Oktoberfest beers bring a sparkle of Bavarian sunshine, and help lift the autumn gloom

September was a pretty lean month as far as articles were concerned, with just seven posted on the blog, which constitutes the lowest monthly total for a long, long time. I’m not sure of the reason, especially as our trip to Northumberland provided plenty of material for blog articles, but if truth be known I ended up with a mild case of “writers block.”  

The rather sudden end to summer, also put a stop to some planned outdoor activities, including starting out on a couple of local, river valley walks. It also induced a general feeling of lethargy and loss of interest that probably has more to do with the changing of the seasons than anything else. I’m possibly working too hard as well, something that was almost inevitable given my current part-time working regime. Trying to cram five normal days into just three, was always going to be challenging, and at times it can be quite hard, even if it does have its rewards come Wednesday afternoon.  Life goes on though, and the world of beer and pubs never stands still.

In Munich, the world-famous Oktoberfest is getting into its second and final week. I haven’t seen the attendance figures, although they wouldn’t mean a lot to me anyway, but here in the UK, as in many other parts of the world numerous "copy-cat" events have been taking place. I have written about some of these before, so I won’t be repeating myself, as whilst a small number of home-grown Oktoberfest happenings are taking place locally, most tend to be rather kitsch, stereotypes of what the organisers imagine this "Bavarian Folk Festival" to be.

I’ve so far managed to steer clear of these faux events, and for good reason, but local beer café Fuggles, who have outlets

in both Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells, have been running their own Oktoberfest tribute-cum-promotion featuring Märzen style Festbiers from both home-grown brewers, and also from Bavaria itself. Most importantly, and in a tribute to the main event, they have featured a rotating range of the genuine Oktoberfest beers imported directly from Munich. Ranging in strength from 5.7% to 6.3% abv, these are not beers to be trifled with, even if you drink them by the pint. For the brave-hearted, or foolish, the beers are also sold by the one litre Maß, the traditional measure at Oktoberfest, as well as other parts of Bavaria.

Fuggles are retailing these beers at £7.00 a pint, but considering their strength, and the lengths that to which Fuggles have gone to obtain them, then it’s probably not too bad, all things considered. At Oktoberfest itself, all beer sold at the event must be brewed within the city limits of Munich, and the "Big Six" breweries that supply the festival are: Augustiner, Hacker-Pschorr, Hofbräu, Löwenbräu, Paulaner and Spaten. All the Oktoberfest beers will be good, full-bodied, well-rounded and with the right balance between malt and hops.

There are tie ups between certain members of the "Big Six", as Hacker-Pschorr are part of the same group as Paulaner, and the same applies to Löwenbräu and Spaten. Augustiner are still family owned, whilst Hofbräu are owned by the state of Bavaria. Other brewers have tried to get round these limitations by opening breweries within Munich, but the city council moved the goal posts by stating only those established before 1970 could supply beer to Oktoberfest.

I’ve been slowly, and I mean slowly, working my way through the beers on sale at Fuggles, and as they haven’t all been available at the same time, it’s been an enjoyable and interesting exercise. So far, on three separate visits, I’ve enjoyed Oktoberfest beers from Paulaner, Spaten, and Hofbräu. I had planned on calling in today, but that didn’t quite work out (I was too early, if truth be known, but as a consolation, I picked up three short-dated bottles of Schlenkerla Rauchbier, from the nearby, well-stocked Organic Market store. This establishment sometimes has bottles of Samuel Smith’s, on sale, and I did spot a few bottles of Pure Brewed lager on the shelves, but this time around, Bamberg’s finest, won out.

Returning to Oktoberfest for a while, the Bailey family attended the event, back in 2017, albeit only for half a day. We were en route to Regensberg, a city we had visited the previous year, and had spent the night, and part of the following day in Munich. Having arrived early at the Wiesn (Oktoberfest site) things were pretty quiet. But we were still able to get a “feel” for the place.

