A bit of bubbly

On a not-so-recent trip to Paris, at the crack of dawn, my travel partner and I woke up early and headed for the train station. Our goal – the early train to Epernay, the capital of France’s Champagne region.
Having arrived in Epernay, our first stop was Moet Chandon (where else?). The home of Dom Perignon and the world’s largest champagne producer, Moet Chandon is housed in a variety of buildings along the Avenue du Champagne in downtown Epernay. Some of those buildings are old and charming and others, well, let’s just say the newest building in the Moet Chandon empire looks rather like a suburban high school.
That didn’t keep us from checking out the tour. Luckily, there were only six people there, so we got up private tour of sorts. Of the 28 km of dark, damp cellars spreading out underneath the Moet Chandon facility, we must have walked about 1 km past countless thousands of champagne bottles reposing in the dark.
The first steps in making champagne are much like making wine. First, the grapes are pressed and the juice from the first two to three pressings are put in large tanks to age before bottling. Unlike wine, champagne is bottle-fermented, so the thick-walled (and thereby burst-resistant) bottles are outfitted with a temporary cap and left to lay in the cellars for three to six years. After fermenting the bottles are moved into upright wood racks, where they can be stored at a gradually increasing angle to move the sediment to the neck of the bottle. The apprenticeship alone for the individual who turns and sets the angle of the bottles takes two to three years, and no machines are used (or so they say). Once the bottle fermentation is complete, the sediment is flash frozen in a bath of liquid nitrogen and removed. At that point, a mixture of wine and sugar is added to the champagne and it is corked for the final time. At least that’s what they tell us.
For those interested in more of a show, Mercier is another cellar owned by the same group as Moet Chandon, but with a screen surround audiovisual and laser show, an elevator with moving figures preparing champagne, and an electric train leading through the cellars. A bit over the top for me, but others on the tour loved it.
The city of Epernay is attractive if not particularly memorable, and on our visit looked a little desolate other than for bus-riding tourists. One memory from Epernay has little to do with champagne but will remain with me forever: there was a public restroom in Epernay which was wholly self-contained. It was made of stainless steel or some other easy to clean surface, and the door opened automatically to let “customers” in and out. After reluctantly going in, I was somewhat concerned that it might choose to let me out before I was finished doing my business, thereby giving all of Epernay a chance to take a gander at the American on the toilet. The sink was right above the toilet, which was a bit weird as well. Upon leaving this strange steel bathroom-pod the door closed again, and the entire interior of the restrooms was automatically disinfected and cleaned before it would allow anyone else to enter. Very strange. I have to wonder if anyone has ever been trapped in there during the cleaning process, and how they fared.

If you can’t eat you might as well drink

Apropos of church, some of the most enduring beers were originally brewed by monks, including the famous Starkbier of Munich and its surroundings. It’s loud and chaotic, but the Starkbierfest is a beer festival with a pedigree. Beer has long been regarded a staple in the Bavarian diet, but it is the notion of beer as “liquid bread” which led the monks of St. Francis of Paula to brew a hearty beer to sustain them through the final weeks of lent and the fasting which leads up to Easter. That beer and the brewery which grew out of it, both named Paulaner Salvator, started a tradition of double-bock beers which survives to this day.
Every spring Munich’s breweries gear up the production of their strongest, richest beers – beers with names like Salvator, Optimator, and Maximator. These dark beers, “strong beers” according to the literal translation, are served in heavy half liter of liter ceramic mugs rather than the usual glasses. As many an unsuspecting visitor to Munich has discovered the double bocks they are almost twice as strong as a normal beer with over 7% alcohol by volume.
The festival is more than just beer, however. The Starkbierfest is called the “fifth season” in Bavaria, and the beer halls of the city are crawling with stout men in their lederhosen, heavy woolen socks and green Loden jackets. The Starkbierfest, like the Oktoberfest, is considered a family event, and the Bavarian women in their long skirts and dirndls are also present, often with the children and the extended family. Where there are Bavarians there is music, and the beer halls reverberate with the local folk music. The atmosphere at the Starkbierfest is friendly and celebratory, with far fewer tourists than the more famous Oktoberfest.
The traditional home of the Starkbierfest is Paulaner’s Salvatorkellar, known in Munich by its location, Nockherberg. The Salvatorkellar is at Hochstraße 77 on the Nockherberg and can be reached by streetcars 15, 25, and 27. If you are in town, don’t miss the opportunity to try one of the other fine double-bock beers in one of Munich’s many other beer halls, in particular that of Löwenbräu on Stiglmaierplatz.
The Starkbierfest is held the 4th and 3rd weeks before Easter. This year’s Starkbierfest started with the traditional Starkbieranstich on March 11, 2007.

