Previously: 40 Years in Beer (Book II), Part 64: The 2,301 day McOldenberg Brewmall 1990s vigil.
Faithful “40 Years” readers will recall my first-ever visit to Bamberg, Germany in 1991 alongside cousin and mentor Donald Barry. Think of it as a student-professor, Boswell-and-Johnson reprise with amazing beer.
During subsequently journeys I’ve spent as much time in Bamberg as anywhere in Europe apart from those longer-term gigs in East Germany and Slovakia, but it remains that there was a time when my love for this city and its beer culture was new.
Early explorations of Bamberg made a deep and lasting impression on me. Of these the 1996 visit tops the chart by virtue of a single, earth-shattering revelation: Yes, it was possible to experience the city’s nine breweries on foot in a single day (with an asterisk), enjoying at least one half-liter of beer at each, and live to tell the tale, if groggily.
Thus the Smoky Treats brewery crawl of Bamberg unspooled successfully, with a resumption of beer drinking before noon the following day. I cannot in good conscience recommend such a tourist regimen to anyone, although it worked well enough for me. In my essay’s original 1996 configuration, written for publication in the F.O.S.S.I.L.S. Travel Dog, I began with words from Herr Trum, owner of the Brauerei Heller-Trum.
“We don’t try to make a beer for everyone. You like it — or you don’t.”
This statement did not emanate from current owner Matthias Trum, but rather from his father, as quoted by Michael Jackson in the Beer Companion. I was to meet Matthias for the first time in 1997, serendipitously, owing to a transcription error at Schlenkerla’s importer, reminding us that while organization and efficiency are wonderful, it’s always good to be just plain lucky.
I’ve used my 1996 essay as the basis for a comprehensive rewrite, so here’s the story of “Smoky Treats.”
The Bavarian brewing mecca of Bamberg is a city of 79,000 people (2022 est.) located in the historic German region of Franconia. A high speed rail line constructed during the early 2000s has cut the train time to Munich to a mere two hours and fifteen minutes; it used to be well over three hours.
It makes day trips in either direction possible, though probably not a day like the one recounted here.
Bamberg boasts a long history of ecclesiastical pursuits, dating a thousand years to the Holy Roman Empire and the construction of an abbey and cathedral perched above the swiftly flowing Regnitz River. Ornate residences for the “prince bishops” came later, forming a hilltop cathedral square that still attests to the pervasive power of the church.
The philosopher G. W. F. Hegel and writer E. T. A. Hoffmann both worked in Bamberg. The city’s Altes Rathaus (old town hall) dates from the 15th century and is an architectural gem, rising like a marooned ship from an island in the Regnitz, one side of the building lavishly decorated in the Baroque style, and the other side half-timbered in the traditional fashion.
UNESCO has designated Bamberg’s historic center a World Cultural Heritage monument, and one of the most compelling aspects of a visit to Bamberg is contrasting the older architectural flourishes of the urban tableau with modern, efficient amenities. It is a pleasing jumble of the anachronistic and the automatic.
But nothing is more closely associated with Bamberg than beer, and it’s why my then-wife and business partner Amy and I traveled there in 1996. At the time, nine breweries operated within the city, with “hundreds” more scattered throughout Franconia. Precise overall numbers are difficult to reckon; as of 2024, somewhere between 200 and 300 breweries are said to be operational in Franconia, dependent on how one defines the geography.
New-school “craft” breweries have opened, and old-school village pub and family breweries have closed. Franconian brewing might well have reached its post-WWII acme during the 1980s, buoyed by the region’s relative isolation during the period of communist separation.
German unification brought increased big-brewery consolidation; older family members retired and died, while potential heirs headed to the city to make real money. There probably were a hundred more breweries in Franconia when I first discovered Bamberg, and I’m fortunate to have caught glimpse of the old ways.
It will suffice to say that Bamberg remains the center of a traditional brewing region without parallel in Germany and the world.
In late June of we arrived from Munich to our accommodations at the late, great Maisel Bräu Stübl (Obere Königstrasse 38), a tavern and guesthouse conveniently located ten minutes by foot from the train station, and one that I’ve previously profiled.
