I’m hunkered down on a plastic stool that can’t be more than six inches off the ground. About to make a joke about how my knees are at my chin, I look up at my dad — who has about eight inches of height on me – and see that his knees are quite literally touching his shoulders.
The two of us are seated in a tiny bar in Hanoi, Vietnam – if you could call it a bar. It’s more of a makeshift hut in which the asphalt from the street serves as the floor, the roof is held up by a couple of deteriorating concrete walls, and a large open archway serves as both the entrance and as a drive-through for motorcyclists waiting in line for a quick beer to-go. There are a few more plastic stools scattered around the 50-square-foot establishment and a single table with a plate of freshly roasted peanuts in the middle. But the focal point of this sparse joint is the keg. It’s also the reason my dad and I squished onto our bar stools: The keg contains the cheapest beer in the world.