O'zapft is

The Oktoberfest in Munich kicked off on Saturday. And by chance I stumbled on a live report about it on German television.

It says a lot about the event's status in Germany that a full two hours (11:00 to 13:00) was dedicated to it on national channel ARD, sort of the equivalent of BBC 1.

Obviously they showed the parade of drays and marching bands trailing up to the festival site. And of course they showed the major of Munich tapping the first barrel. But there was lots of other interesting stuff that was new to me.

Well, even the tapping ceremony was of interest. It took place in a Spaten tent, Schottenhamel. I assumed that there would just be the one wooden cask for show, with the rest of the beer kegged. But that wasn't the case. You could see beer from the wood being served in the background. And here was me thinking only Augustiner still supplied the festival with oak barrels. I didn't think Spaten still produced cask beer.

They even had an interview with one of Schottenhamel's beer tappers. Luckily Dolores was on hand to translate his impenetrable Bavarian accent. Evidently he'd inherited a magic tap, one that served quicker than any other. Turns out it wasn't so much magic, as a specially-modified tap he'd inherited from a colleague. He turned down an offer of 1,500 euros for it.

What was particularly nice was that the presenters were all tucking into beer while presenting. Not going crazy, but visibly drinking beer on camera. And they were all wearing traditional dress. (Did I mention Dolores picked up a second-hand dirndl while we were in Berlin?)

But most interesting was the stuff about Oide Wiesn, a festival within the festival. Originally introduced as a one-off event for the 200th anniversary in 2010, it's become a regular feature. Featuring old-fashioned farground rides and smaller beer tents. And here's the bit that really got my attention: all the draught beer is from the wood.

It left me longing to be there with a litre of beer in my hand. Maybe next year.

Munich Oktoberfestbier 1901 - 2006

The recent sunshine has got me thinking of Lager. That and a link posted on BeerAdvocate.

It was to a book called "Jahresbericht über die Leistungen der chemischen Technologie", published in 1901. In it are analyses of five beers served at the Oktoberfest in 1901. Right down my street. That's just the sort of stuff I collect.

As you must have noticed, I have an unhealthy interest in Lager styles and their development. It surprised me how little attention has been paid to their history. It's as if everyone assumes they've remained constant. Which obviously they haven't. If there's one point I've tried to get across it's that the past was a dynamic place.

If I'm honest, I'm not surprised at the difference between modern versions and those from more than 100 years ago. It's a pattern I've seen repeated over other styles. The gravity has fallen but the degree of attenuation has increased, leaving the ABV about the same.

It's even more extreme in the case of Salvator, where some 19th-century versions were under 50% apparent attenuation. The modern Paulaner beer is about 75%.

It's slightly odd that every one of the examples from 1901 has too high a gravity to be called Märzen in Germany today. The upper limit is 14º Plato. The two over 16º Plato would now be classified as Bock. There's also more variation in gravity than you see across modern examples.

But the biggest difference is in the degree of attenuation, which averages 80% for the modern ones, and 68% for those from 1901. Which leaves the Hacker-Pschorr beer from 1998 stronger than any of those from 1901, even though it has one of the lowest gravities.

I'm quite surprised by the amount of lactic acid in all those from 1910. I'd have expected a Lager to be below 0.10.

Munich Oktoberfestbier 1901 - 2006
Year	Brewer	package	Lactic acid	OG Plato	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation
1901	Unknown Munich	draught	0.18	15.19	1061.8	1019.3	5.41	67.48%
1901	Unknown Munich	draught	0.17	16.07	1065.6	1020.3	5.78	67.78%
1901	Unknown Munich	draught	0.17	15.40	1062.7	1017.3	5.83	71.24%
1901	Unknown Munich	draught	0.16	14.60	1059.3	1018.8	5.15	67.11%
1901	Unknown Munich	draught	0.17	16.27	1066.5	1020.6	5.85	67.63%
1992	Löwenbräu	draught		13.74	1055.6	1011.9	5.74	78.60%
1998	Hacker-Pschorr	draught		13.60	1055	1010.5	5.90	80.91%
2004	Löwenbräu	bottled		13.70	1055.4	1008.7	6.10	83.50%
2004	Spaten	bottled		13.70	1055.4	1010.2	5.90	80.80%
2006	Paulaner	draught		13.10	1052.9	1012.1	5.40	77.20%
Sources:
Jahresbericht über die Leistungen der chemischen Technologie, 1903 page 434.
Derek Walsh analysis
Löwenbräu website
Spaten website

"Jahresbericht über die Leistungen der chemischen Technologie" also had an analysis of Schwechater Märzen. One that surprised me. Which is why we'll be looking at Austrian Märzen next.

Munich (day 3.2)

Only one page of notes to go. This really will be the last post about my Oktoberfest trip.

Somehow I managed to miss the Hugendubel on Marienplatz on my first pass. Not sure how, as it occupies several storeys of a corner building. At the "drinks" section it was the same old story. A library of books on wine, shelves of whisky books, dozens of volumes on cocktails. Beer was represented by a couple of Michael Jackson translations. The Munich section was slightly better. They had the book I'd bought an hour earlier. It was hot enough to melt marble in the bookshop. I made a quick exit.

