History

Why I think the Reinheitsgebot and its effects are misunderstood

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A few days ago, Jeff Alworth posted about the persistence of what he calls “romantic facts” around beer, i.e. “a story shot through with fascinating, possibly nostalgic details that turn out to be hogwash.“

I know about a few of those myself, such as the often found claim that the Habsburg Emperor of Mexico from 1864 until 1867, Maximilian I., supposedly brought Viennese brewers to the country who in turn established Vienna Lager in Mexico. This is hogwash because it matches nothing that we know about the actual history of beer and lager brewing in Mexico from closer to the time period, namely that Mexican brewing was a late 19th century reaction to US-American imported beer pushing into a market that was previously was very small and mainly served the European expat community in Mexico with lager beer imported from Europe.

But that’s not what I want to talk about today. One of my pet peeves of beer myths is the German Reinheitsgebot (purity law). I consider it to be mainly a marketing vehicle that is overloaded with myths and misinterpretations that ultimately are only there to help with marketing German beer, and there are many layers to it that I want to untangle.

The German Reinheitsgebot is a very recent invention. Germany has only had (mostly) unified beer legislation since 1906, and it’s mainly coming from the Southern German states of Bavaria, Württemberg and Baden pushing for it. To this day, the law is implemented ever so slightly differently for top-fermented beers in the south of Germany.

Even the term “Reinheitsgebot” is pretty recent: it is often claimed that the word was first used in parliament in 1918, but that might be a “romantic fact” in itself, as the first use of that word according to the Google Books Ngram Viewer was in 1904. The earliest one I could find was a 1909 Reichstag session report that specifically is in the context of beer and the unified beer legislation of 1906.

Prior to that, the term “Surrogatverbot“, meaning a ban on using surrogates for malt and hops, was commonly used, but even it was less strict than what you’d assume: in an 1870 book discussing beer taxation in the Kingdom of Bavaria, it specifically says that the use of hop surrogates is only banned for brown beers, and that “the use of hop surrogates in the production of white beer cannot be refused.“

A lot of the myth around the Reinheitsgebot also goes back to the Bavarian Reinheitsgebot of 1516, and I think here actually lies the crux of the problem: this piece of Bavarian legislation is misunderstood in its geopolitical context, in its importance and in its legal effectiveness.

Quite often, the 1516 Reinheitsgebot is also claimed to have been one of the earliest food safety laws due to a supposed (implied) ban on other ingredients, or that its supposed ban on brewing with wheat was meant to secure the availability of the grain for food. But the truth is that we do not know any of the intentions behind it. To claim a specific intent is purely speculative, and I’ve not seen a single historic source from which such a conclusion could be derived. In fact, concerns about grain shortages were managed differently, such as through requirements that white beer could only be brewed from either home-grown or imported wheat (e.g. Ducal mandate of 1567), or through temporary total brewing bans that included beer made from barley malt (e.g. brewing ban October 1571-1580).

Also: The Reinheitsgebot of 1516 was not a revolutionary new piece of beer legislation. Many places across Bavaria and other parts of Germany had local legislation in place that regulated what ingredients were permitted or banned in beer. What the 1516 Reinheitsgebot did was that it harmonised the existing legislation for all those places that didn’t have a law in place. In particular, the 1516 Reinheitsgebot is virtually identical to an earlier decree from the Munich city council from 1447 that prescribed that only barley, hops and water could be used for brewing, which was later codified by Duke Albrecht IV. in 1487, which nowadays is also described as the Munich Reinheitsgebot of 1487, a marketing term used by the Munich brewing industry.

One problem with Bavaria was that during the Late Middle Ages, it was an absolute geopolitical mess. Bavaria started out as a stem duchy, one of the constituent duchies of the Kingdom of Germany in the 9th century. In later centuries, for various reasons, parts of Bavaria were split off, like Carinthia that was turned into a separate Duchy to reduce the power of the Bavarian Duke, or later the Duchy of Styria and the Marcha orientalis, Bavaria’s “Eastern realms”, the historic core of Austria. The House of Wittelsbach ruled remaining Bavaria after the deposition of Heinrich XII in 1180 until 1918.

But the Wittelsbacher had an issue with succession: they had no primogeniture in place like other noble houses, which meant that there was no customary preference for firstborns in succession. This led to various splits and subsequent mergers of land, and at times up to four partial Duchies of Bavaria existed, namely Bavaria-Landshut, Bavaria-Munich, Bavaria-Ingolstadt and Bavaria-Straubing between 1392 and 1429 (if you want to get down a bit of a rabbit hole: Bavaria-Straubing was actually part of Straubing-Holland from 1353 until 1429 which included parts of modern-day Netherlands and Belgium, including the cities of The Hague and Mons).

