Exams

Beer exams are a very transatlantic concept. And it's not just the BJCP that set them. Ray Daniels has his Cicerone [thanks for correcting me Adeptus] test, too. Hopefully his is more factually based than theirs.

But it's got me thinking. Rather than just complain about the nonsense the BJCP teach, why not come up with an exam of my own? I'm certifiable, so why shouldn't I certify others? Just need to think of a snappy title for the qualification.

Beer something. That would be good. Preferably another word beginning with the letter "B". Alliteration is always ace.

What would I test for? All the essential beer knowledge. Barclay Perkins' product line in the 1920's. The average OG of Mild in the 1890's. How to covert pounds per barrel to specific gravity. The correct dark malts to use in a Brown Ale. (Trick question, that one.) How many pounds of hops per quarter of malt are right for an authentic 1840's IPA. The excise duty per standard barrel in 1904. The weight of a quarter of brown malt. The number of bushels in a hundredweight. Useful stuff like that. The centrepiece of the exam would be deciphering a 1920's Truman brewing log and an 1840's Whitbread log.

I'd test all the basic knowledge a beer historian needs. Hang on. I'm onto something there. Beer Historian. What about Beer Historian Certification Programme? BHCP for short. Sounds like a winner.

Pure beer is best

It wasn't just the Germans who had a thing about Pure Beer. The Free Mash Tun Act of 1880, which allowed ingredients other than malt and hops, didn't go down well with everyone. The following years saw several attempts to have it repealed or amended.

One of the foremost proponents of Pure Beer was MP W. Cuthbert Quilter. The following is a quote from an article he wrote in 1887.

"As regards the effect upon the health of the nation of so-called beer of the various kinds, I cannot do better than give the following statements of Mr. W. C. Young, public analyst for the districts of Poplar, Whitechapel, and St. George's-in-the-East; and of Dr. Bernays, the eminent chemist of St. Thomas's Hospital.

Mr. Young says:—

1. Barley Malt contains important nitrogenous and mineral constituents, possessing valuable nutritive, digestive, and strengthening properties.

2. Maize Malt, saccharine, and other malt substitutes do not contain these matters, or only in very small quantities.

3. Beer brewed from barley malt differs from that brewed from any of its substitutes in containing the above-mentioned important constituents.

4. Beer brewed from malt substitutes is practically only a solution of alcohol, so that of all the properties a beer should possess, it has only the worst—that of intoxication.

5. The alcohol produced from barley malt is purer than that from maize, rice, &c., the latter containing appreciable quantities of fusil oil.

6. Beer brewed from these substitutes will not keep sound for more than a few days.

7. After a long study of the subject, I have been assured by a gentleman who was for many years a Medical Officer of Health for one of the poorest quarters of the East End of London, that in the majority of cases which had come under his notice of the worst form of confirmed drunkenness, he could trace the effects to the continual drinking of such beer, or what is commonly known as 'fourpenny ale.' He attributes much of the squalor, dirtiness, and wretchedness of the poor in his parish to the use of this 'fourpenny ale.'"

“The Nineteenth Century Vol XXI” edited by James Knowles, 1887, Pages 130.

In case you're wondering "fourpenny ale", or X Ale, was the standard Mild of the day. It was so called because it cost fourpence a quart. I never realised Mild could be so bad for you.

Lager boomers (part three)

As promised, if a little late, here is my final installment of Lager in the UK. Around 1960. Today we'll be looking at imported Lager.

As usual. my source is the Whitbread Gravity Book. But this is where things get a little weird. Because I've seen a couple of these beers from the other side of the fence. Having taken a look at some Heineken and Amstel brewing records from around this period, I was aware of the "special" versions brewed for the UK market.

The beers in the table fall very neatly into two groups. Beers, like Heineken, brewed especially weak for the British market. And beers left at their original strength. This is a dichotomy that, to some extent, still exists in the UK. Though the pissy versions are now usually brewed in the UK. Only one beer has a gravity between 1032 and 1041. Stella, of all things. Which in 1961 was only 3.5% ABV.