I didn't write down anything about my next stop. It was purely for pleasure. Look, I'm not going to walk past Augustiner Grossgaststätte without nipping in for a quick beer. Not when it's sitting there all inviting, doors provocatively open. If I lived in Munich, this would be my post-shopping destination. It being too early in the day for cask Edelstoff, I stuck with Dunkles. Very nice it was, too. Nutty and malty without being too sweet. Dunkelicious.

I was on the downward slope. Did I mention I was trying to fill out my Munich Pub Guide? I did? No harm in mentioning it again. I was on the lookout for new entries for my Munich Pub Guide. I'd noticed (and snapped) a likely candidate on the outward leg of my wander: Paulaner im Tal.

It's easy enough to find, being directly opposite Weisses Brauhaus. Though not in quite so nice a building. It's one of those postwar jobs where the architects seem to have had blandness as their main goal. Inside, it's a different story. They've done their best to create a traditional* pub within the less than promising environment of a single large, square room. It could be worse.

The original building, which had been a pub since 1612, survived the war. Though it was badly damaged. Paulaner, who had acquired it in 1921, continued to run it as a pub until 1993, when it was demolished. In 1996 the pub reopened in the new (and incredibly dull) building. History lesson over.

What it does have is good outside space. A courtyard beer garden and seating on the street. Which is where I sat. Rather too close to a group of blokes teetering on the brink of middle age who were enthusiastically demolishing beer and schnapps in a way I would have loved to. If I hadn't been feeling crap.

What to drink? Not really much a discussion in my head about that one. I do quite often silently argue with myself (if I did it out loud people would think I'm crazy). No need. In Munich, drink Dunkles. Paulaner Dunkles, in this case. It was a challenge. Finding any flavour at all apart from a trace of caramel sweetness. Paulaner's beers have really turned to shit.

By now Weisses Brauhaus was calling me. I could see the grannies flitting in and out with beer. That's enough to get anyone excited.

I was served by the same granny as on Saturday night. Must keep you young, this waitressing. My order was the same, too. Eisbock. Mmmm. High-alcohol deliciousness. Bocktastic. It really is a lovely beer. Having a second was a real temptation, but I had an appointment with a pig, Or at least part of one.

What was that smell? Was it my socks or the cheese I bought at Victualienmarkt? I moved my nose closer to my bag. I was pretty sure it was the cheese. I hope everyone else realised that and didn't assume I had personal hygiene issues.

I'd taken a few snaps outside Augustiner am Platzl earlier in the day. A delivery was in process and four wooden barrels were stacked outside. Sad, isn't it, how excited that sort of thing gets me. The pub is a welcome addition for a couple of reasons. It has beer from the wood and is handily placed right next to the Hofbräuhaus, a place I can only stomach in small doses.

I was too early for the cask Helles, sadly. Just for variety, I tried the standard Helles. It was OK, if you like that sort of thing. Me, I prefer the Dunkles. The pub has all the features you come to know and love in Bavaria. Panelled walls, pine-topped tables, waitresses in dirndls. (You try finding new ways to write these descriptions. Lapsing into cliché is difficult to avoid.)

The pig turned up on time for our appointment. At least its leg did. Didn't know where the rest of it got to. And I didn't particularly care, either. The crackling was particularly tasty. A crunchy, fatty delight. I always allow myself one Schweinehaxe on every German trip. Just the one, mind. Otherwise I'll be wearing kecks the size of tents and having my arteries scraped every month.

And that's it. The relief I felt at getting through to the end in obne piece is probably matched by your oen relief that I'm finally flipping finished with telling you this crap. Back to the tables of numbers.




* In this sense "traditional" means 1890 to 1940.



Hugendubel
22 Marienplatz,
80331 München.
http://www.hugendubel.de/


Augustiner Großgaststätte
Neuhauserstr 27,
80331 München
Tel. 089 - 231 83257
Fax: 089 - 260 5379
http://www.augustiner-restaurant.com/


Paulaner im Tal
Tel: 089 - 2199 400
Fax: 089 - 2199 4022
Email: pit@paulaner-im-tal.de
http://www.paulaner-im-tal.de
geöffnet von 10:00 Uhr bis 24:00 Uhr
Snacks 4-10, meals 12-18


Weisses Bräuhaus
Tal 7,
80331 München.
Tel. 089 - 299 875
Fax: 089 - 290 13815
http://www.weisses-brauhaus.de/


Augustiner am Platzl
Munzstrasse 8,
80331 München (Munich).
Tel: 089 - 2111 356
Fax: 089 - 2111 3577
info@augustiner-am-platzl.de
http://www.augustiner-am-platzl.de

Munich (day 3.1)

Sorry. I didn't manage to finish day three of my Munich stay. Just did too much. And too many pub reports in a row get dull. Wouldn't want to start boring you.

Time was just a single pub graced the houses surrounding the Frauen Kirche. The oddly-named Nürnberger Bratwurstglöckl. But that's all changed. Augustiner have opened a pub right next door and Andechser one that is as good as. As neither was there on my last visit, Frauenplatz was next on my list.

Not being totally without time restraints, there was only time to go inside one. I'd two other Augustiner pubs on my itinerary. Andechser am Dom it was then. I threaded my way through the tables outside and entered.