40 Years in Beer, Part Thirty Four: In 1991, a smoky Bamberg sojourn with Happy Helmut
Next morning my travel companion wasn’t feeling well and elected to sleep in, leaving me with a few hours to fill. Over a hearty breakfast of crusty rolls, butter, jam, cheese, salami and coffee — consumed downstairs as the tavern was cleaned for another day’s trade — I began thinking back to my 1991 visit with Don and the hike we’d taken to the Altenburg hill, atop which rests a small castle (formerly an ecclesiastical residence) that affords a breathtaking view of Bamberg amid forested hills and pastoral valleys.
I decided to repeat this trek. The route from our lodging would take me through a cross-section of Bamberg’s architectural eras and physical landscapes, over the canal and the Regnitz to the Altstadt (old town), then uphill past the massive, rectangular, four-spired cathedral (consecrated in the 13th century) and its gardens, religious offices and clerical residences, into the tidy and modern western outskirts, and finally through fields of grain, hedged fence rows and groves to the crest of Altenburg hill, with a backdrop of ever-widening vistas.
It was an invigorating and thirst-inducing walk; church steeples and roof tops sometimes pierced the foggy morning skies. On the hilltop, relaxing on a park bench as a group of bright-faced young school children streamed past, I began looking at my city map and comparing locations to notes in CAMRA’s Good Beer Guide to Munich and Bavaria by Graham Lees.
It suddenly occurred to me that a brewpub wasn’t far away from where I was seated, back down the slope along marked paths through the fields, then into the well-scrubbed suburban heights. A beer for lunch? It sounded essential, and I set off in pursuit.
I hadn’t previously visited the brewery and pub of Greifenklau (Laurenziplatz 20), located about a half-mile due south of the cathedral, but I found it fairly easy off the main street at a quiet and immaculate square.
Scantily populated dining and drinking rooms yielded to an open door in the rear, through which a tidy beer garden could be seen. There were large trees for shade, picnic tables for comfort, and a fine view of the rural landscape.
It was crisp and cool in the beer garden, and I embraced my pint of Greifenklau’s house beer with gusto; it was a firmly malty amber lager served in a stoneware mug. A wee hint of smoke could be detected in the finish, and although Greifenklau’s beer is by no means intended as a Rauchbier, I’ve since learned that a small proportion of smoked malt is used, as purchased from the Spezial brewery. This makes me happy because I always thought I could taste it.
The pre-Euro price was DM 3.10 for a half-liter; at the prevailing exchange rate of about 1.43 Deutschmarks to one American dollar, it came out to around $2.10. That’s ridiculously inexpensive and probably 30% less than in a similar beer in Munich. Food, pork and lodging always were a bargain in Bamberg compared with larger German cities.
Resting in the peaceful Greifenklau beer garden as the regular lunch crowd shuffled in, I again unfolded the city map and glanced at my beer book. Less than a mile away from Greifenklau (all downhill) was the historic Kaiserdom Stuben (once the Burgerbrau Stubla; Urban-strasse 18), which at the time functioned as the primary central “taphouse” restaurant tied to Kaiserdom, Bamberg’s largest brewery.
Might as well stop; after all, it wasn’t out of the way.
The map revealed that three other breweries were close at hand, and slowly it dawned on me that a one-day, all-walking circuit of Bamberg’s nine breweries was possible if I made one exception and substituted Kaiserdom Stuben for the brewery in Gaustadt, which is a bit inconveniently situated on the city’s northwestern side.
As the scheme started bubbling in my mind, I set out from Greifenklau for the 15-minute walk to Kaiserdom Stuben. Readers might recall our pre-booked visit to Kaiserdom’s brewery in 1995 during the Doppelbock Viscosity Tour for the sole purpose of learning about its Rauchbier (a smoked, dark lager), and the brewery had none on hand.
We gleaned that the Rauchbier was brewed at another affiliated brewery near Bamberg for the sole purpose of export to America by Merchant du Vin; in fact, with eight competing breweries in Bamberg and numerous others in the countryside, Kaiserdom had long since resolved to be an aggressive exporter, shipping to places like Taiwan and Africa, emphasizing a tidy, almost generic “German-ness” above any intrinsic distinctiveness.
I chose a seat at the Kaiserdom Stuben and hopefully asked “Bitte, haben Sie Kaiserdom Rauchbier?” Again, predictably, there was none; my server helpfully offered Schlenkerla’s classic as a “guest” bottled beer, but I requested a draft Hefe-Weizen instead and it was fine, with citrusy esters and clove phenols. The pub itself was classically outfitted and pleasant, even if Kaiserdom remained the least impressive of the nine Bamberg breweries of the time.