A new church for me

Ok, I’m not much of a church goer, but I may have found a little bit of religion. My wife has recently started to go to the local Episcopal church with the kids (which I’m ok with), but I don’t go except on holidays. Don’t get me wrong – I like the progressive viewpoint, the church is pretty, but church services don’t really do it for me.
There is one thing, however, which has helped nudge (and I do mean nudge) me in the direction of becoming a bit more of a churchgoer and that’s – well, beer. You see, the priest (I think that’s what they are called in the episcopal church) is a bit of a beer fan, and has started a beer club called the Franklin Society, after a well-known quote from Benjamin Franklin. Now, beer and churches have a long and mutually beneficial history, and this is arguably just a new chapter in a very old book. Nonetheless, it’s one I enjoy, and one which will hopefully lead to new and interesting posts in the future. Either way, it should broaden my beer horizons a bit, which is always a good thing.
Who knows, I may discover religion yet …

Not the Pitts

We’ve just returned from a city which, much like my home city of Philadelphia, suffers from an old, worn reputation it no longer deserves. I’m talking about Pittsburgh. Now, Pittsburgh still has its issues, but it’s no longer the smog-filled steeltown of old. One thing which is left from those days (combined with a significant German population) is a legacy of beers. Now, not all of those beers are great, but the beer tourist still has a few worthy things to see.
First of all is the Pittsburgh Brewing company, an old-school American brewery which has been in the same location on Liberty Ave in Pittsburgh for over 140 years. According to Factory Tours in PA, the brewery can be toured from April through November, although the brewery website doesn’t say so. Either way, I’ve never been, but one of these days I will. If you are in the neighborhood and can’t tour Pittsburgh Brewing, you can still make your way to beer experience of a different sort. Just a short way down the street from Pittsburgh brewing is the Church Brew Works, where you can worship at the altar of beer (quite literally) and enjoy a fine example of adaptive reuse. The brewery is housed in an old Catholic church, and where the altar once stood there is a large brewing house. It’s a worthy visit, if just for the unique environment, but the beer’s not bad either.
Finally, another old building has been renovated and, in this instance, brought back to its original purpose in the Penn Brewery. Fans of German music and food will enjoy a visit, particularly during the various German-style events, but we’ve been to the restaurant a few times and always had a good time. The old brewery buildings provide a great backdrop for good German-style beers. In summer, a nice patio area provides outdoor seating as well.

On the River Horse

So, closer to home (at least for us) we visited the River Horse Brewing Company in Lambertville, New Jersey. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that New Jersey remains for me a foreign country, and I always expect to have to change money when I go there. More importantly, I still fail to appreciate the charms of the Jersey jughandle, a strange way of turning left which involves turning right first. Thankfully, Lambertville is right over the bridge from New Hope, PA, so we were able to simply park the car and walk.
In any case, the first place we walked was to River Horse, which is in what clearly used to be the industrial section of this practically too cute Victorian village. The brewery itself is in what looks to be an old mill of some sort (anyone know the answer?). Entering the brewery the first sight is a cozy tasting area, with a bar on one side and a very old table (surrounded by handsome River Horse merchandise) on the other. Behind the bar is a door, and the tour pretty much consists of the guy behind the bar opening the door and saying “Here for the tour?”
The main operating portion of the brewery is on the first floor, with only a few lagering tanks on the second. The brewery isn’t large, but you’re free to wander and check out the facility.
As for the beer, I really enjoyed the Lager, and may have to go back and get a case (did I mention that we parked the car and walked to the brewery?). The brewery is open for tours seven days a week, 12-5. Lambertville offers a lot of kitschy shops, particularly antiques, but it’s not wholly given over to the tourist trade.

The Pilsner Urquell brewery, a retrospective

We stood huddled together in the narrow damp tunnels. A chill fog was in the air, and above us ran frosted pipes, moisture dripping on to the cold stone floor below. The tunnels were filled to the left and to the right with wooden barrels, each filled with rich smooth Pilsner Urquell beer at varying stages of the brewing process. Those barrels are gone now, replaced with soulless but practical stainless steel, but this is the story of a visit to one of the world’s finest breweries before it embraced volume over quality.
The tunnel to the right contained the fermenters, large wooden barrels the size of a washer drier combo or perhaps a large jacuzzi. In each barrel, the brewed beer was left to ferment for about 30 days or so until was is ready to be lagered, or stored.
To the left were the lagering barrels, stacked three or four high. Once the beer has been pumped into the lagering barrels, it has only six more months to go before being kegged and shipped throughout the world to pubs in Europe, the United States, and Asia.
Over time, the chill became more pronounced, and the visitors began to move around in a vain attempt warm themselves. The tunnels are tapped to be between 36 to 30 degrees Fahrenheit, cold temperatures for shorts-and-sneakers-wearing tourists such as ourselves. Looking up at the frosted pipe which cool the tunnels, it occured to me that we were in one of the largest refrigerators in the world, with over 9 km of tunnels cut in the the hillside across from the industrial town of Pilsen.
Above the huge expanse of tunnels sprawls the brewery itself, with 32 kettles brewing a total of 1.3 Hectoliters of beer every year. Pilsner Urquell was, at the time, one of the few breweries still making its own malt, and a single train car was used to move the freshly made malt from a large malting house to the brewery itself.
The brewing tradition in Pilsen is strong, with some of the best hops in the world coming from the surrounding area as (Saaz, or Zatec) and years of brewing tradition. This tradition, the wooden barrels with the complicated pitching process, the malt house, and the concentration on beer rather than production was left largely untouched by the Communist regime. Unfortunately, Pilsner Urquell’s very success has ruined that long-held tradition, as the brewery switched to stainless steel lagering tanks in an effort to keep up production and revenue. I haven’t been back since that tour many years ago, but the beer is clearly different, and that’s a shame. Still, it’s a trip every true beer lover should make.