It was positively cramped compared to most of the places I'd been to in Munich. Just a single square room filled with a jumble of unmatched tables. Panelling that looked remarkably like ecclesiastical salvage covered the walls. Fitting, I suppose, given the location opposite the cathedral and beer from a monastery. Adjacent was an arcade, separated from the main pub by windows and open to the street. I wondered what the hell the point was until I saw all the ashtrays. It's their way of getting a smokers' "room".

Not wanting to change the habit of a lifetime, I ordered a Dunkles. I hadn't looked at the menu. But a suitably mahogany coloured fluid was plonked in front of me. As soon as it touched my lips I knew what it was: Doppelbock. I've had this happen before. Be given a Doppelbock as a susbtitute for Dunkles. Normally, I wouldn't complain. But I was feeling fragile and I'd ordered a half litre. Just have to force it down.

By the time I left the Andechser boozer it was after midday. Time to eat. Not that I particularly felt like stuffing food into myself. But I remembered the events of the previous day. I'd like to remember at least a little of the day's crawl.

Spaten is oddly difficult to find in the central Munich. It can't help that what was their main town-centre beerhall got flattened during the war. It was never rebuilt. A shop stands on the spot today. Underneath it, in the basement, a modern pub cowers. Not exactly atmospheric and no windows. The entrance looks like a seedy nightclub (see photo below).

During the summer, at least, things aren't quite so bad. They've a beer garden on the street. And that's where i sat. Next to a group of teenage girls in Dirndls who were even more hungover than me. The beer garden is slap in the middle of Neuhauserstrasse, part of Munich's main shopping drag. Plenty of opportunities for people watching.

A waiter soon approached. I'm sure you can guess what I ordered. That's right, a Pils. No, that's not true. In reality, I went for a low-alcohol Doppelbock. Or Dunkles* as the ignorant insist on calling it. It was a pretty enough colour. And had a nice dense head. Unfortunately, a bit too fizzy for my taste. A bit of caramel, some nuts and loads of sherbert from the excess CO2. Food. I ordered some of that as well. Six pairs of Nürnberger Bratwurst with sauerkraut. A healthfood snack.

Food eaten and half way down my beer, I surveyed my surroundings. I'd been on the lookout for the big bookshop. I knew it was down here somewhere. The middle-aged woman on the next table had one of their bags. Where was the bloody shop and how had I managed to miss it? Find out tomorrow, in possibly the last installment. Promise. That it's the last installment.



* Turns out it was probably Dunkles Löwenbräu out of a bottle.


Andechser am Dom
Weinstrasse 7a
80333 München
Tel: 089 - 298 481
Fax: 089 - 295 442
Email: info@andechser-am-dom.de
http://www.andechser-am-dom.de/



Schnitzelwirt im Spatenhof
Neuhauser Straße 39,
80331 Mü̈nchen.
Tel.: 089 - 264010
Fax: 089 - 24 210
http://www.schnitzelwirt.de

Munich (day three)

I'd had a good long sleep, but I still felt a bit weird. The day after the Oktoberfest. I'd stopped boozing at around 5 pm, too. I blame lack of food.

Breakfast didn't attract me a great deal. Despite my low food intake the day before. What was it I was feeling? Knackered? Hungover? Ill? Something somewhere inbetween all three.

When the eating was done, the other three all buggered off. Leaving me alone with my luggage and my strange feeling. But I wasn't lost. I had a plan for the day. And yes, it did include beer. Not that I felt much like one (I didn't look much like one, either). Grabbing some photos and dropping by a few pubs I'd not been in before. Basically to harvest material for my Munich Pub Guide.

I'd sort of worked out an itinerary. Wander down this way, then along here, down here and finally back to the hotel to pick up my bag. Simple. The exercise would soon liven me up, I was sure.

First on my list was Hackerhaus. Mostly because I'd never been there and it sounded like a cosy, old place. And it's pretty central. It wasn't hard to find. But I walked right on past. Why? I had lost one thing at the Oktoberfest. My pen. I needed a new one and fast. Now I was on my own there would be plenty of time for note-taking.

I found a pen. Something else, too. A book. I was just walking past a book shop and, as you do, dived in to check the beer section. Wonder of wonders - they had something I didn't already own. A book about brewing in Munich. With a proper bibliography and references. Brillafrickingriffic. I needed a good historical book about Munich. The day had begun well.

Hackerhaus is on the site of the original Hacker brewery. Not that's it's been there for a long while. It's a handsome 19th-century building with a good corner location. Except . . . the bit on the corner is now occupied by shops. The pub part is now an uneasy L-shape with little more than an entrance on the street.

Inside. How would I describe inside? Cosy? Old-fashioned? Stuffed full of old kack? Take your pick. It's all and more. It was all a bit much for me. Imagine having to dust all that stuff. It must be a nightmare. I decided to sit at one of the kerbside tables.

Despite being well before noon, there were already a few tables of drinkers outside. Don't you just love Bavaria? A dirndl-clad waitress soon trolled up. What would I loke to drink? Now there's a question. A Mild, that's what I'd like to drink. Luckily they did stock a Mild. Lager Mild, as I like to call it. Dunkles to everyone else. "A small Dunkles, please." "You do realise it's only 30 cl." the waitress warned me. I did realise, but it was nice of her to tell me.