However, it had survived. A tenth brewery closed just before my 1991 visit to the city, and the metal signs from dozens of others can be surveyed at the Franconian Brewing Museum on Michaelsberg hill.
With the restorative Hefe-Weizen finished, the Smoky Treats brewery crawl now commenced in earnest, with seven stops remaining and ample time before last orders.
Piece of cake, right?
Exiting the Kaiserdom Stuben, I crossed the Main-Donau canal, which runs parallel to the Regnitz, and might have taken a right turn as the quickest way to Wunderberg, the neighborhood where the Keesman, Mahrs and Maisel breweries were located, but instead turned left and walked back to our room to check in with Amy.
She was better but not ambulatory, so I bought her some stomach ache medicine at the apothecary across the street (as it turned out, highly alcoholic bitters), then consumed a bowl of excellent bean soup in the Maisel Bräu Stübl’s eatery, propelling me to the southeast for the next round of stops.
Wunderburg was four stop lights away, but as the Doppelbock Viscosity contingent had learned the previous year, the blocks get longer as you go. At least wasn’t a snowstorm as in 1995, and the foggy morning was yielding to a brilliant summer’s day. The 15-minute walk was a joy.
Then as now, the Keesmann (Wunderburg 5) and Mahrs Bräu (Wunderburg 10) breweries and taprooms face each other in a fin de siècle district where factories, shops and apartment houses are jumbled together. My first stop was Keesmann, where I sat in the deserted courtyard garden, observed the working brewery on two sides around me and listened to the mechanical clink and hum of the bottling line.
My third beer of the day was the brewery’s signature Herren Bamberger Pils; as with Pilsner Urquell, a faint note of estery fruitiness adds an unexpectedly savory dimension, while hops refresh the palate.
Across the street lies Mahrs, where the ’95 Doppelbockers sampled a great Weizenbock in the company of a pumping ceramic stove and numerous local luminaries during late winter. Alas, this seasonal beer was not a choice for summertime.
Green and white benches overflowed beer drinkers as I proceeded through the shady courtyard to the self-service window dispensary. My choice was Bavarian Vollbier at the sadistically cheap price of DM 2.80, served in a half-liter stoneware mug. It struck me as a better Helles than those served in Munich, while half the price of its cousins in the south.
Beyond this, I was quite impressed with the 50-something woman tending bar, all sternness and unforgiving authority on the surface, but underneath her gruff exterior…still more sternness and unforgiving authority. It was comforting.
From the twin breweries in Wunderburg, a ten-minute stroll via the railroad underpass led to the antique red-brick Maisel Brauerei (Moosstrasse 46) and its adjoining Maisel-Keller (4). Yet another inviting beer garden awaited, this one adorned with darkly painted wooden fences and awnings; small statues of mischievous trolls were strategically placed in the shrubbery where they appeared to be urinating on the flowers, and there was a large set of playground equipment to keep the kids busy while the parents got their drink on.
Imagine that; playground equipment at a beer garden. In Indiana, as in many other American states, such a placement would violate numerous age restrictions and prohibitions. In Germany, sensibly, the presence of playground equipment is regarded as a service to the customers.
You be the judge as to which system is more civilized.
I sat at a log bench worn smooth by the posteriors of numerous discerning patrons, close by a chalkboard advertising a forthcoming televised soccer match, and ordered a draft Maisel Keller Bier from husky, crewcut young waiter who seemed to be running the whole show that afternoon, and doing quite a fine job of it.
The Keller Bier arrived in yet another stoneware mug. There was an earthy, dry, lingering hop character to this specialty golden lager, which had the body of a Helles beer but more hops. Talk about a session beer; this Keller was infinitely refillable.
While sipping, I watched the joking interplay between my waiter and a teenage girl. She came into the beer garden with an older lady, surely her mother, who promptly began issuing orders to staff; I pegged her as a manager or owner. The girl began flirting with the waiter. She had coal black, shoulder length hair and Mediterranean features.