The first thing to note is, the event is free. Obviously, you will have to buy your beer and food, but unlike most British beer festivals, including the “look alike” Oktoberfests, there are no admission charges. The costs involved in providing the “temporary” infra-structure (the so-called tents), paying the staff and the all the other ancillary charges involved in putting on this mammoth festival, are recouped by the price of the beer (and to a lesser extent the food).

We visited the Hacker-Festzelt, which can accommodate up to 9,300 people, a similar number to the other large “tents”. There are fourteen of these; seven of which are operated by the breweries, and the rest by independent landlords. There are also around 10 smaller “tents”. We actually sat outside, and whilst we perhaps missed out on the feel of the event, it was very pleasant sitting out in the warm, late-September sunshine, taking in the atmosphere and enjoying the general ambience.

It is worth noting that unless you have a seat; either inside or outside one of the tents, you will not be served. There is none of the vertical drinking common at UK beer festivals, and you will not be allowed to wander around carrying your mug of beer. By “seat” I mean a long bench, in front of an equally long wooden table. Typically, there will be room for 10 average sized people, on each table (five along each bench.).

Our waitress brought two foaming Maβ Krugs of Hacker-Pschorr Festbier for Matt and I, plus an equal measure (and an equal price), of alcohol-free beer for Mrs PBT’s. We also had something to eat a plate of local (Fränkische), sausages, with potato salad for Eileen and I plus roast pork in gravy, with one of those spongy potato dumplings (Kartoffel-Knödel) for Matthew.

At Oktoberfest, you pay for your food and drink when they are brought to your table; unlike the practice in most German pubs and restaurants, where you pay before you leave. This makes perfect sense, given the high numbers of people coming and going, and I prefer this anyway, as it saves hanging around waiting for the final bill to appear.

There is a lot more to the event than the drinking of copious amounts of beer. We enjoyed just walking around, looking at the stalls selling snacks and souvenirs, the various side-shows, shooting galleries plus other fairground attractions. We personally steered away from the latter, as none of us enjoy being spun round at high speed, turned upside down or dropped from a great height, but if this sort of thing floats your boat, then do give the rides a try – preferably before you’ve had a skinful of beer and a roast pork knuckle! The main thing we discovered about  Oktoberfest was just how accessible the whole thing is and,  having now “learned the ropes”, I would definitely go again but this time spend a bit longer there. 

 

Back to the local - a trip back in time

It’s good at times, to stumble upon a book that strikes a real chord with one, especially as it doesn’t seem to happen that often. “Back to the Local” is such a book, even though I can’t recall which news source or information service it was that first brought this excellent publication to my attention. Published in 1949, just four years after the end of the Second World War, this little gem of a book was written at a time when the licensed trade was slowly returning to something resembling normality. 

After the dark days of wartime, with its bombings, deprivations, pub closures, rationing, and associated beer shortages, “Back to the Local” must have seemed like a breath of fresh air to a populace whose lives had been blighted, and in many cases deeply affected by a conflict that hadn’t long ended. “Back to the Local”, explores pubs, as they were during the 1940’s, although it must be pointed out, the pubs in question were all in London, the nation’s capital.

The book was a follow-up to an earlier publication that had the simpler title of “The Local” which appeared in print during the1920’s. Unfortunately, the London premises of the book's publishers, Cassells, were destroyed in a bombing raid during the blitz, along with all stocks of the publication. Worse still, the printing plates were destroyed as well. Undeterred, the book's author Maurice Gorman, along with its illustrator, Edward Ardizzone decided to try again, with a revised version of the original book, titled "Back to the Local",  published in 1949.

Maurice Gorman was an Irish journalist and broadcasting executive, whilst Edward Ardizzone, who was one of the outstanding book illustrators of the 20^thcentury, was responsible for the atmospheric drawings. The subject matter was the various pubs, taverns, gin palaces, and bars that act as “locals” for a substantial proportion of London drinkers. The descriptions of the various pubs, their clientele and the staff are the real stars of the book, at a time of rambling interiors, dark wood, and dark beer.

"Back to the Local", is a fascinating nostalgic ramble around the post-war pubs of London, and whilst it isn’t a pub guide as such, it contains some very good descriptions. It covers the customs, habits and etiquette that existed in pubs at the time, along with some absorbing observations on the people who used them. It is important to remember that 80 years ago, pubs played a much more prominent role in the lives of ordinary people, than they do today.

