A German Beer Trail: Searching for Local Brews - Travel - New York Times Page 1 of 6

May 20, 2007

On a German Beer Trail, One More for the Road

IN the former East Berlin, directly across from the Marx-Engels-Forum — where immense statues of Karl and
Friedrich seem to sit in stern judgment of the city — you might stumble across the Alt-Berliner
Weissbierstube, a cozy cafe specializing in Berliner weisse, the city's classic local beer.

There, wide goblets of weisse are doctored with shots of syrup before serving: most commonly green, made
from woodruff, a fragrant forest herb; or red, made from raspberries. Both have the effect of coloring the
drink a garish jade or vermillion, and both are said to make it cloyingly sweet.

When a waitress came by to take my order, I asked if I could try the beer without the accompanying syrup.

“You could, but it's very sour,” she said.

She was right: it was bitingly sour, partly from the unusual use of lactobacillus in fermentation, the same type
of bacteria that produce yogurt, in addition to the regular brewer's yeast. After a very light sweetness in the
mouth, there was a sharp, yogurt-like sour finish that made the drink surprisingly refreshing.

I asked for another.

Dynamic, bustling Berlin may be many things — an Old World capital of cool, the home of a vibrant literary
and artistic community, Eurotrash style central — but it is not generally thought of as a city with great beer.
And yet just 200 years ago, Napoleon's army celebrated its occupation of Berlin with big mugs of weisse,
toasting victories with a light, golden elixir that the French hailed as “the Champagne of the North.”

Back then, there were said to be some 700 brewers of weisse in Berlin. Today, the number is rapidly
approaching zero, with the last two major producers, Kindl and Schultheiss, recently coming under the same
ownership.

Thus the rub: though Germany is home to some of the greatest beer culture on the planet, local flavor is
increasingly elusive. Ever since the rise of lagers like Pilsener and the spread of industrial brewing in the late
19th century, dozens, if not hundreds, of charismatic local beers have disappeared.

“It happened very quickly,” said Ron Pattinson, whose European Beer Guide lists many obsolete and rare
German beers, including broyhan from Hannover, mumme from Braunschweig and keut from Münster. “The
older styles were overwhelmed, and what we've got left are just the odd remnants of beers. It's like a landscape
that has been swamped, and you can just make out the odd tree and hilltop.”

This spring, I decided to make a journey to some of these remaining trees and hilltops in search of a few local
beers that had not vanished. I wanted to try those German brews that had maintained a sense of local flavor,

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beers that were produced in their hometowns and, more or less, nowhere else.

In Cologne, I would drink Kölsch, a light and fruity pale ale, one of the few beers protected by an appellation
of origin as if it were a wine. In Leipzig, I would seek out Gose, a spiced amber beer that was out of production
for two decades and that is just now making a small comeback. And in Bamberg, I would try the elusive
rauchbier, a beer made with wood-smoked malt that is said to taste like liquid bacon.

Other beer pilgrims could have just as easily chosen other cities with great brewing histories — Düsseldorf,
Dortmund and Munich come to mind — but my trio seemed to offer the most promise and variety.

WITHIN a day of my introduction to Berliner weisse, I was whizzing across Germany toward Cologne via the
high-speed Deutsche Bahn, the German rail system, traveling faster than many of the cars on the autobahn
outside. There, after booking into a hostel in the center of town, just minutes from the Dom, Cologne's
massive cathedral, I set out in search of my first Kölsch.

I found it at Brauerei Päffgen, a traditional wood-on-more-wood tavern on a narrow lane just outside the Old
Town. But drinking a Kölsch is more than just drinking a beer: it's like drinking an entire culture.

By German law, only beers brewed in Cologne may be called Kölsch, and they must be served in the tall,
cylindrical glasses called stange. The Kölsch waiter, known as a Köbes, is almost always clad in blue and is
universally known for a sharp tongue. (Request a glass of water instead of beer and your Köbes will probably
ask if he should bring soap and a towel, too.)

I managed to get my first Kölsch without much hassle, handed over by a burly Köbes swinging the traditional
round tray called a kranz, or wreath. The beer was not unlike a Pilsener in color, but the taste was much less
bitter, with a nice grassy note in the mouth and a delicate fruitiness to the finish. I had more trouble getting
the second, and when it came, I noticed the Köbes brusquely called me “du,” the informal word for “you” that
an adult might use to address a child.