The waiter dared the girl to hit him in the stomach, and after some hesitation, she did. Her fist bounced off, and she pretended to be hurt. They both laughed, and then mom emerged from the kitchen’s service entrance. It was time to go, and mother and daughter exited together. I saw the waiter looking after them with a wistful expression.
Had he impressed the proprietor’s daughter? Would they live happily ever after? Where are they now? I finished my beer, paid the DM 3.50 tab, and hit the street. Five down, four to go.
Returning to Maisel Bräu Stübl for a second check, I found she was better. In the face of my agitated proclamations linking the fate of mankind and my own fragile mental health to the completion of the brewery crawl, it was decided that I’d resume the quest to Fässla and Spezial, both nearby on Obere Königstrasse, and then we’d head together into the Alstadt for the last two breweries and an evening meal.
First came Brauereigasthof Fässla (Obere Königstrasse 19/21), oldest of Bamberg’s family-run breweries. Not unexpectedly, bountiful wood comprised the dominant motif of Fässla’s comfortable interior décor. Refurbishing had been undertaken since my first visit in 1991, when I noted the clientele’s unprepossessing, proletarian composition.
In 1996 it remained such, and they were still knocking back Fässla’s two most popular offerings, Lagerbier and Pils, poured from small wooden barrels tapped from the bar top. I had a pint of my preferred Lagerbier (DM 2.90), with a richly golden, almost coppery color. The palate is malty, but with plenty of balancing hops and a tantalizing hint of burnt, caramelized smokiness in the finish.
I’ve said it numerous times: As a drinker of Stroh’s during earlier days, Fässla’s Lagerbier is what Stroh’s thinks it was back then, but never managed to be.
Directly across the street from Fässla is Brauereigastatte Spezial (Obere Königstrasse 10), another family-owned, tiny brewpub set in a beautiful, half-timbered building, all white and dark brown, with flowers festooning the windows and a simple metal sign announcing the identity of the business.
During the years to come, my Bamberg base of operations would shift to Spezial’s upstairs guest rooms, because Spezial is home to Bamberg’s “other” Rauchbier brewed on a full-time basis, one known simply as Spezial Lagerbier and utterly delicious. Drinking and eating are undertaken from large communal tables; whenever the servers spot an empty glass, another appears and is tallied with hash marks on coasters.
Spezial’s Lagerbier is a mildly smoked amber lager, crisp and poundable at around 4.5%; very refined and elegant. It lacks the knockout punch of Schlenkerla, but possesses an abundant and subtle character all its own, and in my view is the best introduction to the genre for newbies (alas, as of 2024, it is not exported).
Now seven half-liters into the challenge, I returned to Maisel Bräu Stübl for the third time since embarking on my brief morning’s stroll. Would Amy be ready to accompany me on the final two legs of Smoky Treats?
Yes, she was. We set out in the direction of the historic old town, back across the canal, through the “newer” university, market square and commercial areas, over the stone bridge that anchors the old town hall to the shores of the Regnitz, and into the district at the foot of cathedral hill. The final two brewery pubs awaited: Klosterbräu Braunbierstubla and Schlenkerla.
Desirous of saving Schlenkerla for last, we headed southeast on Judenstrasse (Jewish Street) to Klosterbräu Braunbierstubla (Obere Muhlbrucke 3). From an open, airy interior entry, brawny wooden doors lead to the various rooms of the pub — some snug, some large — and into the brewery itself, which dates to the 16th century. At that time it was the property of the bishopric, and monks did the brewing.
I opted for a Klosterbräu Bruin Bier at DM 3.40, brownish-amber in color and rather like an Altbier in character, albeit perfectly clean with balanced maltiness. Klosterbräu offers a chunkier dark lager, “Achd Bambarcha Schwärzla,” which means “real Bamberger black” in the local dialect. Klosterbräu survives in 2024 and continues to offer testimony to the history of church brewing in Central Europe.
At this juncture, the fatigue of eight hours with roughly a half-liter per hour, much walking, a minimum of food and no thought whatever to hydration apparently had me in a hallucinogenic state. My notebook, scrawled as we were seated at the Braunbierstubla:
Eight half-liters so far … can this be played out to the remaining stop? Can I drink – can I even walk – to the last half-liter and finish this brutal endurance contest? Are the eyes of F.O.S.S.I.L.S. on me, urging me forward, telling me to do it for the honor of the club? A burden … a responsibility … a solemn obligation … my task involves all these things. Is it any coincidence that I’ve been reading Joyce’s Ulysses? Wishful thinking… (illegible words).