Yes, I know I said I took notes. Do you really want to know what I thought of the Dunkles? Really? Brown colour, malty, nutty, sweetish tiny bit roasty. That do you?

As I sipped my Dunkles (yes, I really did sip it - you can tell I wasn't 100%) I browsed through my new book ["München und das Bier" by Astrid Assél and Christian Huber, Volk Verlag München, 2009]. It was good quality in every sense. Good quality paper, good quality illustrations, good quality research. Not only about brewers, either. There was stuff on pubs as well. One in particular caught my attention. A place that wasn't in my guide. What made me stop and consider was a photo of its bar. With a wooden barrel sitting atop it. Oh, oh. Things like this get me all excited. I'm just a kid at heart.

A quick check of the map revealed that Spockmeier (for that was the name of the pub) was right on my planned route. That was destination number two settled.

Zum Spöckmeier is an historic pub with a long history. Which stretched right up until the RAF urban-planned it to pieces one night. The ruins were replaced by a new pub around 1950. That didn't last long. In 1969 came the current shiny, but rather dull, building. The interior was totally renovated in 2009. Or re-oldated. Because it's been tarted up in a traditional* way.

If you've been to Germany, and especially Bavaria, you'll know the score. Red flagged floors, pine tables, waitresses in dirndls. They haven't done a bad job (especially with the waitresses). It's a bit like one of those oxymoronic 1960's chocolate adverts, where they claimed the product was both new and traditional and unchanged. The clean, almost Spartan, design make it obviously modern. I've seen much worse.

This wouldn't be Munich if Spöckmeier didn't stretch over a couple of storeys and several rooms. The beer garden in front of the pub has another 150 seats.

Unfortunately the spot where the barrel goes was empty. Maybe they just have gravity-served beer in the evenings. Quite a few other pubs do that. I hope so. I was just about to order a Dunkles when I noticed a sign: "Paulaner Oktoberfest". And they did quarter litres, too. Perfect.

I was a bit surpised when the beer turned up. It was the wrong colour: amber rather than golden. These stupid Germans. Can't they even get the colour of Oktoberfest right? Only having tried the Hacker version, I didn't have much to compare it with. Sweet and a bit milky. Like my Mum drank her tea. Not quite how I like my beer, though.




* "traditional" in this sense means "1850 to 1943".



Hackerhaus
Sendlinger Str. 14,
80331 München (Munich).
Tel. 089 - 2605026
Fax 089 - 2605027
Email: hackerhaus@AOL.com
Home: www.hackerhaus.de



Zum Spöckmeier
Rosenstraße 9,
80331 München.
Tel.: 089 - 268088
Fax: 089 - 2605509
stiftl@spoeckmeier.com
http://www.spoeckmeier.com

Munich (day two)

The big had finally arrived. O-Day. Containing my excitement was hard. No, not hard. Impossible.

We had a table reserved for 13:00 in the Hacker tent. No need to rush to breakfast. After a leisurely stroll along the Isar, we jumped on a Wies'n-bound U-Bahn. The atmosphere was starting to build, even on the platform. Families, all dressed up in traditional gear, jostled around us.

Even knowing the scale of the operation, walking through the gates of the festival was still a shock. Huge. No, bigger than huge. Effing enormous. Beer tents, fried pig stalls and funfair rides seemed to stretch to the horizon. Best not lose Andy. He'd got the tent tickets.

Still having plenty of time, we did a quick tour of the site. Well, the bit of it with the beer tents in. I photographed each and every one. And the drays. Most tents had a horse-drawn dray parked outside. An amusement park with a beer theme. That's what it felt like. Exactly my sort of place.

I was careful not to let any dirndls distract me too long from following Andy's back. Though there were plenty of very distracting dirndls. I wasn't so interested in the lederhosen. Can't think why.

Promptly at one we parked our bums at our table. The waiting staff came over and introduced themselves. This was much more like it, service-wise. The waiter even apologised for taking so long to serve us. All of two minutes. He clearly hadn't visited Hofbräuhaus much if he thought two minutes warranted an apology.

To reserve a table you need to buy vouchers for food and drink. Two litres of beer and one Hendl (half a roast chicken) per person. Fair enough. I planned on getting through more than two litres anyway. "You can use the chicken ticket to buy beer if you want." Andy helpfully pointed out. Sounded like a recipe for success: skip the food and concentrate on beer. What could possibly go wrong.

The beer. I bet you want to know how that tasted, don't you. It was the right colour: a full gold. Good to see they'd got the style right. A proper Helles Märzen, as is traditionally* sold at the festival. Full-bodied, malty and slightly sweet is how it tasted. Again, pretty much on the money. "Süffig" as the Germans would say. Dangerously drinkable is the English expression.

And both drinkable and dangerous it proved to be. I must have getting the hang of those big litre glasses. It was either that or the scandalously short measure. The first litre disappeared in around 15 minutes. The second didn't take much longer. I'd used up all my tokens in hour one.

