One thing I loved most in Bogota was an absolute hole-in-the-wall tienda bar owned by a mean old lady. We called it Dona Cessi’s, because Lady Cessi is a Dona (old lady business owner).
Anyhow, it’s loud as hell and painted this horrendous color of orange. The crowd is a strange mix of local college hipsters, groups of drunk old men, a handful of gringos, and couples making out like there’s no tomorrow in the florescent lighting. It’s surely not romantic, so, whatever. All the Dona sells is big bottles of cheap beer.
One Sunday night I was there with a group of guys who were all checking out one girl. As we discussed her varying qualities of hotness, a server (toting a taser fyi) walked over to her table and delivered a hard boiled egg on a styrofoam platter.
Needless to say, as the girl cracked into that slippery, sulfur-y piece of protein, everyone was a little turned off. Who eats hard boiled eggs at midnight on a Sunday? At a bar? What kind of bar serves *only* beer and hard boiled eggs?
And thus, Campaign GO HARD BOILED OR GO HOME was born. I’ve now drunkenly ordered and eaten hard boiled eggs at this bar more times than I care to admit. Every time they are disgusting. Every time I don’t want them. Every time I order a round for the table. I love this bar.