Anyway, all of that culminated in the Landshut War of Succession 1503-1505, followed by Bavarian reunification in 1506. Hundreds of years of divisions and mergers left behind a complex landscape of local laws that needed consolidation and harmonisation. This was accomplished through the Bayerische Landesordnung that was officially enacted on 23 April, 1516. Does that date sound familiar to you? That’s because it’s often quoted as the date from which the Bavarian Reinheitsgebot of 1516 was in effect.

What is usually left out is that the whole legal text contains a total of 160 pages regulating literally everything that needed regulating, like basics of the Bavarian legal system, its procedures, the punishment of crimes, the regulation of policing, Bavaria’s relations to the Holy Roman Empire, and regulations around topics such as blasphemy, public drunkenness, gambling, serving beer, wine and food in pubs and inns, beer brewing, establishing new brew houses and pubs, administration and accounting of church estates, dog ownership, animal farming, fishing (the book even contains prints of various types of fish as a reference for minimum fish sizes), milling, weights and measures, payment of day labourers, etc. etc. Of these 160 pages, how many are related to beer brewing? The section that contains the famous limitation on barley, hops and water as permitted brewing ingredients is less than one page in total, and it’s actually mostly about the pricing of beer.

German beer marketing often enough talks about how this was a complete ban on brewing with wheat. But that’s actually a misinterpretation of the scope of the law itself. An important legal principle at the time was that new laws did not overrule old laws. That meant that when you had the right or privilege to do something, it couldn’t just be taken away from you, and you couldn’t easily be banned from doing it by enacting a new law.

That meant that if you had the right to brew wheat beer before, you didn’t just lose that right. When the House of Degenberg received the “great freedom” to brew white beer in 1548, it was defined as “nobody but the House of Degenberg was allowed to brew and sell white beer between the Bohemian Forest and across the river Danube [meaning the right bank] across a wide area”. When the House of Schwarzenberg received a similar permit in 1586, that actually affected the Degenberger family’s exclusive rights and caused a brief conflict between both Houses.

Later Ducal mandates tried to control or limit the brewing of wheat beer, such as a temporary ban of white beer from 1566, because Duke Albrecht V. thought it wasted an incredible amount of wheat on a useless drink that neither nourished nor gave one strength.

In practice, there was also the question of enforcement, or really lack thereof: despite a ban to brew wheat beer for newly founded breweries since 1516, many of those popped up during the 16th century: in 1579, a Ducal commission found a total of 9 brew houses across the river Danube that brewed white beer (the House of Degenberg only owned and operated 3 brew houses, and it’s not clear whether their breweries were included in that report), and an additional 6 in the Bishopric of Passau, i.e. inside church territory and outside the control of the Bavarian Duke, but still in immediate vicinity. Then there breweries, often communal white brew houses that claimed customary brewing rights, like the one in Viechtach which claimed such rights even though it was only built in 1553, and even had the guts to complain about other breweries opening up in nearby town. Or the white beer brewery of Gossersdorf, which was only opened in 1600 as an entirely unlicensed operation by Georg Woerner, but instead of punishing the guy, the Bavarian Duke simply purchased the brewery in 1602. In 1599, a total of 20 white beer breweries in Lower Bavaria had been recorded by court chamber officials.

White beer brewing really only became restricted in Bavaria from 1602 onwards, but it was not because of a specific Bavarian law that regulated brewing. What happened in 1602 was that the House of Degenberg ended with the death of Hans Sigmund of Degenberg on 10 June, 1602, who had no male heirs. Duke Maximilian I. used this to establish a white beer monopoly for himself by effectively taking over the Degenberg operation and paying all the salaries, and purchasing the old brewing rights from the House of Schwarzenberg. But it also involved the legal question whether the Duke was even allowed to establish such a monopoly for himself. It took until 1607 to settle the legal disputes around that before the Emperor, who confirmed Maximilian’s sovereign right to establish such a white beer monopoly. Only then, the Duke was able to contractually oblige communal brew houses to share their profits with him or purchase communal or market town brew houses outright.

As is evident, Bavarian beer legislation in the 16th century did very little to actually ban brewing with wheat, for the simple fact that it could not touch old existing brewing rights, but also because it seemed mostly unenforced in Lower Bavaria, where white wheat beer had become popular, as long as the Degenberg and Schwarzenberg families’ brewing profits were not affected. The Bavarian Reinheitsgebot of 1516 had little to no effect on white beer brewing in Lower Bavaria. What actually changed the white beer brewing landscape was a Ducal monopoly for the Wittelsbach family starting in the early 17th century that had first to be confirmed by the Holy Roman Emperor.