From the attractive Klosterbräu tap in the shadow of a church where monks of olden times might have worshipped during breaks from their toil in the brewery, it is a short walk past clusters of well-maintained, centuries-old buildings to reach the most renowned of Bamberg’s pubs, where the world best smoked beer awaits: Schlenkerla (Dominikaner-strasse 6), home of Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Marzen (tavern only; the beers are brewed nearby but surely this doesn’t justify an asterisk).
The half-timbered building is entered through a foyer of sorts, where some passersby drink quick beers while standing or buy them to go. There’s a pub room to the left and a dining area to the right. The pub room is smaller and more intimate, while the dining room boasts graceful, arched ceilings and a sprinkling of rustic decor and murals.
Dark wood fills both rooms, giving the tavern a somber and subdued feel, as though one were entering a church or a holy shrine; in fact the larger dining area originally belonged to a monastery, and Schlenkerla is both a holy spot and the destination for pilgrims who cherish Rauchbier, who are heedless of the journey’s length and expense, especially when a server places a glass of Rauchbier atop the ancient, battle-scarred table, and it is lifted to one’s trembling lips, and smokiness soothes the palate with joy and heartfelt appreciation for a world where such beverages can exist to ward off the mediocrity of the lights, the drys, the ices and the frightened, timid taste buds destined never to comprehend the grandeur of beers like Schlenkerla’s Rauchbier.
These thoughts swirled past my aching feet, circulated through a fevered brow, and came to rest amid silent thanks for this noble, smoky treat in my hand. But not only that, a meal was merited to celebrate a long day’s progress.
In keeping with the “Smoky Treats” theme of the day, I ordered the first thing on the menu bearing the word “Rauch – ” as prefix, secure in the knowledge that whatever it was, there’d be smokiness, prefacing the victory cigar to be lit after dinner (Bavaria’s smoking ban became effective on 1 January 2008).
The entrée in question resembled smoked blood sausage and liver paste, and I devoured my portion with zeal despite a mild tinge of regret that I’d bypassed the house specialty smoked ham. It didn’t matter. The nine-pub, nine-hour and nine-beer crawl (or 10, maybe 11; you didn’t think I’d have just one at Schlenkerla?) solidified my faith in Bamberg as one of the world’s greatest beer cities, prompting dreams of more smoky treats in the years to come.
As a 2024 postscript, via Google Maps an approximate calculation of the distance traveled during the Smoky Treats brewery crawl can be made. It was at least 14.3 kilometers, or just shy of 9 miles, although I seem to have omitted a bit of the overland segment. I believe it’s safe to say I walked approximately 10 miles that day.
Of the “Smoky Treats” breweries patronized in 1996, eight remain in business in 2024, and of these, seven are owned by the same families as before (Mahrs being a confusing possible exception involving half-brothers).
The Maisel brewery died messily in 2008 following an inheritance dispute and a brief period of Danish ownership, with the brewery acreage eventually redeveloped in familiar “mixed use” fashion. The Maisel restaurant and garden now functions as the Fässla Keller (in German, a Keller is a cellar except in Bavaria, where it implies the outdoor beer garden situated above the lagering cellar).
I believe Klosterbräu actually closed for a period before being purchased and rehabilitated by none other than Kaiserdom, with most accounts concurring that the new ownership has been beneficial in every respect. And, as noted previously in this series, the Maisel Bräu Stübl (later called Bamberger Weissbierhaus) ceased in 2021.
Unless I’ve missed one, since 1996 there have been five brewery openings in Bamberg, bringing the current number to 13.
- 2003 Weyermann Röstmalzbierbrauerei (Brennerstrasse 17-19), the small test brewery at the world-famous malting house.
- 2004 Gasthausbrauerei Ambräusianum (Dominikanerstrasse 10), two doors down from Schlenkerla.
- 2016 Kron Prinz (Gaustadter Hauptstraße 109), with a family connection to Kaiserdom.
- 2019 Brauhaus Zum Sternla (Lange Str. 46), in the city’s oldest inn.
- 2021 Ahörnla Braugastatte (Obere Sandstr. 24), a brewery until 1961.
Next up for 40 Years in Beer: To be determined.