“The Köbes is always like that,” the man sitting next to me said. His name was Guenther Herrmann and he
told me that once, sitting in a pub, he had tried to move his chair out of a ray of direct sunlight, “and the Köbes
said, ‘No! The chair stays here!' ”

Traditional décor and traditionally gruff waiters are obviously part of the charm for the older Cologne
residents I kept encountering: while visiting Schreckenskammer, a Kölsch pub near the hostel, I calculated the
average age as roughly 73 ½. Ditto the historic Kölsch pub Früh, down near the cathedral. But what about
local beer fans who were not yet drawing a pension?

I got the answer while struggling with my map outside the city's wondrous Chocolate Museum, which sits
directly on the banks of the Rhine. A young woman stopped and offered directions. After we figured out where
I was going, I asked if she drank Kölsch.

“All the time,” she said.

If I was interested in beer, she asked, would I like to go on a Kölsch crawl with her and a few of her girlfriends?

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Twelve years after college, all those German classes finally paid off. That night I met the woman, Mira, and
two of her fellow university students at Scheinbar, a cool lounge in the upscale Belgisches Viertel
neighborhood. The crowd, a mix of gay and straight, youngish and younger, was mostly sipping cocktails,
though several people held the distinctive narrow Kölsch glasses.

Why beer, in such a slick place? And why Kölsch?

“We're proud of it,” Mira said. “I'm not necessarily proud of being German, but I am proud of being from
Cologne. This is our beer.”

In fact, Kölsch seemed to be a favorite of all the cool kids. Just around the corner from the venerable Päffgen,
Mira and her girlfriends took me to Päff, a sister bar. Where Päffgen was all about Old Cologne, Päff typified
the new one: a packed club playing hip-hop at high volume while a diverse crowd partied with glasses of
Päffgen Kölsch.

If my presence had brought the average age down in Schreckenskammer, it had certainly raised it in Päff. But
it was dark, loud and fun enough that no one seemed to notice.

The next day, after a five-hour trip on a Deutsche Bahn Inter-City Express, I was in Leipzig, standing in St.
Thomas Church, where Johann Sebastian Bach worked as cantor and director of music from 1723 to 1750.
During Bach's tenure, Leipzig started to become famous for something other than great melodies: Gose, a
deep orange brew flavored with salt and coriander.

This gave rise to the Gosenschenke, a type of Gose specialty bar that was once found throughout the city. Not
long after World War II, however, with Leipzig on the other side of the Iron Curtain, Gose production
wavered, then stopped entirely.

But then a Gosenschenke called Ohne Bedenken reopened in 1986, serving the city's first real Gose in almost
20 years, followed by a new Gose brewpub, Bayerischer Bahnhof, which opened in a magnificent former train
station just around the turn of the millennium. Another Gose, Ritterguts, is now being made just outside of
town. And Gose partisans have even organized a Gose-wanderweg trail for hiking from one Gosenschenke to
the next, leading from Leipzig to the town of Halle along the Pleisse, Weisse Elster and Parthe Rivers.

In the theater district just steps from the site of the great Leipzig synagogue that was destroyed on
Kristallnacht, now the site of a chilling Holocaust memorial, I found Sinfonie, a dark cafe-restaurant with
Ritterguts and “things to go with Gose” on the menu. I decided on a half-liter of Gose with a pairing of pan-
fried zander and salmon accompanied by lemon sauce and a warm cucumber salad.

The Gose was amazing, with a mild taste of salt immediately noticeable in its thick, mousse-like head. Its body
was light and slightly spicy followed by a remarkably bright finish — more crisp than the most crisp riesling,
sharper than the sharpest Chablis, and a better match for tricky citrus and vinaigrette than any wine I'd ever
encountered.

The next day, at Ohne Bedenken, I tried both Ritterguts and Bayerischer Bahnhof beers with roast pork and
sauerkraut, another notorious trap for wine. Both complemented the meal marvelously. In comparison, the
Bahnhof had a bit more malt in the body, was lighter in color and was substantially less aggressive. The darker

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Ritterguts tasted much more sour, saltier and had more spicy coriander notes.

If I had to pick one, the Ritterguts would probably be the winner, simply for its brawn. But compared to
Radeberger, the dishwater Pilsener from the region, both versions had character to spare. Like difficult but
dear old friends, these were challenging beers, but rewarding ones.

If any city in Germany understands the value of difficult beers, it must be Bamberg in Franconia, a storied
brewing region that is now part of the state of Bavaria. Though Munich's two-week Oktoberfest is more
famous internationally, Bamberg celebrates beer all year, with organized beer trails leading to its 10
breweries, a significant number for a town of just 70,000. While some of the beers produced in Bamberg are
variations on the Pilsener style, the city's list also includes a much older, indigenous type: the smoked-malt
brew called rauchbier.