And finally, the Bavarian Reinheitsgebot of 1516 does not have the historical continuity that it claims it does. A Ducal decree from 1551 permitted the use of coriander and bay leaves while specifically banning certain other herbs, while the Bavarian Code of Law from 1616 also allowed the use of salt, juniper berries and caraway seeds in reasonable amounts while other herbs or seeds like henbane were explicitly banned.

No law is put into effect without a perceived need for it, which means that between 1516 and 1551, there must have been enough brewers to use other ingredients outside the 1516 limitations that required an update or clarification to say that the practice of using coriander or bay leaves was actually fine, while other stuff was no good. The same goes for the time between 1551 and 1616, after which the law was updated to allow even more ingredients. So practically, whether enforced or not, the Reinheitsgebot of 1516 in that exact form was only a law for 35 years after which it was already changed. This is in stark contrast to the Bavarian beer marketing machinery that implies a certain historic continuity that just isn’t there.

And while modern German beer legislation is heavily influenced by the 19th century Bavarian position of a virtuous ingrediental minimalism, it was nothing the average German or even Bavarian beer consumer ever really cared about until fairly recently. Ironically, even regions of Bavaria like Franconia with their own rich brewing history that had nothing to do with the 1516 Reinheitsgebot and only became part of the Kingdom of Bavaria in the early 19th century nowadays claim the 16th century Reinheitsgebot as theirs. And it ultimately even affected mid-20th-century West German beer politics, as Robert Shea Terrell showed in his 2023 paper Entanglements of Scale: The Beer Purity Law from Bavarian Oddity to German Icon, 1906–1975.

To summarise, I think the Reinheitsgebot is misunderstood and its common interpretation as an early food safety law with a long, continuous history that strictly regulated brewing ingredients is one of these “romantic facts”. In reality, the 1516 Reinheitsgebot started out as just a tiny section in a big law book that was meant to harmonise and consolidate the existing laws of reunited Bavaria, and in its original form was only in effect for about 35 years. Due to the predominant legal principles at the time, it could not overrule older brewing rights, and was in practice at most loosely enforced when it came to the ban of brewing with wheat, including other subsequent Ducal bans later in the 16th century.

The Session

The Session #147: Downing pints when the world’s about to end

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For the May 2025 edition of The Session, Phil Cook invited us to write about beer and pubs in art and fiction. This is my contribution to it (spoiler alert: plot details of The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy will be discussed).

“Six pints of bitter,” said Ford Prefect to the barman of the Horse and Groom. “And quickly please, the world’s about to end.”

One of the more influential works in science fiction for me has been The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams. I remember watching the BBC mini-series first, in school, in 1999 or 2000, ironically in German class (yes, we watched the German dub), and I have absolutely no idea why our German teacher showed it to us in the first place.

I did purchase the mini-series on DVD a few years later, and I also got an English-language copy of the book including the sequels. Thinking about it, I think I won it as a prize in some nerd competition thing, but I can’t remember exactly. A few years later, I watched the 2005 film version in cinema, and was actually slightly disappointed (I rewatched it since then, and it’s okay). Starting around 2009 or so, I got my hand on a copy of the radio play, so I listened to that on my way to work and back and then relistened to it for literally months. I now actually consider the radio play to be the best rendition.

One scene I vividly remember is Ford Prefect bringing Arthur Dent to the nearest pub, all while Arthur Dent’s house is about the get demolished to build a bypass. Arthur and Ford then proceed to have 3 pints of bitter each as a muscle relaxant and to cushion their system going through the matter transference beam Ford uses to flee onto one of the Vogon ships in Earth orbit shortly before Earth gets destroyed to make way for a hyperspatial express route.

This particular scene was probably my first exposure to British beer culture. Pints, drunk in a pub, poured through a handpump from cask into dimpled mugs. And then them quickly downing 3 pints each, which looked a bit absurd but also somewhat impressive. To refresh my memory for this blog post, I actually rewatched the scene, and there’s obviously been some prop trickery involved, because at some point, Arthur Dent downs two thirds of a pint in about 3 seconds without actually swallowing any meaningful amount of liquid.

Scene from the BBC mini series, showing Arthur Dent (Simon Jones) and Ford Perfect (David Dixon) standing at the bar and waiting for pints of bitters, poured through a beer engine and served in dimpled mugs.
Scene from the BBC mini series, showing Arthur Dent (Simon Jones) and Ford Perfect (David Dixon) standing at the bar and waiting for pints of bitters, poured through a beer engine and served in dimpled mugs.

