My feet have tromped around on German pavement for a grand total of 56 hours, eight of which I remember clearly. The rest lingers as a beautiful haze of voluptuous, pigtailed barmaids, pretzels the size of a cocker spaniel, hoards of teetering Italian men, and of course, bier. Liters of it. When I caught wind of a new German pub opening on N. Mississippi Ave, the above mentioned snippets came flooding back. A void expanded in my belly, one that could only be filled by a stein of gol...