On a hill overlooking a lake …

Sticking with beer for the moment, we’ve moved across the ocean again, to a place that is simply wonderful in the fall. Kloster Andechs is a monastery located on a hill in the lake country just south of Munich, and offers fine beer in a beautiful setting.
Always one to combine healthy activity with my beer drinking, I would recommend that you take the S-Bahn (the local regional rail) to Herrsching and then hike the forest path up to the beergarden. The walk takes an hour or so, and you can always take a bus back down if you can’t make it.
The specialty of the house is the thick brown beer, which is no longer sold on weekends due to its high alcohol content (and the accidents which resulted). There’s an indoor beer hall which is very rustic in a traditional Bavarian sort of way, but the real beauty of the place is the outdoor beergarden. The beergarden is a multi-level, ancient looking place with more character than you could possibly hope for. Indoors you can grab a freshly-baked pretzel, a massive roast ham hock, spiral-cut radishes and a host of other specialties.
Don’t forget to check out the beautiful monastery grounds while you’re here (or, if you’re not a history buff, send the others to look at the monastery while you have another).

A pilgrimage, of sorts

So, this weekend we finally made it it out to the new Yard’s brewing company, in the not-so-lovely (but up-and-coming) Kensington section of Philadelphia. I wanted to visit Yard’s back when they were in Manayunk, near our own section of town, but I never made it. But when Yards combined their clear desire to brew beer the old-fashioned way with the purchase of a genuine, old-time brewery building, I was quite smitten. After all, Philadelphia’s long legacy of brewing is embodied in a whole series of decaying and disappearing brewery facilities, and anything which saves one of these nifty old buildings is a good thing in my book. Yard’s has gone that one better, by turning that old brewery into a new brewery!
The brewery is housed in the old Weisbrod and Hess brewery, which hadn’t brewed beer since 1939. The building is larger than the brewery’s needs for now, and they are clearly restoring it on an as-needed basis, but the parts they’ve done look good and the remainder is at least the beneficiary of more maintenance than it’s had in a long time.
To add to the enjoyment, the tour is very informal, very friendly, and pretty informative as well. There’s a fantastic old room which has been turned into a comfortable tap room for those who are waiting for a tour, and the brewery itself is contained on two floors of the old brewery.
Now, as noted, it’s not the best neighborhood in the world (we may or may not have witnessed a drug deal while driving around to see the rest of the building), but the beer is good and Yards deserves kudos for returning this great old building to its original function. By all means check it out.

Nobody home?

Continuing this blog’s wild swings across the ocean, we’re back in the UK again, this time in Devon, home to heavy cream (among other things). It’s also home to another pub which is worthy of a trip, the Nobody Inn in tongue-twisting Doddiscombsleigh, near Exeter. That is, it was home to the Nobody Inn, but when I checked the website this morning nothing showed up.
Anyway, the Nobody Inn is very well known for its incredible wine list, and deservedly so, since I think it exceeds 1000 at this point. It is less known for its very respectable selection of Scotch and the availability of some lovely local beers on tap. Either way, you can’t really go wrong at the Nobody Inn, unless I suppose you’re a fan of mixed drinks.
Even better, this is a place which feels like a pub, in the small-town, hundreds of years old kind of way. When we went it was winter, and we were staying in the Inn a couple of doors down. After crunching through the frost to get to the inn there was nothing more welcoming than the warm glow of lights on the low timbered ceilings, complimented by the hum of happy voices and the clinking of glasses. We’re not the kind of people who repeat restaurants when we travel, but we must have gone to the Nobody Inn four evenings running, a record for us.

And now for something completely different

So, having written yesterday about a European pub steeped in tradition and Scotch, now I’m sitting here at home thinking about something very different – the Flying Fish Brewing company in lovely Cherry Hill, New Jersey. More particularly, I’m drinking a pleasant enough (if decidedly un-Bavarian) beer called Oktoberfish, a seasonal beer brewed, not surprisingly, in October. I’ll cover the Oktoberfest in more detail at a later date, but the many “fest” beers resemble nothing I’ve ever tasted at or near the Oktoberfest. Of course, that doesn’t mean they aren’t pleasant beers, and I enjoy a number of them.
Back to Flying Fish. I have to confess, I’m not a fan of New Jersey in general, or Cherry Hill in particular. I also have to say that the Flying Fish Brewery, set in a nondescript corporate park along a typical New Jersey highway, is not really going to give you the warm fuzzies going in. They make up for it, however, in providing probably the most cheerful and accomodating tour available. Hell, check their website, they’ll even let you bring your dog. That, and they brew some very fine beers.