Imported Lager
Year	Brewer	Country	Beer	Style	Price	size	package	FG	OG	Colour	ABV	attenuation
1963	Carlsberg	Denmark	Pilsner	Pils	21d	half pint	bottled	1005.2	1029.9	7.5	3.09	82.61%
1963	Heineken	Holland	Lager	Lager	20d	half pint	bottled	1008.4	1030	6	2.70	72.00%
1961	Tuborg	Denmark	Pilsner	Pils	20d	half pint	bottled	1005.6	1030.2	12	3.08	81.46%
1963	Carlsberg	Denmark	Pilsner	Pils	19d	half pint	can	1005.4	1030.2	8	3.10	82.12%
1962	Carlsberg	Denmark	Danish Pilsner	Pils	19d	half pint	bottled	1008	1030.4	8	2.80	73.68%
1963	Schou	Norway	Export Lager	Lager	17d	half pint	bottled	1003	1030.4	6	3.43	90.13%
1961	Carlsberg	Denmark	Danish Pilsner	Pils	20d	half pint	bottled	1007.2	1030.5	7.5	2.91	76.39%
1963	Elbschloss	Germany	Ratsherrn Lager	Lager	24d	half pint	bottled	1006.3	1030.5	13	3.03	79.34%
1961	Heineken	Holland	Lager  Beer	Lager	18d	half pint	bottled	1006.3	1030.6	4.5	3.04	79.41%
1961	Amstel	Holland	Amstel Lager	Lager	18d	half pint	bottled	1006.1	1030.9	9.5	3.10	80.26%
1961	Oranjeboom	Holland	Dutch Pilsner	Pils	18d	half pint	bottled	1006.9	1031.1	9.5	3.02	77.81%
1959	Carlsberg	Denmark	Pilsener	Pils	21d	half pint	bottled	1009.1	1031.2	15	2.76	70.83%
1963	Tuborg	Denmark	Pilsner	Pils	21d	half pint	bottled	1007	1031.5	12	3.06	77.78%
1963	Oranjeboom	Holland	Pilsner Lager	Pils	21d	half pint	bottled	1005.9	1031.6	7.5	3.21	81.33%
1961	ZHB	Holland	Export Pilsner Lager	Pils	18.5d	half pint	bottled	1005.9	1032	8	3.26	81.56%
1961	Pilsner Urquell	Czech	Pilsner Urquell	Pils	17d	half pint	bottled	1010.9	1032.5	10	2.70	66.46%
1961	Brasseries Artois	Belgium	Stella Lager	Lager	20d	half pint	bottled	1005.7	1035.4	6	3.71	83.90%
1961	Patzenhofer, Berlin	Germany	Patz Lager	Lager	21d	half pint	bottled	1007.5	1041	7.5	4.19	81.71%
1963	Union (Dortmund)	Germany	Pilsner	Pils	22d	half pint	bottled	1006.7	1042	9	4.41	84.05%
1961	Holsten	Germany	Holsten Lager	Lager	20d	half pint	bottled	1008.1	1044.1	7	4.50	81.63%
1960	Lamot	Belgium	Pilsor Lager	Lager	18d	half pint	bottled	1007.5	1044.4	7	4.61	83.11%
1963	Fosters, Melbourne	Australia	Export Lager	Lager	27d	half pint	bottled	1003.9	1045.4	8	5.19	91.41%
1961	Holsten	Germany	Pilsner Lager	Pils	20d	half pint	bottled	1000.8	1045.5	7	5.59	98.24%
1963	Holsten	Germany	Pilsner	Pils	22d	half pint	bottled	1006.7	1046.1	6	4.92	85.47%
1961	Vandenheuvel	Belgium	Ekla Lager	Lager	18d	half pint	bottled	1009.8	1046.7	6.5	4.61	79.01%
1961	Carlton United Breweries, Melbourne	Australia	Fosters Export Beer	Lager	24d	half pint	bottled	1005	1047.3	7.5	5.29	89.43%
1963	Swan Brewery Co. Ltd., Pert W. Australia	Australia	Swan Lager	Lager	27d	half pint	bottled	1006.6	1048.1	7	5.19	86.28%
1961	Swan Brewery Co. Ltd., Pert W. Australia	Australia	Swan Lager	Lager	24d	half pint	bottled	1006.2	1048.3	7.5	5.26	87.16%
1963	Desnoe & Geddes	Jamaica	Red Stripe Lager	Lager	16.25d	half pint	can	1010.2	1048.5	6	4.79	78.97%
1961	Desnoe & Geddes	Jamaica	Red Stripe Lager	Lager	21d	half pint	can	1010	1049.2	6	4.90	79.67%
1963	Tatra	Poland	Zywiec Lager	Lager	26d	half pint	bottled	1006.9	1051.4	9.5	5.56	86.58%
1961	Hackerbräu	Germany	Hackerbräu Light	Lager	33d	half pint	bottled	1014.5	1051.7	8	4.65	71.95%
1963	Carlsberg	Denmark	Lager de Luxe	Lager	27d	half pint	bottled	1009.5	1052.1	8	5.32	81.77%
1962	Carlsberg	Denmark	Lager de Luxe	Lager	24d	half pint	bottled	1008.3	1052.8	8	5.56	84.28%
1961	Dortmunder - Hansa	Germany	Dortmunder Urtyp	Export	30d	half pint	bottled	1006.7	1053.7	9.5	5.88	87.52%
1961	Löwenbräu	Germany	Pale Bock Beer	Bock	38d	half pint	bottled	1015.4	1059.6	5.5	5.52	74.16%
1963	Löwenbräu	Germany	Pale Bock Beer	Bock, pale	42d	half pint	bottled	1013.7	1059.7	7	5.75	77.05%
1966	Tuborg	Denmark	Royal Brew	Lager	42d	pint	bottled	1010	1077.5	9	8.44	87.10%
Source:
Whitbread Gravity Book

I hope you're enjoying the summer of lager. Just wait until I start reporting on the Annafest and Fränkische Schweiz. Then the party will really kick off.