I could try to describe the Hacker tent. The heaving sea of humanity below us (we were on the balcony). The noise. The oompah band on their podium trying to make themselves heard over it. The endless toing and froing of the waiters and waitresess, dashing from servery to customers and back again. But I'm rubbish at that sort of thing. Instead, here are some photos.










































We were a bit on the sidelines upstairs. A wander around the downstairs soon put that right. People everywhere you looked, many the worse for wear. Yet not an angry glance or raised fist to be seen. It makes you realise that it's the drinker not the drink that causes trouble. We're such a violent lot, us British. You have to spend some time anmongst Germans to realise just how much so.

I awoke in my hotel bedroom at 20:00. With no recollection of having left the festival and walked back. Bag, camera - yes both had safely made it home. Unlike my memory. I fetched a kebab and watched some footie on the telly. But sobriety didn't come before sleep.

Next day, Andy was happy to fill in the missing bits. Seems like I'd made a schoolboy error: forgetting to eat. And here was me thinking I was a semi-pro pisshead. The five litres I'd drunk could explain the memory gaps. Especially with no food to soak it up. I'll know better next time. Like Andy, I'll have a roast pig sandwich on my way to the tent.

All that's left now is me and the debris. The debris where my brain was supposed to be and 8 or 9 hours wandering around Munich trying to fill the gaps in my Munich Pub Guide. You'll find out all about that tomorrow. In the last installment of this travel tale.




* "Traditional" in this case means "for the last 10 years or so".

Munich (day 1)

That's the appetiser polished off. Now time for the main course, pudding, cheese, port, brandy and cigar. Munich.

After a leisurely and relatively late breakfast, we left Oberammergau. Destination Munich. Years had passed since my last visit. I was dead excited. We picked up the motorway, Andy put his foot down and the summer-green fields blurred around us. "Munich here we come", I thought, for no particular reason.

As we threaded our way through central Munich we soon spotted them. People headed for the Wies'n. Queueing at cash machines in lederhosen or dirdls. Wearing funny hats. All headed in one direction.

Our hotel was in a great spot. At the Isar end of the town centre, just around the back if Tal. Handy for Weisses Brauhaus, Augustiner am Platzl and Hofbräuhaus. We were barely out of the van when a group of Americans approached Andy. "Do you know the way to the Hofbräuhaus?" Did the Pope study theology? Of course he knew where it was: just down there, first left then first right.

After a couple of brief exchanges it became clear this wasn't just a random bunch of Americans. They were part of the group we were supposed to be meeting later in . . . . Hofbräuhaus. Which is where we headed after dumping our bags.

One thing became clear on our arrival at Hofbräuhaus. It was a shit place to arrange to meet. Especially on a day like that. We weren't allowed in the main entrance because of overcrowding. Instead, we entered at the side we made a tour of the whole building to get where we wanted to be. Then toured it again looking for four empty seats. Which we eventually found in the Schwemme.

The noise. That struck me. Though close to the band, we could barely hear them over the noise. The noise of human voices. A few speaking, but most shouting. Electric. That's how you usually describe such at atmosphere. Don't know if it really was electric, but it was certainly more than gas. And candles couldn't hold a candle to it.

Foaming litres soon adorned our table. Mine dark, the others pale. Looked great and didn't taste too bad, either. I've had a few pretty duff Hofbräu beers in the past, but this was good. Slightly sweet, nuttily malty as only a Munich Dunkles can be. A litre didn't seem excessive at all.

As we sipped then slurped, Andy went in search. Of the Americans. And his mate Steve. Rather him than me. I'd had enough of forcing my way through the corridors of drinkers. He returned alone. And returned to his beer, from which he took a few slugs.

If you've never been to the Hofbräuhaus it's hard to imagine its scale. Rooms and halls, each containing hundreds, if not thousands of drinkers, stacked upon each other right to the rafters of the the roof. It's a bit like a pub version of the London Underground. At rush hour. More people than you ever want to see, all crammed together.

A second sortie brought Andy more luck. He'd founs the American group. And there was room at their table. Andy guided our little expedition, in single file, through the ravines of drinkers. I brought up the rear. I'd just been observing a particularly good dirndl when I realised I was a lone. Cast adrift in a sea of pissheads. Where the hell were they all?

I stood around for a while, paralysed by confusion. I checked the beer garden. No joy. The corridor. Still no luck. The funny little room next to the beer garden full of teenagers. Not there, either. Where could they have gone? They couldn't be on the outside balcony, could they? As I approached the steps I heard a frantic banging on the window. It was Andy.

They were sitting right next to the kitchen. That provided entertainment in itself. A conveyor belt brought a never-ending succession of plates to the pickup-point, where waiters queued. A ceaseless flow of Schweinehaxe and Weisswurst was loaded onto long trays and whisked away. Cooking on a truly industrial scale.

They must have said something to the waiter. The Americans. Something he didn't like. Because he didn't intend serving us any more beer. Bugger. My glass was empty. And our seats cramped. Andy decided we should progress onwards and upwards. Literally. To the ballroom where Steve had seats. The service surely couldn't be any worse. Could it?

As it turned out, yes it could. Much, much worse. The Long Wait. That's what I called it. The trauma will stay with me forever, clinging like an overenthusiastic fart.

We got our order in quickly enough. Three Helles one Dunkles. Our waitress brought the three Helles then buggered off. The Dunkles was for me.

