Most beer lovers will have heard of the medieval German Purity Law, or Reinheitsgebot. The idea of the Reinheitsgebot plays to all of our British stereotypes about Germany. We think manufacturing excellence, but we also think rigid and unimaginative. Good lager, but it all tastes the same. (And the word “Reinheit”, when delivered in a suitably clipped voice, can sound scary to those of us who have watched too many World War 2 films)
As with all beer myths, the true story is longer in the telling. You can certainly get rock solid quality German pilsner. But you can get more than that. As with Germany and its people more generally, German beer is worth the effort to take a bit of time to get to know.
The Reinheitsgebot was decreed by Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria in 1516. It contains the famous provision that beer may only consist of barley, hops and water. But not everything you know about it is true. For example
The word “Reinheitsgebot” was coined by the Bavarian politician Hans Rauch in 1918. The context was the establishment of the Weimar Republic after the First World War, and the proposal to absorb Bavaria into the new Germany. Beer law was the hill on which the Bavarians decided to fight in terms of their state identity and its preservation. The result was the 1919 law, which squared the circle between Bavaria and the rest of Germany by holding the line on the ingredients for beer of low fermentation (i.e. lager) but allowing more flexibility for beer of high fermentation (i.e. ale).
This highlights a certain creative tension: between Bavaria and the rest of Germany, and between ale and lager. Piecing it together, the two things were linked. For that, we return to Bavaria for yet another law, this time the 1553 Decree which banned brewing during the summer months. The likeliest explanation is that this was with an eye to fire prevention in Munich. It had momentous consequences for beer, as it forced production methods to change and a new time of beer emerged. A new variety of yeast, capable of operating at lower temperatures in the bottom of the vat, was developed through experimentation and cross-breeding. People realised that beer produced using this yeast and matured in cold storehouses had a distinctive and pleasant taste. The beer was named after the cold storehouse - “lager”.
The reaction against this innovation was strong. Most famously, Cologne banned lager in 1603, with denunciations of the use of “bottom yeast” in brewing. Was lager really so offensive? Looking at the broader historical context, Cologne had just emerged from a nasty religious civil war which had ended with the Protestant Elector Ernst in charge. And the Bavarians were a bit, well, Catholic. (The good folk of Cologne were also active witch burners at this time - see my previous blog for my considered thoughts on this https://www.londonbiermeister.co.uk/blog/the-beer-witch-project-march-2021. But they had a nice cathedral).
Having made this stand of principle, Cologne brewers quietly adopted a hybrid process whereby they used top fermentation followed by “lagering”, to produce a style which became known as “Kolsch”. Nearby in Dusseldorf, they did something very similar and produced “Altbier”. The two are extremely similar. But try telling that to a devoted beer drinker from one city or other. One man who tried to do so is the gloriously named Professor Helmut Quack from Dusseldorf University of Applied Sciences. In 2016, he found a group of fifty men from each city. They were all adamant that they knew and preferred their own city’s product. But in a blind tasting, they couldn’t tell the difference.
This did not go down well. “Dear Professor Quack”, wrote a columnist in the Koelner Stadt-Anzeiger newsletter, “we will stick with Kolsch. Do you have any friends?”
The strongest refutation of the “German-beer-it’s-all-the-same-innit” hypothesis comes in the form of Gose. A sour, salty, wheaty beer originating in Goslar, near Leipzig. Like its Belgian near-homophone, Gueuze (so far as I can tell the words are not related) it is an acquired taste that not everyone wants to acquire. This might explain why it literally disappeared as a beer style at different points in the 20th century. But it was revived in old East Berlin in the late 1980s and the concept has been picked up in other countries.
Even that workhorse, lager, is more varied than you might have thought. Initially, Bavarian lager was dark. We had “Dunkel” beer, and “Bock”. The transformation came in the 19th century. When, at the risk of reinforcing stereotypes, German manufacturers exploited an English invention and made it their own. Daniel Wheeler invented a rotating iron drum - based on a coffee roaster - for drying and roasting malt. This made possible a pale and clean tasting malt, which in turn made the pale beer that we now recognise. A Bavarian called Josef Groll perfected the process at his brewery in the Czech city of Pilsen. Groll’s fellow Bavarians stole his idea with pride, and basically “pilsner” lager conquered the world. But the variety remained. See my previous “Oktoberfest” blog for more on the Bavarian tradition (https://www.londonbiermeister.co.uk/blog/o-zapft-is-wies-n-december-2020)
The Reinheitsgebot as hard law suffered a blow in 1987 when the European Court of Justice, chaired by the estimable Scot Lord Mackenzie Stuart, ruled that it could not be applied to beer imported from the rest of the EU. Louis Pasteur would have nodded approvingly from his grave as a group of French brewers finally managed to stick one to the Germans - see previous blog https://www.londonbiermeister.co.uk/blog/the-appliance-of-science-april-2021 - but actually it didn’t matter too much. Consumer power kept the brand strong. German beer is still better than French beer, and everyone knows it.
(Incidentally, German politicians shrugged philosophically and noted that being in the EU meant winning some and losing some. Just saying…)
As I mentioned last time, my own favourite German beer is the “Helles” - subtly different from “Pilsner” - from the Augustiner brewery of Munich. It is worth exploring the different styles. Try a “Bock” from one of the big breweries, or even a “Doppelbock” if you are feeling adventurous. Try a “Fest” or a “Marzen” for Oktoberfest in, er, September. I have particular fond memories of Dusseldorf Altbier - try Schlosser Alt - from visiting my parents when they lived in Dusseldorf Altstadt. And do sample the “Rauchbier” (smoked malt) from the scholarly Matthias Trum’s Schlenkerla brewery.
Do also look for German-style beers from other countries. Despite appearances to the contrary I don’t have it in for the whole city of Cologne, but the best Kolsch I have ever tasted is the Tzara from our own Thornbridge. For a Gose, try the Danish “gypsy collective” brewers To Ol, whose "Santa Gose F*** It All" is definitely worth a taste.
Happy New Year, and here’s to more enjoyment of beer in 2022.