Photo contest

Competition time again. AS usual, the winner gets one of my shiny new books. Not sure which one. I'll have to see which ones I have lying around at the time.

The contest couldn't be simpler. Just match the photos of my meals with the location where I ate it.

So you don't have to scurry through my posts searching for exactly where I ate, here's a list of the locations:

Neder
Roter Ochs
Annafest
Brauhaus Bräustübl
Gasthaus-Metzgerei Richter
Schwanenbräu
Sonne
Hofmann
Buchwaldstüberl
Resengörg
Schlenkerla

The closing date is sometime next week. When I think enough of you have had a go.

Bamberg - Amsterdam

I'm used to getting up early. Breakfast at eight am was no problem. The earlier we ate, the more time we would have in Bamberg. I'd not been there in three years and wanted to make the most of the opportunity.

Mike had spent most of the trip looking for two things: a hat and a stein with a lid. He'd found a hat in Gößweinstein. The stein he picked up in Sonne, just as we were leaving.

The stumpy, green Deutsche Reichsbahn coaches were still parked in Ebermannstadt station, but there was no sign of the steam locomotive. We caught a train just after nine, destination Forchheim. A spanking new, cheerful red DMU. We had to wait a while to get on, while a party of 700 teenagers got off. It's surprisingly popular, the Forchhem - Ebermannstadt branch line.

Engineering works meant we had to get a bus from Forchheim. No big deal, as it's not that far. It wasn't much past when, baggage stashed in a locker, we walked boldly towards town. First scheduled stop: Fässla. Spotting a bakery on the way, I picked up Dolores's present. A sourdough loaf. I'm so generous.

Once on Obere Königstrasse, I mad a slight detour to Bamberger Weissbierhaus. To check what beer they were selling since the demise of Maisel. Turned out they were still selling Maisel beer. The one from Bayreuth. Sounds fair enough.

Fässla gets little geek love compared to Schlenkerla, Spezial, Mahr's, or even Keesmann. I'm not sure why. They've a varied range of liquid beers (using "solid" as an adjective to describe beer is just silly). And I really like the pub. Its corridor, hatch and multiroom layout reminds me of the Leeds pubs in drank in as a young man.

Given the early hour, it was surpisingly full. There is one thing that pisses me off about Fässla. The fake barrels. I wish they wouldn't do that. Either have proper barrels or normal pressure pumps. For the first time, we didn't order Dunkles. They didn't have one on draught. Instead we had Lagerbier. "What style would you call this, Mike?" I teased. "Is it more of a Landbier or a Vollbier?" "Shut up and drink."

We didn't go into Spezial. We were saving that for the walk back. Instead we headed straight into town. I told you it had been a while since I'd been in Bamberg. I got a little disorientated, though I didn't mention this to Mike. We were trying to make our way to Schenkerla. "It's down this way." I said confidently, picking a street at random. We were bound to hit the river eventually, then we'd be sorted.

"Ooh look. There's a bookshop." As usual, the drink section had 12,000 wine books, a few hundred whiskey books and a whole shelf dedicated to cocktails. Beer was represented by two Michael Jackson books, translated into German. I had more luck the area dedicated to Franconia. A colourful book about 100 breweries in the Bamberg area. While I was paying for it Mike found a map that marked all the Franconian breweries. And the playing cards that together with it made up some sort of game. Best get all those, too, then.

Mike was beginning to doubt my navigational skills. "Do you know where your going?", he asked. "Of course I do." I lied. A second-hand bookshop came into view. Getting lost had its advantages. "I'll just take a quick look in here." Mike tapped on his watch in irritation. He must have been getting hungry again. It didn't take but a couple of seconds to see they had nothing of interest in stock.

I finally relented and looked at my map. As I wasn't sure where we were, it didn't help much. "It must be this way." Mike said in exasperation. I was still rotating the map, trying to get it to match the streets. We stumbled upon the river. "Told you it would be simple." I said cheekily. Mike was silent.

With great relief we eventually planted our arses in Schlenkerla's beer garden. Very pretty, it is. In a baroque courtyard. Baroque apart from the gothic church, that is. It was crowded. Mostly with pensioners. It looked like a coach party, but they were friendly and in good spirits.

"Can we go somewhere else to eat?" Mike said after perusing the menu. "What?" I'd spotted Bierhaxe and was in no mood to shift. With ran through our options as we drank draughts of Rauchbier. I caught the waitress's eye. "Can I have a Rauchbierschnapps, please." That would help me think better.

Mike relented and agreed we should stay put. He must have seen the pathetic look on my face as I contemplated missing out on Bierhaxe. The pensioners were most amused when I photographed my beer. They can't move much in geek circles. It's become de rigeur.

The food was stunningly good, in an unassuming way. You can bugger off with all that fancy stuff. The simplicity of German food is a thing of timeless beauty. All you need is a pig, an oven, a few dumplings or potatoes and away you go. To food nirvana.