We reminded her about the missing Dunkles after 10 minutes. And 20. And 30. And 40. Even after 50 minutes. When an hour had passed, Andy went to the bar, found another waitress and came back with two litres of Dunkles. I grabbed both. Lots of catching up to do.

We did persuade our waitress to bring us some food. After about 90 minutes. I had a pair of Weisswurst. Though I wasn't quite in the mood to relish them as much as I should have. After all the effing waiting.

The original plan had been to walk to the Englischer Garten and have a beer in a garden there. But no-one could be arsed, so we went to the Hofgarten instead. It was very pelasant there. Sunlight dappling through the trees. A wooden barrel glugging out glasses of beer. And it would have been a great place to relax and wind down, away from the hordes of the Hofbräuhaus. If anyone had effing served us. We gave up after 15 minutes.

Augustiner Großgastätte is, despite its tongue-twisting name, a favourite of mine. Didn't take much persuading to drop by there with Andy and Steve. If only every high street had a pub as good.

Finally, the beers came quickly and kept coming. Out of the wood. I'd show you a picture of the barrel. But two in a row is just too much. Even of something as beautiful as a wooden barrel. Or the Edelstoff that issued from it. Mmmm. Got to love that Augustiner.

It was time to move on. Andy suggested Der Pschorr on Viktualienmarkt. Sounded like a good idea. Especially as he said they had gravity-served beer. Last time I was in Munich, only Augustiner of the local breweries still delivered beer in oak barrels. Not any more.

Most anywhere else in the world Der Pschorr would count as enormous. In Munich, it's just big. It looks like they're taken over what used to be a covered market as a cavernous extension to the main pub premises. Themselves substantial enough. A giant TV screen was showing a Bayern München game. We passed on that and sat in the main bar. In sight of the barrel. As that was dispensing Helles, Helles it was.

Don't expect any tasting notes. It was far too late in the day for any of that bollocks. Now we had service, it was time for a few carefree pints. And carefree they were, as the next was never far behind. The 50-litre wooden barrels didn't last long. Every twenty minutes it was replaced by a fresh one. And the beautiful noise of a tap being hammered home reverberated around the room. Happy times.

But we weren't ausgedrunken. We considered the Paulaner tent amongst the stalls of the outdoor market, until we saw the ashtrays. Seems the smoking ban doesn't apply to tents in Germany. As it was on our way home, Weisses Brauhaus seemed like a good idea. So that's where we went. There was a queue outside. One out, one in was the door policy. No Hofbräuhaus-style crowds inside here. But there was a decent churn, so we were soon seated.

Weisses Brauhaus seems to employ exclusively grannies as waitresses. It's very homely and reassuring. Soon our granny had brought me an Eisbock and the world was looking a better place. After a second, it was becoming positively heavenly.

Back at the hotel, I realised I'd forgotten to have any tea. I asked the lady at the desk if they had any food. I thought I'd asked for a sandwich. What I got was a dry roll. It did the job. At least until breakfast.

And so ended my first day in Munich. Next was the main event: Oktoberfest. Would my throat get as parched as in Hofbräuhaus? Would I remember to eat? Find out tomorrow in the next installment.



Hofbräuhaus
Am Platzl 9,
80331 München.
Tel. 089 - 290 1360
Fax: 089 - 227 586
E-mail: webmaster@hofbraeuhaus.de
http://www.hofbraeuhaus.de/


Augustiner Großgaststätte
Neuhauserstr 27,
80331 München
Tel. 089 - 231 83257
Fax: 089 - 260 5379
Website: http://www.augustiner-restaurant.com/


Der Pschorr
Viktualienmarkt 15,
80331 München.
Tel. +49 (0)89 / 5 18 18 500
Fax: +49 (0)89 / 5 18 18 545
E-Mail: info@der-pschorr.de
http://www.derpschorr.de


Weisses Bräuhaus
Tal 7,
80331 München.
Tel. 089 - 299 875
Fax: 089 - 290 13815
http://www.weisses-brauhaus.de/

Oberammergau

Am I still on day one? Telling the tale is taking longer than living the life.

From Ettal it's just a couple of minutes drive to Oberammergau. Not that I remember any of it. Doubtless it was the usual misty peaks and gloomy forests. If you've seen the pictures in the previous two posts, you'll have some idea. No need to strain my powers of imagination for you.

We stopped in exactly my sort of place: a pub. Called Zum Stern. A typical country inn, with a slightly kitsch restaurant and comfortable rooms. Well mine was comfortable, which is all that really matters. Not that I did much in it other than sleep. I don't like to waste my Germany time sitting indoors.

I was soon in the mood for another beer and went for a wander through town. It bears the scars of mass tourism. The normal shops struggle to find room amongst the touters of tat. In particular religious tat. Crucifixes, saint statues, that sort of thing. Which is a bit of a contrast with the sex and dope souvenirs that fill central Amsterdam. Thankfully there are a few pubs, too.

Whilst driving around I'd noticed that pretty much every town and village had a boozer called Zum Post or Zum Alten Post. Oberammergau was no exception. It seemed like a good place to start.