A Gothic arch etched with the date of 1310 stands at the back of the Schlenkerla brewery's taproom, inside the
old town's cobblestone maze above the Regnitz River. There, I attempted to order a rauchbier, but I was
thrown off by a special offer: because it was Lent, the grandmotherly waitress informed me, Schlenkerla was
also tapping a fastenbier — still smoked, but much stronger, like a bock.

Swooning from the intense flavors even more than the alcohol, I tried to catalog the tastes: caramel, acacia
and notes of smoked meats ranging from ham to Alaskan salmon and sweet unagi, Japanese eel. It was liquid
bacon, sure, but it was also as peaty as a fine single malt — Ardbeg came to mind.

It was an amazing medley, almost overwhelming, and I could still taste the smoke as I walked over the three
bridges leading back to my brewpub hotel, Spezial, the city's second producer of rauchbier.

Compared to Schlenkerla's, Spezial's rauchbier seemed to be understated, even dignified in its light
smokiness, with extremely complex caramel and cola flavors, the kind of beer that could justify a long voyage
all by itself. I mentioned this to a local resident, Lorenz Weber, who seemed impressed that I had come all this
way just to drink rauchbier, though he noted that he usually drank Pilseners himself.

“I only drink rauchbier three or four times a year,” he said. “But that way, you look forward to it very much.”

A true treat, he added, was a rauchbier from Spezial paired with a slice of hot leberkäse, the Bavarian
meatloaf.

Three or four times a year? I had the realization that, either with leberkäse or without, I would be lucky to
drink Spezial rauchbier three or four times in my life.

I raised my hand to signal for another.

VISITOR INFORMATION

Despite the disappearance of many traditional styles, Germany still has more than 1,000 breweries and 7,500
beers, according to “Good Beer Guide: Germany,” a valuable resource available at shop.camra.org.uk for
£14.99 ($29.85 at $2.03 to £1). The author, Steve Thomas, also runs www.germanbeerguide.co.uk.

The European Beer Guide (www.europeanbeerguide.net) contains maps, pub listings and historical

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information.

Breweries in Bamberg and the rest of Franconia are thoroughly covered at www.franconiabeerguide.com.

GETTING AROUND

Deutsche Bahn (www.bahn.de) is notorious for its hard-to-understand pricing. Perhaps the easiest option for
non-European residents is the German Rail Pass, offering five days of travel within a 30-day period. A second-
class pass is 189 euros, first class 249 euros ($263 and $346 at $1.39 to the euro); for two, 280 and 380 euros.

WHERE TO STAY

Cologne's Station Hostel (49-221-91-25-301; www.hostel-cologne.de) may have lumpy mattresses, but it also
has a central location, a raucous bar and free Wi-Fi. Doubles with private bath are 52 euros.

In Leipzig, the Hotel Kosmos (49-341-233-4422; www.hotel-kosmos.de) has rooms decorated with Dalí
posters and other funky themes not far from St. Thomas Church and the Holocaust memorial. Doubles with
breakfast start at 66 euros.

Two breweries in Bamberg, offer inexpensive lodging: Fässla (49-951-26516; www.faessla.de; doubles, 60
euros) and Spezial, (49-951-24304; www.brauerei-spezial.de; doubles, 55 euros).

WHERE TO TASTE

Berlin: Alt-Berliner Weissbierstube, Rathausstrasse 21; (49-30) 242-4454.

Cologne: Päffgen, Friesenstrasse 64-66; (49-221) 13-5461; www.paeffgen-koelsch.de.

Schreckenskammer, Ursulagartenstrasse 11-15; (49-221) 13-2581; www.schreckenskammer.com.

Früh, Am Hof 12-18; (49-221) 2613-211; www.frueh.de.

Scheinbar, Brüsseler Strasse 10; (49-221) 923-2048.

Päff, (49-221) 12-1060; Friesenwall 130; www.paeff.com.

Leipzig: Ohne Bedenken, Menckestrasse 5/Poetenweg 6; (49-341) 566-2360; www.gosenschenke.de.

Bayerischer Bahnhof, (49-341) 12457-60; Bayrischer Platz 1; www.bayerischer-bahnhof.de.

Cafe Sinfonie, Gottschedstrasse 15; (49-341) 9999-898.

Bamberg: Schlenkerla, Dominikanerstrasse 6; (49-951) 56060; www.schlenkerla.de.

Spezial, Obere Königstrasse 10; (49-951) 24304; www.brauerei-spezial.de.

EVAN RAIL, a frequent contributor to the Travel section, writes often about food and drink.

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