison as the tent collectively shouts “Eins, zwei, drei, …… Suffa!” and proceeds to chug their beers. Many are walking around in hats- giant beer steins, chicken hats, and Peter Pan/Robin Hood hats in various colors, complete with feather tickling the eyes of those behind them. The scene reminds one of walking into the Great Hall of Harry Potter for the first time… Harry Potter of the legal drinking age in the midst of festivities.

The band is playing traditional Oktoberfest classics and then some songs new to my Oktoberfest attending experience. A favorite this year was the “Sha lala la lala la HEY! We love Oktoberfest!”



And no Oktoberfest is complete without the Chicken Dance. I went to one as a kid that separated into men and women, women singing:
chirpy chirp chirp chirp
quack quack quack quack
wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle
*clap clap clap clap*

and the men:
I can’t believe
I’m doing this
I must be nuts
*clap clap clap clap*

Although the prices for all the beer and food listed numbers, the preferred payment is red tickets, each one worth $5.00, which were purchasable by the tent’s entrance. You could only buy them in $10 increments, the lowest amount being $20. But with beer at $10 and food at $5 to $10, it’s assumed they will go quickly. The entire night is about encouraging partygoers to get as drunk as possible.

The beer wall is constantly packed, lines are misshapen and groups of six are frequently cutting in front of others, patience wearing thin and the threat of fights constantly looming in the air. The heavy security at the door suddenly makes sense. We ARE in Torrance after all, and a large majority of East LA folks are there, getting publicly plastered and tempers and allegiances start brawling.

It takes a good 30 minutes to get a beer, by this point our mouths are salivating as our prize comes into view. Two tickets later and we’re each carrying giant paper cups of beer (we didn’t think to bring our own Stein’s) that are being cradled like young children, any drop spilled a waste.

The food line is just as long. But giant pretzels, chili cheese fries, apple cake, bratwurst, potatoes, sauerkraut, and chili cheese dogs awaited. Most of which, I don’t even like. (My ancient German ancestors are turning in their graves right now… how can they have a relative -long-distant as I may be- that doesn’t like bratwurst and beer?)

Oh, Oktoberfest. An excuse to get publicly inebriated, dance like a chicken, and embrace your inner German.

“Zicke Zacka, Zicke Zacka, Hoi Hoi Hoi!”




*neither are my videos, btw… but they were taken at the Alpine Village Oktoberfest (which is the longest and largest Oktoberfest in Southern California), which is the one I went to*