The beer served in the pub (Horse and Groom in the book, Red Lion in the BBC mini-series), at least what’s visible in the TV version (and only because the pump clip was turned sideways, towards the camera), was Tamplins Bitter. Tamplin & Sons was a brewery based in Brighton, founded in 1821. By 1953, Tamplin & Sons had taken over a number of local breweries both in Brighton and nearby Lewes, and owned about 400 pubs, when it itself was acquired Watney, Combe, Reid & Co. The brewery operated for 20 more years, when brewing on site ceased, but the brand Tamplins seems to have stuck around for longer than that. The Brewery History Society has more details.

Another tap that can be seen is what looks like Ben Truman Export Draught, but sadly, no beer is poured from it. I suppose you had to order by name.

Ford slapped a five-pound note on the bar. He said, “Keep the change.”

“What, from a fiver? Thank you sir.”

The book was published in 1979, while the TV series was aired in early 1981. At the time, the average price of a pint of bitter would have been 34p (1979) resp. 49p (1981). Paying for six pints, the change would have been 2 to 3 quid, depending on which year you assume. Consulting the BoE inflation calculator, these pints would have been fairly cheap compared to the beer prices we’re used to today: 34p in 1979 were the equivalent of GBP 1.65 in March 2025, while 49p in 1981 would amount to GBP 1.86 in March 2025.

The bar in the 2005 film version, with keg taps of Kronenbourg 1664, Guinness, Strongbow and Carlsberg, and pump clips advertising Fuller's London Pride, Fuller's Chiswick Bitter, and a third beer where only "AK" is really legible (possibly McMullen AK?). One man is stood behind the bar (Albie Woodington), and a woman (Su Elliot) is sat leaning against the bar.
The bar in the 2005 film version, with keg taps of Kronenbourg 1664, Guinness, Strongbow and Carlsberg, and pump clips advertising Fuller’s London Pride, Fuller’s Chiswick Bitter, and a third beer where only “AK” is really legible (possibly McMullen AK?). One man is stood behind the bar (Albie Woodington), and a woman (Su Elliot) is sat leaning against the bar, with a plate of sandwiches in front of her.

Now let’s compare the TV mini-series with the 2005 film version: there, the choice in beer is much more varied, with Kronenbourg 1664, Guinness, Strongbow (a cider) and Carlsberg available from keg, and three more beers from cask, in particular Fuller’s London Pride, Fuller’s Chiswick Bitter, and one where I can only recognise “AK” on the pump clip (possibly McMullen AK? at least the colour scheme would roughly match up).

Ford Prefect (played by Mos Def) comes in, and in a broad and very rhotic American accent, says “six pints of bitter and quickly, the world’s about to end!”, pays with a 50 pound note, and tells the barman to “keep the change, you got about 10 minutes to spend it”.

Interestingly, the beers that are served to Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent (played by Martin Freeman) are quite inconsistent. The first one Ford quickly downs (and subsequently apologises for) looks like a pale lager, while the first one held by Arthur looks like a dark amber bitter. Two more pints lined up for them are also amber-coloured, but much paler (this may be due to the lighting and/or the red towel they’re stood on, but I’m not 100% sure). And worst of all, Arthur leaves without drinking a single pint!

Ford Prefect (Mos Def) drinking a pint of pale beer, with Arthur Dent (Martin Freeman) looking at him.
Ford Prefect (Mos Def) drinking a pint of pale beer, with Arthur Dent (Martin Freeman) looking at him.
Ford Prefect stuffing his face with peanuts, while Arthur Dent hasn't even started his first. The beers sat on the bar for them are amber resp. dark amber.
Ford Prefect stuffing his face with peanuts, while Arthur Dent hasn’t even started his first. The beers sat on the bar for them are amber resp. dark amber. The best in front of them are all in nonik glasses.

What is going on here? Not just different beers poured when only “six pints of bitter” were ordered (what barman would do that?), but also poured rather inconsistently, with one of them very underpoured, and atypically for the West Country of England. To quote the Simpsons, “Boy, I really hope somebody got fired for that blunder.”

When we look at how much Ford Prefect gave (50 quid), and how much an average pint cost in 2005 when the film was released (GBP 2.13), the tip of presumably GBP 37.22 is even more generous than in the TV series. FWIW, GBP 2.13 in 2005 are GBP 3.71 in today’s (well, March 2025) money. On top of that, Ford also pays for “a round of drinks for everyone, on me.”

