My mother and I have a fun history of drinking together in Madison. When I visited Madison for the first time in 2000, we went to the Union Terrace and had beer together. More recently, when she came out to help me move into my current apartment at the end of the summer, we went to the Kimia Lounge, where she and I had martinis and cigars.
But part of college for students is establishing identities independent of their parents. For me, that includes a drinking identity. And so, in my evolving journey through life, I've come to take weekly pleasure from any nice Jewish mother's worst nightmare: bacon night at Wando's.
Throughout my life I've gone places for strange reasons. As a child, I once ended up in the alley behind my building, because a game of catch with my brother had resulted in the defenestration of my Papa Smurf doll from our 11th- story apartment. But in my history, bacon night is still probably the oddest thing for which I've ever developed a taste. First of all, I don't eat pork, which for most people would defeat the purpose of going to a place where they hand out all the fried pig stomach you can eat.
Secondly, I never go to Wando's on any other night. I developed most of my barhopping habits as an underage drinker with a fake ID, which turned me off to Wando's and its notorious teen-tossing bouncers. So I can see why it would be perplexing that I go out of my way to attend a bar I have never otherwise frequented on the night when they give away the most pungent-smelling part of an animal I don't eat.
But after attending a couple of these porky Tuesday nights, I learned that there's more appeal to the evening than just free food. While the Blue Velvet Lounge is my watering hole of choice, Tuesdays at Wando's make the perfect change of pace. Instead of people choosing between fruity champagne drinks and designer vodka, they decide between cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon or Hamm's. And instead of facing the eyes of yuppie larvae who might judge you by your wardrobe, at Wando's they will only look down on you for wearing a stained hooded sweatshirt if it has the words \Ohio State"" written across the front.
There's also something about a bar giving out free bacon that makes people more affable. Linebacker-sized drinkers politely step aside when they're blocking my way. Women don't get offended when guys play the touch-screen game that requires them to match pictures of naked women. And guys seem less shamelessly on the prowl for women, instead using their most primal instincts to hunt and gather Pabst Blue Ribbon and bacon.
Perhaps bacon is the world's greatest distracter-a social numbing device. In no other bar and on no other night do you see such a seamless melting pot of drinkers: alcoholics there for cheap beer, gluttons there for free bacon, hipsters there for irony. Everyone joins together in fatty harmony. Perhaps it's not what Mom had in mind for my drinking identity, but bacon night at Wando's is a funny little utopia. And, as my experience as a non-pork eater points out, it can be an unexpected joy for just about anyone.
At least as long as you're not a pig, anyway.
Amos Posner is in his fourth year out of five. He can be reached at amosap@hotmail.com. His column runs every Wednesday in The Daily Cardinal.