The setting was delightful. The mountains a stunning backdrop to the painted houses of the town. I sat at a table outside and waited. Then waited a bit more. A few spots of rain fell. I hadn't bothered bringing my coat. Some more waiting followed, with an occasional raindrop. After 10 minutes, a waitress finally drifted by and took my order. Another Ettaler Dunkles seemed a good idea. It wasn't as good as a t the brewery tap. A definite touch of diacetyl. Too much.

We're going to dip back down into darkness now. I don't even have photos to shine a light into the obscurity of memory of the rest of the day. I know I went back to Zum Stern and ate my tea. No idea what it was. Something meaty and German, no doubt. Washed down with Hasen-bräu. Probably their Dunkles. (Hang on. I've just checked and they don't seem to brew a Dunkles. It must have been something else I drank.) I'd never had any beers from Hasen-bräu before. It's a shame I have absolutely no recollection - nor notes - of how it tasted.

By this time I was starting to flag. It was evening 8 pm and I'd been up since 5 am. And drinking most of the time inbetween. Just as well I'd abstained on the flight, otherwise I might have been in trouble. That's my excuse for just having a single beer in Zum Stern. But however tired I was, I didn't intend missing Oberammergau's only brewery, Maxbräu. Andy and I headed down there after eating.

It wasn't far. Just a couple of hundred metres. Located in a posh hotel, Maxbräu is sadly typical of modern German brewpubs. Quite flash, with impressive shiny copper kettles, but more emphasis on the food than the beer. Schickimicki is how Andy described it. He was right. We both had Helles. Typically (again) it was too cloudy and too green. That I can remember. We only stayed for the one.

And that's it. Finally at the end of day. Doubtless it's tried your patience as much the day itself tested my liver. Next, it's on to Munich for some real boozing. And my longest ever wait for a beer.




Gasthaus Zum Stern
Dorfstr. 33,
82487 Oberammergau.
Tel.: (+49) (0)8822 - 867
Fax: (+49) (0)8822 -7027
Email: gasthausstern.oberammergau@t-online.de
http://www.gasthaus-stern-ogau.de.vu/


Hotel Alte Post
Dorftstraße 19,
82487 Oberammergau.
Tel.: 0 88 22 / 91 0-0
FAX: 0 88 22 / 91 0- 100
Email: info@altepost.com
http://www.altepost.com/



Hasen-Bräu
Unterer Talweg 87.
86179 Augsburg
Telefon: (0821) 3299 - 0
http://www.hasen-braeu.de



Ammergauer Maxbräu
Ettaler Straße 5,
82487 Oberammergau.
Tel.: +49 08822- 948740
Email: hotel@maximilian-oberammergau.de
http://www.maximilian-oberammergau.de

Austria - Ettal

I'll apologise in advance. This post is going to be vague. Very vague. My recollections of this part of the day are as misty as the mountains in which I spent it.

The day was still young when we left Neuschwannstein. Barely past lunch. And already five beers down. Things were going perfectly.

We already right up against the Austrian border. Due to obstructing mountains, those pesky things, the quickest way to Ettal (our next scheduled stop) was through Austria. Borders aren't what they once were. If they hadn't put a sign there saying "Republik Österreich", you wouldn't notice it. Especially as the houses and mountains are pretty much identical to those in Bavaria.

Rather than skirting along the side of the Alps, we were now in amongst them. A succession of jagged, angular peaks, their wooded slopes scarred by grey slashes of rubble where flash floods had struck. A beautiful but slightly scary landscape.

As we hugged a lake, still as glass, mountains jostling around its stony shore, something stirred within me. Not wonder, not awe, not sadness. I needed a wee. Those five half litres had caught up with me. "Could we stop at a pub, please? I need a waz."

Andy pulled us into a lakeside hostel and I went to do the necessary. Once the relief of relieving my bladder had kicked in, a thought popped into my head. Not a particularly original one. In fact, it's semi-permanently present in my brain. I could sneak in a quick beer. It was only polite, after all, to buy something, having used their bog.

"Ein kleines Bier, bitte." Zipfer, the sign outside said. So Zipfer Märzen, I guess. I knocked it back in two gulps. Didn't want to keep the others waiting. I'm so considerate. A bit fizzy, the beer. And bland, but with a slightly nasty edge. But, hey, it's years since I was last in Austria. No time to be too picky.

[The Eu is far from perfect. But it has provided some benefits. Lack of border controls. And a common currency (for most). Just ten years ago my Austrian beer escapade would have been far trickier. The chances of me having Schillings in my pocket to purchase a quick beer would have been pretty slim. Thank you EU for facilitating my alcoholism.]

Continuing along between the mountains, we popped back into Bavaria. That must have been my shortest ever stay in a country. At least I got a beer in.

This the bit I've already apologised for. The misty as the mountains part. Thank god for photographs, is all I can say. Without the snaps, all would be darkness.

"Dem Himmel so nah". That's Ettal's slogan. Can't really argue with that, given their location in the Alps. And the yumminess of their beer. Many sing the praises of Andechs. I prefer Ettaler. Lovely, lovely stuff. Especially their Curator Doppelbock and Kloster Dunkel.

We stopped at some pub in Ettal. Just wait while I scan the photos to see if I can find its name. Aah. It was the Ettaler Kloster Bräustüberl. So sort of their brewery tap. It's a huge place, hotel as well as pub. Quite nice, if rather posher than my taste. All pine and tablecloths. I only saw it while toilet-bound. We sat in the beer garden outside.

