I feel like turning nouns into verbs in the U.S. is a thing done to be “cute,” but then it’s completely overdone. Say it once or twice, haha, somebody’s using language in a novel way. But people don’t give up after once or twice… it turns into a common thing. Everyone does it, often. And it’s no longer cute or funny or novel. It’s just a bunch of people using bad grammar because they’re overdoing a joke. It’s the same as someone who doesn’t know how to stop with humor-- they utter a funny phrase or tell a joke, and they get a laugh, so they think that’s a cue to use it all. the. time. and it gets old and annoying rather than remaining funny.
But modern English does this all the time as a matter of course, you see. It’s not all cuteness and fads, and it’s definitely not strictly a US phenomenon. With a nod to the standard objections over being too free with one’s grammar, do excuse the following lark: The question is not whether to verb or not to verb nouns (we also verb adjectives as well as noun them, and - returning to Earth - turn verbs into nouns as well, as we shall see), but rather, the question implied here is where is the line to be drawn? I think in English such proposed limits are mostly born of convention, and convention being mutable, I don’t even consider the question of limits to be a valid one most of the time, because modern English is so weakly inflected that a lot of our words can do double duty very well indeed. For example: I go for a walk. If “walk” is a verb, what is this? “Go for a walk” is not considered “cute” speech, but normal. On its own, the word “walk” is really neither fish nor fowl, but can only be categorized and given meaning by how it is used. There’s no other way for it. So too for wax, bed, book, sling, breach, yellow, fork, knife, spoon, dish, plate, cart - all of these perform at least double duty, and no one seems to object. Eggs are inspected by being candled: a noun is used as a verb, here. And the word “egg” itself? Structures and people are egged as an act of violation: same thing. A poet might say that the evening purpled, and that’s not considered so outlandish. “But poetry is different,” one might object, but: it’s still English. The number of these words is so great that I don’t think they can easily be counted. Pen, chair (both previously noted), flower, blossom, bud, bloom, sprout, shout, slide, fall, hit, strike, pocket, word - the list goes on. To simply say that because these are established they are therefore acceptable, yet others are not, introduces an arbitrary membership that has no basis in the language itself. Then do I say I wallet my money? No. By and large, I speak the English of my time. But “wallet my money” is easily understood, and that’s the point, so given what English is capable of, what’s to say that people won’t say it years hence and think nothing of it? This is about current conventions in English, but those conventions aren’t written in stone; even the most plain, buttoned-down English has proven too fluid over time for that. Yet however it mutates, this very flexibility gives modern English its special communicative power, and that power is why I love this language. Anyway, that’s my take on it.
Take, button, love, power, water, school, hunt, bag, net, fish, hook, pencil, picture, paint, brush, chisel, pipe, throw, toss, kick, litter … on and on. The abundance of flexible words - and that’s just the “acceptable” ones - becomes almost overwhelming when you start noticing them, such that you’re presented no longer with a mere list, but an overarching principle that we apply selectively according to the tastes of our time. Speaking of which, I think we should bring back “beshrew”. 
https://www.bl.uk/shakespeare/articles/verbing-shakespeares-linguistic-innovation
"The verb neologisms in the plays are some of Shakespeare’s most powerful linguistic creations – and it is worth noting that large numbers of them started out in life as nouns. Indeed, this method of coining new verbs is so frequent, it’s almost as if he saw every noun as having a potential verb lurking inside it. "
Always a big fan of the Bard. It’s his fault. Well, not really, but he definitely celebrated word-stretching. 
Just to check, the other day I asked a friend if “Beer me” made sense to him, and right away he said, “Of course.” Might be a regionalism, but I kind of doubt it. I wouldn’t say “Drink me,” though; everybody’d be looking around for the Cheshire cat. Nor would I say, “Cocktail me”; it suggests I don’t know what I want, and bartenders really hate that. Not one’s best foot forward.