On the way out we stopped at their shop. We'd got eight hours on trains. How many half litres would I need? Much rather drink Schlenkerla than take pot luck at the station or on the train. (Though the alkies at the station had been drinking bottles of Fässla. Don't you just love Franconia?) The number of bottles I bought (four) was limited more by my carrying than drinking capacity. I got a bottle of Rauchbierschnapps, too.

Bamberg is much more touristy nowadays. More beer touristy as well. The shop opposite Schlenkerla, along with the usual tourist tack, also had a fairly reasonable range of Bamberg beers. I picked up a T-shirt for Andrew. All my presents bought and still two hours to go. I was well ahead of schedule.

On our way back through town I spotted another secondhand bookshop. Mike didn't say anything, but I could see by the look on his face that he'd hoped my bookshopping was over for the day. "Do you have any books about beer?" They had three. Including a technical book called "Die Bierbrauerei", published in 1915. Perfect. I bought it. [I just checked on the web to see if I could find the author. I couldn't. But I did download 8 books from Google Books with Bierbrauerei in their title. And ordered another two from Abebooks.]

"That's me done with bookshops for today." I said when I came out. "Glad to hear it."

Rather than rush too much, we'd planned a limited number of stops. Spezial was our last. As we neared there was a smell I recognised from my youth. It used to waft over the palying fields from the nearby Castle Brewery. It was the smell of boiling wort. "They must be brewing." Mike didn't seem very impressed. Food is the only smell he's interested in.

I really like Spezial's beer garden. It's another courtyard, really. With the pub on one side and the brewery on another. We found a table on the shady side and ordered two Rauchbiers. Mike was soon gazing longingly at the meals of our fellow customers. I think he's got a tapeworm. He'd been searching vainly for a butchers all over town. They aren't usually difficult to find in Germany. All Bamberg's appear hidden. He wanted a snack for the train.

We only had time for a couple. Didn't want to miss the train. First a regional train to Würzburg and from there an ICE to Hannover, where we picked up our last connection to Amsterdam.

Getting to the buffet car on the ICE was great fun. How can I count the obstacles? A dog, wheelchair, several hundred wheelie bags, dossing youngsters, protruding feet, a few hundred more wheelie bags. "A Pils, a sandwich and an Asbach please."

Sitting in the bar was pleasant. I tried not to think about the obstacle course between me and my seat. Another Asbach took my mind off it for a minute.

There weren't the same number of obstructions on the way back. There were more. I tried to just think of the Krug of Schlenkerla waiting by my seat. A poor DB employee was trying to push a trolley of coffee and snacks through the train. "Can you help me lift my cart over these bags?" No problem, mate. I shouldn't complain about my job.

Did I mention we sat in a compartment? Just me, Mike and a bloke with smelly sandwiches. The bloke also had what looked like a cool box on the floor. I wondered if he'd let me put my beer in it. What did it say on the top? "Menschliches Knockenmark". Must have been some sort of quark in it. Or yoghurt.

I didn't mange to finish off all my bottles of Schlenkerla. Too knacked. The last four hours of the journey dragged and dragged and dragged. I got back to Amsterdam Zuid a minute after 11 pm. Why hadn't I taken off the next day?

Ebermannstadt

I'm not very good at finishing a day off in one go, am I? Mike and I didn't just disappear back under our stones after leaving Hohenschwärz. We returned to Ebermannstadt. Here's a quick ruin through of what happened next.

After his disappointment with Schwanenbräu the day before, Mike was determined to eat in Resengörg. It could have been the recommendation of the bloke in Schlößla. "What was the restaurant called?" I enquired of Mike. "Something beginning with an 'R'." Must be Resengörg he meant then. There couldn't be two restaurants in town starting with the same letter, could there?

More likely it was pretty blond waitress that attracted Mike. He'd commented on her the day before, as we sat outside Sonne. "We should have eaten there. Look at that waitress." He had a point. We'd been served in Schwanenbräu by a lady with quite an impressive moustache. And the makings of a decent goatee.

It was agreed then. Resengörg for tea.

We were served by the blond waitress. A very helpful and friendly girl. Especially as she was entering the 13th hour of her working day. We'd seen here moving tables around outside the pub on our way to the station in the morning. "I wonder where she gets the energy?" "She's young. " Mike replied. I guess that was it. It's so long since I was young, I've forgotten what it was like.

Neither of us was that hungry. A little snack was all we needed. And some beer, of course. Penning Vollbier again. Pleasant if not overly exciting. They should barrel-age it. Bourbon barrels would be perfect. And bump the strength up a bit, to say 9-10% ABV. Add some more hops, too. Chinook or Amarillo. Or both. Then a touch of black malt to darken the colour. Calls itself a Dunkles, but is only the same colour as Bitter. That just won't do.

As much everywhere else in the area, Resengörg has its own distillery. It would have been rude not to give at least one of their spirits a try. The Schlehengeist had been so yummy at Buchwaldstüberl, I went for one again. Not quite as good, but it warmed my innards pleasantly.