Unfortunately, they didn't have the Doppelbock. I probably should say fortunately, they didn't have the Doppelbock. A session Dunkles was more apt, given the amount I'd already knocked back. I'd tell you how the Dunkles tasted, except I took no notes, my memory is shot and cameras can't record flavour, worse luck. I'm sure it was nice. It always is.

This is all taking longer than anticipated. The telling of my travel tales. I'm still not at the end of day one. Almost. Just one more post. About Oberammergau. Will I continue my international pub crawl or just collapse in the gutter? Find out tomorrow.




Klosterhotel "Ludwig der Bayer"
Kaiser-Ludwig-Platz 10-12,
82488 Ettal.
Tel.: 08822 - 9150
rezeption@ludwig-der-bayer.de
http://www.ludwig-der-bayer.de

Neuschwannstein

Hardly begun my reports and already I've been lying to you. I promised these would be brief. Yet In my last I didn't manage to get past pub number one. Sorry. I'll try to speed up.

After my Doppelbock breakfast I was in high spirits. The minibus bumped along a country road, flat farmland to our right, misty mountains rearing suddenly to our left. The occasional onion-domed church sat lonely amongst the fields. Who could its congregation be?

We stopped at a seemingly random point. Then Andy pointed out the white fantasy castle of Neuschwannstein. It was photo opportunity time. Snaps snapped we bumbled into the village at the foot of the castle. I say village. Really it's a collection of hotels, restaurants and tack shops.

Surprisingly, this tourist hell had a fairly decent pub. The Schlossbräustüberl. Painted a jolly bright yellow, it had a very baronial interior. All stained glass and vaults. But I only saw all that on the way to the bog. We sat outside in the beer garden.

Unsurprisngly, Schlossbräustüberl sells König Ludwig Dunkel. Made at the brewery owned by a descendant of mad King Ludwig (who built Neuschwannstein). The beer garden is self service. One hatch for food, another for drinks. The bloke in charge of the booze had clearly made a bad career decision. His people skills weren't so much deficient as totally absent. Scowling and growling, he served customers with bad grace and not even perfunctory politeness.

"A Dunkles and an Obstler, please." The barman looked at me as if I'd asked for a chew on one of his testicles, but served me anyway. Which is more than he'd done for the poor Italian in front of me, whose coffee he'd poured down the sink when he dared to ask for it in a paper cup.

The Dunkles, though a bit fizzy, was still chewy fun. And went well with my pig sandwich. The Germany I love: pork and beer in perfect harmony. From my seat, both castles were in view. Showy Neuschwannstein and a garish yellow thing where the Bavarian royals actually lived. (At least that's what Andy told me. He usually knows what he's talking about.)

Andy and me were the nearest things to Germans in the beer garden. Italians and Japanese were in the majority. The latter looked somehow uneasy. What was it? Confusion or disorientation? I must go to Japan to emanate European confusion at their sights.

I stayed in the beer garden while the others did something or other vaguely cultural. I can't remember what. Mr. Grumpy was more friendly when I went for a refill. This time he only looked as if I'd stolen his wallet and shagged his wife. Given his character, he'd certainly chosen the right location to work. He'd lose his job in five minutes anywhere customers visited more than once a lifetime.

There. That wasn't too long, was it? Then again, still only one more pub covered. Still five more to go just on day one. But don't worry too much. My recollections of the latter part of the day are very vague. I doubt I'll be able to drag more than a paragraph out of events after 5 pm.



Schlossbräustüberl,
Alpseestrasse 24,
Hohenschwangau.

Still alive

You'll be pleased to hear (most of you, at least) that I made it back from Munich alive. Just about. A couple of weeks in a sanatorium should have me almost as good as new. Or what passes for new in an old bastard like me.

Munich is a beery town. I already knew that. A very beery town. The industrial scale on which it's served can be quite intimidating. Even for such an enthusiastic pisshead as me. Seeing a waitress with 3 gallons of beer in her mits brings this fact home. Or when a 50 litre barrel is emptied in 15 minutes.

Binge drinking. There's a lot of that going on in Munich. A single beer in some places gets you into the binge-drinking zone, as defined by various twats in Britain. Germans couldn't give a toss about such twaddle. Especially in Bavaria. Or "ladies glasses". Or the rubbish that women don't like beer as much as men.

More details of my trip will follow. That's a threat. (Shouldn't that be "promise"?). Vicariously drink every Maß and crunch every Schweinehaxe along with me. Book the sanatorium now.

Oktoberfest here I come

The last week has been a hard slog. Hewing posts from the coalface day and night. Night and day. OK, evening and breakfast-time.

"Why so much work?"

Because I love you all and want to share, share, share.

Real reason. I'm going to the Oktoberfest and don't intend being sober enough to post. Or feeling much desire to do so. Post, I mean. I've written enough posts to last well into next week. Enough to cover holiday and hangover.

It's a Bier-Mania! tour*. Four days: Andechs, Ettal, Oberammergau, Munich, Oktoberfest and stomach pump. "Dem Himmel so nah'". How true.



*For which I have paid in full.