In principle one could say “[verbed noun] me” for just about anything, but over here “Beer me” holds such pride of place that it doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for anything else.
Most of the verbed nouns make sense to my British ears, but not “beer me”.
This is because there’s a tradition of throwing cold beverages at someone who’s really, really annoyed you. “Beer me” just sounds like a pleasing invitation, especially if you’ve never actually beered anybody before.
“Lunch me” sounds fine as a way of telling a colleague you’re hungry, but “sandwich me” might also be read as an invitation to food-related assault. Or result in a sexual misconduct at work hearing.
In my land we value our adult beverages, so as we would say on witnessing such a waste: That’s just plain alcohol abuse.
I haven’t seen much drink-throwing at all in the States; when it happens, bystanders tend to be scandalized and look down on it as bad form. Outright conflict ain’t the way in our bars, generally, but of course there are exceptions: Years ago I saw someone attack someone else from behind with a sturdy glass mug, breaking it over their head - that was a blow indeed - and the act was so uncharacteristic and low that we still talk about it. I lost touch with the story after that, so I don’t know if the attacker was prosecuted, but odds are certain that he was banned from that bar for life. Would we say the victim had been mugged? Only as a pun.
A first time for everything, I suppose. But you know, I believe I wouldn’t use it outside of North America anyway, just out of reflex. Wouldn’t seem right, somehow; that in-crowd ends with our shores.
Over here we too use “sandwich” as a verb to indicate between-ness of many sorts, hanky-panky not being the least of them. Not food assault, though. Not by a long shot. I’m starting to form a picture of the British as a testy bunch.
Oh, I like to think so!
The past participle may serve as an introduction. “We stopped for lunch at a pub. When beered and sandwiched we continued on our way.”
This, sir, is English in full flower. Colloquial as hell, but unassailable lyrical English. I probably wouldn’t use it in the factory, but would admire it on the page.
I get that it’s not for everyone. But what a playground!
Not over here. It would mean simply that A wants lunch from B - as a fine point, saying you’re hungry, while closely related, is rather different - so “Lunch me” would more be said to a server or the like, in the immediate environs. Said to a colleague, it suggests that I want them to buy me lunch. A bit out of place, that, and brash, so I wouldn’t use it that way at all unless the prospect of a meal’s been offered to me, and I’m declaring my choice - but in some cases it would be entirely inappropriate, so just better not to start. All awkward usages there, and they’re too unlikely as exchange scenarios for me to even consider them. Just because you can do something, it doesn’t mean you ought to.
“Beer me”, however, is different because it’s a workhorse of jolly party talk that gets a grammatic pass every time you are in proximity to a tap (or bottles and cans), and a ready tap matters, without which there’s no point in saying it; otherwise it’s totally out of context and apropos of nothing. Let me rephrase: For “Beer me” to be in correct use, beer must already be on hand so you can have some upon request - as you are doing. An appropriate reply would be a casual “Here you go,” and absence of malice on all sides would be the expected mode (and I never dreamt I would have to stipulate that, of all things). So with that detail squared away, say it with confidence when on Left Pond soil, and ignore the grammar police; culturally, “Beer me” is sacred ground. You have but to say the magic words, and so long as there’s beer, a beer you shall have. In the glass. Well, you could always drink directly from the nozzle like a frat boy, but I would want less gauche company.
We used to have (I haven’t heard it in a while) a different use for “lunch” as a verb: to indicate utter destruction. For example, “I lunched my car.” You often draw out the L just a bit for intensity. Or, “My car was lunched.” It’s not so much news as it is a description. You could apply it to opportunities, reputation, etc. In principle you could have the following for a ruined meal: “How was lunch?” “Totally lllunched.” I wouldn’t go there, though, unless I were trying to be cute. Come to think of it, I really don’t say “lunch” with that meaning anymore; haven’t for some time, now. Maybe I’ve just learned not to break stuff.