We didn't linger long. Too bloody hot inside. We wound our wearily all the way over the road to Sonne. This time we tried their Kellerbier. Very nice, it was. As the light faded and couples strolled by, arm in arm, we sipped away at our beers. Reflecting on another near-perfect day and wondering why we hadn't the luck to have been born Fränkisch.


Sorry I didn't get around to the unusual coolbox today. That, Haxe, bookshops and a pet peeve will all be detailed tomorrow, when we hit Bamberg on the final leg.


Sonne
Hauptstrasse 29,
91320 Ebermannstadt.
Tel: 09194-767-480
Fax: 09194-767-4880
E-Mail: info@brauerei-gasthoft-sonne.de
http://www.brauerei-gasthof-sonne.de/


Hotel-Gasthof Resengörg
Hauptstraße 36,
91320 Ebermannstadt.
Tel. 09194 / 73930
Fax 09194 / 739373
http://www.resengoerg.de/

Another piece of heaven

I spent so much time describing Richter yesterday, I didn't get to the end of the day. So here goes . . .

We walked back to Pretzfeld, had a quick beer in Gasthaus Herbst because Mike needed a wee, took the train back to Ebermannstadt, ate in the other brewery in Ebermannstadt, Schwanenbräu (bit disappointing, Mike called the beer "flavour-free"), had a nightcap in Sonne, then went to bed. On to Sunday.

A couple of things smacked my gob when researching the trip. First, that we could get to Hohenschwärz by bus. Even on Sunday. Second, that there was another pub in such a tiny village. An afternoon in Hohenschwärz was immediately pencilled in.

While I was at it, I included all the villages on the way in my bespoke guide. Information, like books, is something you can never have too much of. Maybe we'd get to visit one of the pubs. You never know. But Gössweinstein was definitely on the itinerary. We had to change bus there.

For something that's just barely a town, Gössweinstein has a bleeding enormous church. One of those baroque things with lots of twiddly bits. Built of pretty yellow stone. There was a full house when we walked past. Not something you often see here in Holland. Round the back was a market. Where Mike finally found the hat he'd been searching for. I got a present for Lexie at the same stall. A Franconian flag. He's into flags.

(Me and Lexie each made our own flags a few weeks ago. His was a combination of the Scottish and Polish flags. Mine was all white. "As soon as a war started, I'd proudly raise my flag." "But it's white, Dad. They'd think you were surrendering." "Exactly.")

My guide included three pubs in Gössweinstein. Three selling not-very-exciting Leikem and Monchshof beers. The other was supplied by Vasold & Schmitt. I'd never heard of them, which was a good sign. We teetered along the ludicrously narrow pavement, past tourist shops full of minerals and walking sticks. It wasn't far. We sat in the garden.

It wasn't yet 11 o' clock. The pubs had only been open a couple of hours. But we still had the garden to ourselves. We chose a spot next to its boundary, where the cliffs surrounding the town, dappled with trees, were visible through the vegetation. If it hadn't been for all the traffic on the main road outside, it would have been idyllic. It was still much better than a wet Tuesday in Swindon. Better than a sunny Saturday in Swindon. Better than Swindon, let's just leave it at that.

A waitress appeared. "What beers do you have?" "Pils, Helles, Dunkles." "Two Dunkles it is, then." Like those we'd had yesterday, it wasn't a very dunkles Dunkles. But I wasn't in a mood to quibble. Franconia had me under its spell and I was as chilled as a polar bear in a deep freeze. "That's alright." Commented Mike on the beer. He's very stinting in his praise.

On the bus from Ebermannstadt, there had been but one other passenger. The bus to Hohenschwärz was much less crowded. As it wound through the tight valleys, castles and watchtowers reaching upwards from weatherworn cliffs, I primed Mike on Hofmann. "It's wonderful."

Fränkische Schweiz is unutterably scenic. Each village vied with the last in picturesqueness. And all had at least one pub. And a bakery. It genuinely is god's country. Blessed with beauty and bounty. You'd have to travel far to top its quality of life. All the way to heaven.

In the last town before Hohenschwärz another passenger joined us. Just before the bus snaked up one steep valley and down into the next. On a high plateau, rich with farms, we burst upon Hohenschwärz. The hanging sign of the brewery waved us into the village. "There it is!" I pointed excitedly at the mundane exterior of the brewery Gaststätte. "Looks a bit modern" Mike grumbled. He wasn't yet quite as chilled as me.

Midday had barely passed, yet Hofmann's bar was nearly full. The garden was full. Luckily we could find a couple of seats inside. "A bit modern." Mike commented. "Look at all that carving. Barley and hops. OK, it's a bit new, but it'll look great in 50 years." "We won't be around to see it." OK, OK, don't rub it in. We're at an age when mortality becomes more palpable.

"Something smells nice." Food's the best way of perking Mike up. "How many sausages should I have? Two or three?" "It's your stomach, Mike." I've always been careful of what I eat. Just the small Schweinebraten for me.

