Franconian goodness

It's been far too long since I've been to Franconia. Happily, Franconia came to me.

In the form of the Franconian Anstich Fest at Butcher's Tears last weekend. Lots of lovely Franconian beers, served the way god intended: straight from the cask. And they had Monchsambacher. Such wonderful stuff.

The older I've got, the less I've enjoyed most beer festivals. Too may people, too many beers, too few seats. Thankfully, none of those failings apply to the festivals held at Butcher's tears. And there's no travelling involved, other than a 15-minute walk. 

I love Lager. I've said it many times, but it bears repeating. Good Lagers, I mean. Brewed the old-fashioned way and served up without too much fizz.

I almost forgot one of my other pet hates at beer festivals: tiny glasses. You can fuck off serving me 10 cl or even 15 cl. That's why I used to take my own pint glass to the Borefts festival. I don't want 20 mouthfuls of beer I'll never remember. I want to give each beer the respect it deserves. Which, unless it's super-strong, is at least a half litre. Then again, I've be known to drink Imperial Stout by the pint.

A great festival, just hope they do another.

Franconian Anstich Fest

I'm turning into a right lazy git in my old age. Turning? If I'm honest, I've always been a lazty git. How much I could have achieved with a little more diligence.

For someone as lethargic as me, the Franconian Anstich Fest on Saturday was perfect, being just around the corner, at Butcher's Tears. The closest brewery to my house by quite a way. Not that I would have missed a chance to drink gravity-served Franconian beer. A rare treat. I'd even have endured the tourist hell that is the city centre for some of that lovely Franconian stuff.

Persuading Dolores to tag along was easy enough. "None of that weird modern junk, just proper drinking beer." I guaranteed her. I know the sort of stuff she likes. And it isn't beer that looks like orange juice.

Just half an after kickoff, we turned up. Which meant we got seats. A little later and we'd have struggled. Heartening, as I wanted the event to be a success. Because then it might be repeated. And I could slurp back more of that lovely German beer.

No dicsussion about where to start: Monchsambacher Lagerbier. I've only had it once before and it blew me away. And that was after several days drinking top-class Franconian beer. Big one for me, small one for Dolores. It didn't disappoint.

Gradl Leupser Dunkel next. Man, what a lovely drinking beer. It did that suicidal thing where it threw itself down my throat before I could stop it. Best have another just to make sure of it delightfulness.

"What do youi fancy next, Dolores?"

"The Helles."

It's Schlenkerla Helles. "You do realise that's a smoked beer?" I warn.

"I'll have something else, then."

"It's not really smoky. Just a tiny little bit."

Graham Povery confirmed its very slight smokiness. I'm not sure believed me. Dolores took his word for it and got a half..

"See, not really smoky, is it?"

"No, not like that horrible bacon beer." Praise indeed.

I finished with another Gradl Dunkel. Such a lovely beer. Not even heard of it before.

A really great little festival. And only €4.50 for a half litre. Early to say this, but it might well be one of the highlights of my year.

Simply Perfect

I'm just back from a week in Bavaria. A week of Bierkellers and beer halls, country pubs and city boozers. An experience that's reinforced my feelings for German beer. Renewed my appreciation of what German beer delivers so well: simple perfection.

I pondered the title of this piece on the tram to work. A post in praise of Lager. I've written them before. My love of Lager is not new. It gripped me with that first sip of Pilsner Urquell in Prague, way back in 1983. That's before some of you were born. Suddenly I got it. Understood what made Lager such a wonderful drink. The beauty of a beer that doesn't shout "Look at me!" like some hyperactive teenager. A beer happy to take a back seat while you get on with the serious business of having fun.

Real Lager. That was one putative title for this piece. Because there's one form of Lager with a very special place in my glass. Lager in its truest, simplest form. Soft and inviting. Pure and clean. Beer with nothing added and nothing taken out. Bayrischer Anstich. A barrel on the bar, a tap hammered in, joy poured out. The German equivalent of cask beer.

Out in the backwaters of Franconia, I drank lots of beer from tiny village breweries. Breweries with one or two outlets, brewing tiny amounts. A few hundred hectolitres, half what many brewpubs brew. Often they make just one beer. I love these throwbacks. Where the passion of generations is funnelled into a single product.

But you'll be surprised by two of the glasses that satisfied me most. Many accuse them of blandness. I'd say: subtly seductive. Everyday drinking beers, meant to be consumed in large draughts. Beers seemingly on sale in every other Munich pub: Augustiner Helles and Edelstoff.

Not an hour in Munich and I was in the Augustinerkeller. Dodging thick spots of rain while the sun shone ironically on. A Mass of Edelstoff beaded with moisture, mimicking the rain. The first half litre disappeared in a clutch of guiltless gulps. The world, despite the spitting skies, was warm and welcoming. Poured from a fat-bellied barrel, a merry monk bestowing blessings, beer like liquid sunlight, cheering from within. But it wasn't the most satisfying.

On the final day, under smiling skies pouring gold into the streets, I sat by the shoulder of the Frauenkirche. Outside the quaintly-named Nürnberger Bratwurstglöckl. "Augustiner Hell aus dem Holzfass" the wall announced. Helles, the little brother of Edelstoff. Augustiner's Cooking Lager. A beer bereft of pretension, unassuming, self-effacing even. But one that satisfied. That didn't just hit the spot, more beat it senseless.

Visiting the gents, I saw it. A piglet next to Augustinerkeller's suckling sows. A baby barrel, brass tap shining like a tiny sun.

Bayrischer Anstich. Such a wonderful thing. It makes a simple beer simply perfect.

Bayerische Anstich

"Are you going?" Mike asked. "Going where?" I had no clue what he was on about. "Wildeman. You really should get on their mailing list. There's Bayerische Anstich tonight. A Prael beer."

Mike's right. I ought to get myself on Wildeman's mailing list. I could easily have missed the Bayerische Anstich. Oh well. As long as he's on it, things work out pretty well.

For those of you who've never heard the phrase, Bayerische Anstich is just the German way of saying "gravity served". You know, where they whack a brass tap in with a dirty great mallet. (One of my favourite sounds.) You can see the full set to the right: barrel, hammer, brass tap.

We'd already seen the barrel. It had been parked in a corner of the former no-smoking room. I'd wondered if it was just a themed table or decoration. No, as it turned out. It was full of beer.

It's one of the things they do semi-regularly at Wildeman. Bayerische Anstich on a Friday evening. Usually it's something Bavarian. Often dead yummy. Like Schlenkerla Fastenbier. Or something from Beck. Life is good in Amsterdam.

The barrel was due to be tapped at six. Not wanting to miss out, I was there a quarter to. Fortunately, they had other beers to keep my thirst at bay until the tapping. Löwenbräu Oktoberfest, for example. Not quite as nice as the Hacker I had at the festival, but not bad. And true to style: a proper Oktberfest Helles Märzen.

Mike showed up at five to six. As the barrel hadn't been tapped, time for a second Oktberfest. We'd barely taken our seats when the delightful sound of wood on brass drifted in from the bar. Time for two-handed drinking.

De Prael Johnny was in the barrel. A Kölsch, supposedly. It was cloudy almost to the point of sludginess. Just the two counts it fails on for being officially a Kölsch then. I'd show you how sludgy it was. But I prefer the snap of Löwenbräu in a Beck Brau glass. Johnny tasted pretty decent, despite all the sludge.

De Prael should be opening their own taproom sometime in the next year. A thought has struck me: will it feature Bayerische Anstich? That could explain why they've gone to the expense of getting a wooden cask. I do hope so.