To illustrate this, the book introduces us to the regulars, licensees and barmaids, as it explores the once familiar surroundings of the public bar, saloon bar, and lounge. It then squeezes us into the snug, and the lesser-known bottle and jug bar, where customers were able to buy beer to take away, and drink elsewhere.

The pubs of the 1940’s, whilst light-years removed from those of today, were not that dissimilar to those which existed in the 1920’s, when “The Local” first appeared in print. Back then, the Local’s main enemy was not the Luftwaffe, but rather the bureaucrats, property developers, and temperance campaigners, along with those brewers keen to “modernise” their tied estates. This sadly led to the disappearance of many familiar and charismatic backstreet locals, swept away in a tide of mis-guided modernisation. Strangely, several of the concerns voiced in this book - in particular, those of pub closures, still ring true today.

Whilst the war called a halt to this process for the best part of a decade, pubs were still being rationalised when Gorman was researching his revised book, and sadly a lot of the pubs he writes about have gone the way of the great London brewers, who not only owned most of these establishments, but whose beers were sold, therein. We are talking here of brewing giants such as Barclays, Charrington’s, Truman’s, Whitbread and Watney’s, who have all vanished, along with the beers they once brewed.

The type and styles of beer these companies produced, and served in their pubs, is also worth considering, especially as all draught beers were cask conditioned and dispensed mainly by hand pump or, in a few cases by gravity, direct from the cask. Bottled beer was more expensive than draught and, given the shortage of glass during the 1940’s, was comparatively rare.

Mild ale was by far the most popular draught beer and was stocked in virtually every Public Bar in the city. Bitter, described in the glossary as “yellow” in colour (think Boddingtons or Theakston’s), was more popular in the saloon, or lounge bar. Old ale, known then as “Burton”, despite having little or no connection to the famous brewing town, was a strong, and slightly sweet, brown-coloured beer. The nearest equivalent today, is Young’s Winter Warmer – assuming that is still brewed.

At that time, virtually all London pubs had a Public Bar, where the beer was a few pence a pint cheaper than in the Saloon Bar or Lounge, where the surroundings would be less basic and the décor more opulent. This was reflected in the respective clientele that used each type of bar. Although these distinctions have long vanished (sadly in my view), they remain in the memory of someone like me who started drinking during the early 1970’s, when many pubs still had some of these divisions (public and saloon bars).

Maurice Gorham’s book is a lovingly compiled story of the public houses and hostelries that still remained in 1940’s London, written with the charm and old-fashioned feel of someone who seems to know every pub in town, from the most opulent gin palace, to the most basic of backstreet locals. It is clearly a lifetime's labour of love, full of great anecdotes and opinions -some of course dated, but reflecting the time in which the book was written.

London itself is a city undergoing constant change, and one that is regularly re-inventing itself, but what is remarkable and indeed loveable about "Back to the Local", is just how much of it still applies today, despite being written over 80 years ago. You could still use this book as the basis for a pub crawl because many of the old and famous houses that Maurice loved so much, are still with us today.

The interiors may well have changed, along with the beers and other drinks stocked (lager barely gets a mention, back in the 1940’s), and the strict social divisions of the Public and Saloon bars have also gone. Food too is much more important today, with the booming gastropub having the pork pie and pints of mild lunches, enjoyed by the pub-goers of 80 years ago. You can also get decent wine in virtually every London pub, instead of the glass of sherry, or port for the ladies. Cheery landlords, attractive barmaids, mahogany bars, dark beers, good manners, common courtesy plus a community spirit can still be found in many parts of London, if you know where to look, and online guides, such as CAMRA’s What Pub can help you here.

I’m not sure exactly when and where I first came across this little book, but having read the reviews I ordered myself a copy and am pleased that I did. It is an absolute joy and although this modern edition is an obvious re-print, it remains true to the spirit of the first half of the 20^th century, and is a “must have” for all connoisseurs of good pubs.