Given the hordes of other diners, our food arrived remarkably quickly. And what food it was. The most lip-smackingly delicious meal I've eaten all year. I all but licked my plate. "Fucking A." was Mike's opinion of his sausage. You don't get higher praise than that.

I love Hofmann's only beer, a dark Export brewed from mostly Vienna malt. Water and yeast aside, it only has three ingredients. Yet I've never tasted a Dunkles like it. Mike was more downbeat. "It's OK, but nothing special."

Mike had his heart set on a beer garden. Must have been his experience of the day before. "Why don't we look for the other pub?" he suggested, barely had our plates been cleared away. "Do you have a map of the village?" Er, no. I hadn't seen the need. From the bus stop we could see the roadsigns marking either end of the village.

It's so big there aren't any street names. Just house numbers. Hofmann is 16. Buchwaldstüberl is number 5. Finding it wasn't much of a challenge. There was a sign pointing to it at the village's only road junction.

Mike went straight to the garden without asking me where I wanted to sit. But he wasn't going to get any argument from me. In sharp contrast to Hofmann's, it was nearly empty. Just a biker couple and a family. I'm not sure why it was so empty. Truth be told, it was a far nicer garden. The piebald shade of overhanging trees enveloping its tables. And silence. Except for human and animal voices.

The landlord hobbled over to us. You can probably guess what happened next. We got a pair of Dunkles and , leaning back in our seats, felt as happy as pigs in shit, as my dad used to say. There was only one difficult decision facing us. Should we get the 14:28 or 16:38 bus? We'd already decided for the later option before our first glasses of beer were drained.

They're very big on fruit schnapps in Franconia. Many places make their own. When the landlord walked rockily over to us to take our second order, I asked which types they had. Of schnapps. "I'll have a Schlehengeist." "What's Schlehe." Mike asked me. ""Sloe, I think." It certainly tasted like sloe. Darkly fruity, in a plummy sort of way. Overlain with an enticing almond aroma. "They must leave the pits in." I said. "You get the same almond flavour in some Krieks."

A few customers came and went. Beers arrived and were dispatched. Horses clattered by. Crickets chirruped and birds sang. The trees soaked up the sun and showered us with shade. The world was a beautiful, calm place. All the heat and bustle, noise and trouble of everyday life was far way. So far, it could no longer be discerned.

Then we got peckish. "What about sharing a Bauernplatte?" that Mike and his food. "Sounds good to me." I'm nearly as bad. I felt a bit guilty about making the poor landlord run in and out quite so much. But not enough to stop making fresh orders.

A wooden board, covered in meaty delights duly appeared. And some cheesy delights. Tangy sourdough bread and fiery horseradish completed the feast. Washed down with more Dunkles.

For the second time in as many days we'd been blessed with perfection. A brief moment, so still and pristine, it seemed the earth had returned to its youth. To that first earthly garden, from which man had been so cruelly expelled.

And the bus showed up on time.

The fun isn't quite over yet. Next time, a Haxe, some Rauchbier and more books for my collection. And a bizarre coolbox. Don't miss it.


Want to know which beer we drank in Buchwaldstüberl? Their beer menu is to the right. Still can't work it out? Lindenbräu Vollbier. At least I think that's what it was. And another thing that was properly dark.


Buchwaldstüberl
Hohenschwärz 5,
91322 Gräfenberg - Hohenschwärz.
Tel. 09192 / 99 74 35
Fax 09192 / 99 33 36
http://www.buchwaldstueberl.de/


Gasthaus Herbst
Bahnhofstr. 5,
91362 Pretzfeld
Tel: 09194 / 365
Fax: 09194 / 76986


Schwanenbräu
Am Marktplatz 2
91320 Ebermannstadt
Tel: 09194/209
Fax: 09194/5836
Email: dotterweich@schwanenbraeu.de
http://www.schwanenbraeu.de/


Brauerei Hofmann
Hohenschwärz 16,
91322 Gräfenberg - Hohenschwärz.
Tel: 09192 -251


Vasold & Schmitt
Schellenberger Weg 3
91077 Neunkirchen a. Brand.

Beer code update

Here are more details of the Fullers beer code beers.

Look at the different water treatments. What does that tell us? Why are some beers dry-hopped and others not? (This is getting to sound like a BHCP exam paper.) You brewers can probably explain it better than me.

The X grists caught my eye. Amber and crystal.

Tell me if you can spot any patterns.


IPA 13th April 1887
all gypsum liquor
39 pale malt
12 sugar
Kent hops
GK hops
Hopped down on Tuesday April 26th with Marton's E. Kent
1886 hops, att 6.5, Heat of store 52, bright and of good colour & flavour


X 15th April 1887
22 PA malt
can't see any water treatment
12 amber
5 crystal
13 sugar
Kent hops
GK hops
1/2 Pumped over Thursday 21st April Att 4.9
& remainder Friday evening Broke in 10 barrels Vat beer
4 barrels Porter & 2 barrels T.B.