There’s a song, “The Ladies Who Lunch” - verbalated noun, there - but it’s clear that the only thing they are destroying is their sandwiches.
I’m now imagining them leaving covered in comestibles because they sat in one of the locals’ seats. 
Between Ben and you, I believe I’m detecting a theme, here.
It’s our naturally friendly nature.
I used to want to visit.
Visit, want, use - those flexible words make up half the sentence.
It’s only wishful thinking, you understand. But it doesn’t mean you are unaware of it.
Do locals in other countries have their own seats in rural pubs, and is any offcumden who sits in them treated to an atmosphere of polite fury?
Okay, just us, then.
I can’t speak for rural pubs as a whole, being a city feller who also has a hobbit’s opinion of travel and of novelty befalling me. Still, I’ve wound up in them once or twice, and I remember what I can of them fondly. People tended to talk with me; after all, I was something new. I don’t know whether that’s a Minnesota thing, or luck was on my side. If ever I offended the unspoken, no one ever told me or extended any ire (cloaked or otherwise; I’m not totally oblivious), so if I did offend, here is my chance to forward my apologies, albeit scattered to the four winds of the internet, in case it helps. It’s the best I can do.
In my experience the suburbs are more insular. Boy, do I have stories. I remember one isolated suburban bar in particular where it was increasingly clear that I’d landed in a strictly local “club”; that no matter how well-mannered I was, I was unwelcome as a stranger, and a possible beating, at best, was mounting on the horizon for me. It wouldn’t have mattered where I sat. Things tend not to taste so good in places like that. At least they let me live long enough to make a sensible departure at the end of my drink, and that will have to do for their hospitality. No rural bar I was ever in was so small-minded.
Many places are much the same as each other, yet all are different. In my go-to watering hole, when someone sits in my accustomed spots, plan B is in order. No big deal, in the end. Equanimity makes for a better time, and the bartenders like it that way, too. One should always think of them and their burden. But in the city, there’s really no such thing as “my” seat, for there’s too much ebb and flow of the stranger and the local. As a regular and therefore a representative of my bar, I aim overall to be hospitable. It’s a good thing.
“Offcumden”, though - had to look that one up. A Yorkshire cat, then?
Sussed.
It’s not all pubs, and certainly not the sort tourists go to. Proper pubs, that don’t do scornful food or serve pots of tea on trays. There might not be many of them left, to be honest, I’m going back to when I could get around a lot better than now. I’ve never been a drinker, but I did used to be a keen hillwalker and that’s what would usually take me into off-the-beaten-track hostelries. They never seemed to mind hikers, but the looks between the locals could be very amusing if a bunch of brash tourists did stumble in.
Oh, we get those, too. Even for a city pub, where the prospect of tourists will be a given, mine’s not a tourist destination. It’s very local. Sometimes a fresh influx doesn’t fit the normal ambience, and then we all look at each other and wonder what the night will bring.
Tell me more about scornful food and tea on trays.
Oh, you know the sort of place. Where they serve your chips/fries on a roof slate and your salad in a miniature supermarket trolley, because it’s “trendy”. They’re obviously only doing it to take the p*** out of you.
And tea on trays … I mean, I’m a lifelong non-drinker, but I still like a pub that knows it’s a pub.
Some of these guys actually do take themselves seriously. I’m too uncivilized to remain patient with art at the trough.
Okay, that one I sort of figured. Here the bartender gives you a cheap reusable thick and sometimes damp cardboard coaster that you are expected to use, if you haven’t already gotten it for yourself like a good boy, so given that regime we call them beer doilies. This is in irony, in case it needs to be pointed out. I, a mixed drink kind of guy, also call them beer doilies. This practice of insisting that we use our disposable (but mostly reused until they’re ratty) coasters may not be universal, but it’s how it is in my territory. That’s about as hoity-toity as it gets. If you don’t want to use a coaster for some reason - probably defiance - find a table; the bartender’s personal domain stops with his reach.