XXK for vatting 19th April 1887
all soft liquor run over gypsum
64 pale malt
2 crystal
22 sugar
Worcester hops
GK hops
Poperinge hops
Pumped over into bottling batch Tuesday Morning 26th April
and run into No. 13 vat next day



AK 21st April 1887
all soft liquor run over gypsum
32 pale malt
10 sugar
Worcester hops
GK hops
Hopped down on Tuesday May 3rd with Atkinson's Worcester 1886
hops, att. 5.1, Heat of store 51, bright and of good colour and flavour


X and XX 23rd April 1887
22 PA malt
all soft liquor
30 amber
13 sugar
Worcester hops
GK hops
XX
Hopped down on Wednesday May 4th with Atkinson's Worcester 1886
hops, att. 8.4, Heat of store 49.5, bright and of good colour and flavour


XKK 4th May 1887
all gypsum liquor
28 pale malt Chilean
9 sugar
Worcester hops
GK hops
Hopped down on Tuesday May 17th with Marton's EK 1886
hops, att. 5.5, Heat of store 55, bright and of good colour and flavour


XK and AK 8th August 1887
all gypsum liquor
28 pale malt Chilean
6 sugar
Worcester hops
GK hops
XK
Hopped down on Saturday Aug 20th with Worcester 1886 hops,
att. 5.8, Heat of store 63, bright and of good colour and flavour
AK
Hopped down on Aug 20th with Worcester 1886 hops,
att. 5.3, bright and of good colour and flavour

The early days of Budweiser

No, not the American imposter. The Czech one. Well, one of the Czech ones.

As part of my random-statistics-I've-just-noticed-in-a-new-book series, here are ouput figures for (I think, I haven't really had time to read the chapter properly) Budweiser Bürgerbräu from the 1890's.

Why am I publishing them? No particular reason. Except perhaps that it shows the Czech love of relatively weak lagers. What's listed as Schankbier would be 10º. Lagerbier would 12º. (What some insist on calling "Bohemian Pilsner", despite that term being unknown in Bohemia.) Less than a quarter of the brewery's output was the stronger stuff.

Thanks to Velky Al and Evan Rail for getting scans of the book to me. I'm sure it will come in dead handy for my book on the history of central European Lager. "Aren't you writing a book on British beer?" Yes, I am. The Lager one will come after that. If I ever get it finished. (I currently have 155,000 words or nearly 400 pages.)

A little piece of heaven

I had a plan. Not just a plan, but a printed itinerary and a bespoke pub guide. Including bus timetables and maps. That's the sort of bloke I am. Scarily organised. But, you guessed it, things didn't quite go to plan . . . .

We started the day by taking the train from Forchheim to Ebermannstadt. Thankfully, I persuaded Mike a taxi from Roter Ochs to the station was a good idea. My luggage seemed to have doubled in weight with the addition of the bottles of beer generously given me by Nick and Jim. The driver was the same one who had driven us in the opposite direction two days earlier. Small town this Forchheim.

I decided to lighten my burden while we were waiting on the platform and popped the Bock. 7.2% ABV. The perfect breakfast beer. Yet even before we'd left Forchheim, I knew my plan was in trouble.

Our intended destination was Brauerei Meister in Unterzaunsbach. Just 3 minutes on the train to Pretzfeld, then a bus. The latter was the sticking point. It only runs five times on Saturday. And we'd miss the 11:16. As the we tootled along through fields of yellow grain framed by dark green woods we discussed our options. "This Bock is really rather nice." "Can we get back to the matter in hand, Ron?" "If you insist."

There was a fallback plan. I told you I'm scarily organised. When it comes to beer. The rest of my life is a mess. "There are a couple of alternatives in Pretzfeld." I showed Mike my little map. "What's the blue marker mean?" "That's a beer garden." "And the red ones?" "Pubs. And a brewery. One that's a bit of an oddity around here. A new brewery."

Mike looked at the pub entries. I could have predicted which would catch his eye. "What's the scale of this map?" "No idea." "How far is it from the station to this pub?" He pointed at a marker almost off the the edge "No idea." He was starting to look unimpressed with my preparations. Bloody cheek.

By now we'd rolled into Ebermannstadt. The air was accented by the acrid smoke of a steam locomotive. I'd explained to Mike several times about the preserved railway that continued on from Ebermannstadt where the DB line ended. But he still seemed surprised. He's as bad as Dolores. Never pays attention to what I say.

A friendly old dear who couldn't have been much younger than 80 booked us into Brauerei Gasthof Sonne. There wasn't another soul to be seen. I noticed a pile of Brauwelts behind the desk. "I subscribe to that." "Really." Mike didn't sound very impressed.

Luggage dumped, we were soon back at the station. The steam locomotive was still pootering about the yard, coughing smoke. The platform was filled with teenagers, bound for the bright lights of Forchheim. I could see how it would appear like Chicago compared to Ebermannstadt.

I'd imagined Pretzfeld as a small town. Walking through it, I was reminded of the cluttered villages between Eisenach and Mühlhausen, windy streets without room for a pavement and barns sedately returning to dust. Very nice. Except when a car came past.

Blow me. I've forgotten to tell you which pub so took Mike's fancy. Richter. Gasthaus und Metzgerei Richter to give it its full title. It was the Metzgerei bit that grabbed Mike. Butcher. You don't get many pub butchers in Britain. Or anywhere else I can think of, apart from Bavaria. This one had yet one more attraction. It was a distillery, too.

Problem was, it wasn't in Pretzfeld, but Hagenbach, the next village. Mike was still keen. A bit like one of my kids. "Please, dad, can we go to the distillery - butchers - pub? Can we? Please." "OK, if it's not too far. Let's see how long it takes to walk to Nikl-Bräu. That's about a third of the way."

We hadn't got that far when Mike spotted a signpost: Hagenbach 1.6 km. Just a mile. Even I could manage that. You should have seen the look of joy on Mike's face when I finally agreed.

The walk was rather pleasant. There was even a footpath/bikepath so we weren't risking being ploughed down by a car. The road was bordered by fields of wheat and orchards with lines of gnarled apple and plum trees. Beyond, wooded hills walled the valley, broken occasionally by outcrops of bare, grey rock. As someone who scarcely ever strays outside the builtup comb (literally translated Dutch expression there) of Amsterdam, it was a rare treat. This being in the countryside thing. If the sun hadn't been shining, it would have been near perfect.

Finding Richter was no challenge. Especially as there was a sign saying "Gasthaus und Metzgerei Richter 800 m."Even without it, a search of the village would have taken less time than a Ramones number. Played live. We took seats in the beer garden.

I doubt I'll be able to do Richter justice in words. Special, magical, unique. Orchard. A distorted, ancient apple tree, boughs splaying in every direction provided the shade. The branches emerging so low from the trunk that we had to bend near double to take our places. To our right, a barn of battered and faded wood. To our left, open countryside abruptly terminated by a precipitous slope, wrapped in a green velvet cloak of trees. To our front the rest of the orchard, sunlight speckling the grass.

The waitress brought us menus, ducking her head beneath an outstretched branch. "Two Dunkles, please." "She'll end up a hunchback working here." Mike said somewhat prosaicly.

So began one of the most leisurely and pleasurable afternoons I've had in a long while. Sitting in the cool shade, listening to the crickets make cricketing noises, sipping beer and Zwetschgenbrand, tucking into perfect pork, while the sun made its slow transit across the sky. Even occasional gunfire couldn't break the spell.

We managed to tear ourselves away after four and a half hours, leaving a little piece of our hearts in that idyllic garden. Only when leaving did I notice that they should have closed an hour earlier. Yet no-one tried to shoo us away nor did they refuse our requests for more drinks.

A little piece of heaven. Right here on earth.

I debated whether to pass on the details. Richter's not a place I'd want spoiled. Please don't disappoint me.


You probably want to know what beer they sell, don't you? Penning Vollbier and Wolfshöher Pils. Not worldbeaters, but tasty enough. The Zwetschgenbrand though, now there was something. A delicate mix of plum and flowers, smooth and rounded, without a trace of alcohol burn. Nectar.

Could we possibly match such a perfect day? Tune in tomorrow and find out. You may be in for a surprise . . .


Gasthaus und Metzgerei Richter
Hagenbach 23,
91362 Pretzfeld
Tel: 09194 / 262
Fax: 09194 / 79 58 45
http://www.gasthof-richter.de/



Mike's view


To be perfectly honest, I didn't know much about the Fränkische Schweiz before the trip (not that I am an expert about it now!). My parents were from Berlin, so I grew up with German food and culture, but this was something different.

Once we left Ebermanstadt for the countryside on Saturday morning, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Knowing Ron, I knew that beer would soon appear and that it would probably be good. When we got to Pretzfeld, I saw from the map Ron had made that three of the four pubs lay in a row - the first was across the way from the railroad station (about seven meters).

We passed the second pub (in Pretzfeld) on the way to the third: Gasthaus und Metzgerei Richter. It was a walk, but the weather was good and the walk was pleasant. As Ron has suggested, if this is what heaven is like - Lord, take me now!

Drinking beer is, for me, an experience - it includes much more than only the beer. Most of the other things are intangibles - light, sound, feeling, etc. Richter, for both Ron and me, got all those intangibles just right. It didn't take us more than one or two beers to decide to skip the plans for the afternoon and just stay in this idyllic place.

I found it ironic that here was a pub that had gotten virtually everything right, yet would not even be a blip on the pub radar of Ratebeer or Beeradvocate. Afterall, they had only two beers, neither of which is very well known outside the region. Schnapps (did Ron mention the butcher also made his own distillates?) usually also falls beneath the radar of self-proclaimed "beer geeks." Well, that's fine with me.

We ended up staying at Richter about four hours. I could have stayed longer, but we had a train to catch (not to mention that the place was essentially closed and we were the last guests). Our waitress even opened the butcher shop for me before we left so that I could buy some meat to bring home.

The next day (Sunday) we were to have a similar, but not the same, experience in another small village. I wonder how many more there are?