Bonus: before going to the pub (for which no specific name is used in the 2005 film version), Ford Prefect bribes the construction workers with cans of John Smith Extra Smooth, bottles of Cobra and packs of peanuts (which he seems to have brought for himself and Arthur) to temporarily halt the demolition work.

Construction workers in hi-viz picking cans of John Smith Extra Smooth and bottles of Cobra from a shopping trolley.
Construction workers in hi-viz picking cans of John Smith Extra Smooth and bottles of Cobra from a shopping trolley.

They still knock down Arthur’s house within minutes, foreshadowing the inevitability of Earth’s destruction in a few more minute’s time.

That said, I’d rather have a pint of Tamplin’s or Chiswick Bitter than a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster, supposedly the “best drink in existence”, the effect of which is “like having your brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick.”

Food

The Holy Trinity of Cheesy Beer Snacks

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If you’ve ever had a few beers in a pub with friends, you’ve most likely come across the problem that these few beers stimulate the appetite, so usually, you’d want to have some sort of snack with them. In the UK, something like crisps, pickled eggs, pork scratchings or even a more substantial dish like a pork pie or a Scotch egg would be typical, but in Lagerland, there exist 3 regional snacks that are distinctly cheesy and also fairly popular, one of them maybe less so, but I think it deserves to be celebrated more than it currently is. In this article, I want to discuss what I consider to be the Holy Trinity of cheesy beer snacks.

Nakládaný hermelín

This Czech pub classic is an absolutely delight: slightly gooey soft cheese, marinated in a neutral oil together with thinly sliced onions and chili peppers and seasoned with garlic, paprika, optionally cayenne pepper, a few peppercorns and a bayleaf or so.

Hermelín is basically a Czech domestic version of camembert, just with a different name. The real joy of nakládaný hermelín is when it’s marinated and aged sufficiently in oil so that it’s soft and gooey but not too runny, with just a bit of aroma, and not too much of an ammonia note that ripe camembert eventually develops into, complemented by garlic and a hint of spice from the paprika powder and of course the sliced onions that were marinated with it.

When I make nakládaný hermelín at home, I don’t really follow a strict recipe, but what I do is this: I buy a few German-produced camemberts (because that’s what I have available, no actual hermelín in my local supermarket), slice up a few onions (sometimes white, sometimes red), and cut the camemberts in half horizontally. I then rub crushed garlic on the cut surface and then sprinkle some paprika powder and cayenne pepper on. I then reassemble the camembert wheel. Taking a jar, I first add a layer of onions on the bottom, then I put the camembert on top. If it doesn’t quite fit the jar, I cut it into quarters and put it in tightly. I then add more sliced onions and repeat the whole process. To finish it off, I add a few peppercorns and a few bayleafs, as well as a pickled chili pepper or two. I then top it up with a neutral oil (my personal preference is rapeseed oil) so that everything is covered, close the jar and put it in the fridge for a week or so to properly marinate the cheese.

This is a cheese best served with dark rye bread. Ideally, the cheese should be soft enough that it can be spread easily on its own. It’s cheesy, gooey and slightly spicy, and absolutely gorgeous with a few glasses of Czech lager.

I occasionally make this for myself, but I’m also in the fortunate situation that a local Prague-Spring-themed pub in Berlin serves their homemade ones, even with hermelín cheese they import themselves.

Two jars of home-made nakládaný hermelín maturing in my fridge.
Two jars of home-made nakládaný hermelín maturing in my fridge.

Obazda

This is an absolute classic in Bavaria. Originally invented to use up overripe camembert, it has developed into a standard Brotzeit dish in many beer gardens. It’s basically camembert mashed with butter and optionally other creamy cheeses, often with a shot of beer to thin it out a bit, and typically seasoned with paprika powder, finely chopped onions and caraway seeds.

The name isn’t exactly the most appetizing: it refers to how the ingredients have been turned into a mushy mass (“Batz”).

In the EU, Obzada resp. Obatzter (just a different spelling of the same term) is registered as a Protected Geographic Indication, meaning that commercially produced Obazda must be made in Bavaria. It also describes mandatory and optional ingredients, and minimum resp. maximum percentages of the individual ingredients. If you want to commercially produce and sell Obazda, this is the reference for you, but in a home-made version, no Obazda police will come and get you if you deviate a bit.

I do love my Obazda, but even though it seems like a very straightforward dish to make, there can be a massive difference in how intense it tastes. I’ve had fairly bland ones, but a beer garden known for its good beer (at least in my experience) usually also serves a very good Obazda.

If you want to make it yourself, there are some pretty good recipes available out there. According to legend, Obazda was invented in the 1920s by Katharina Eisenreich at the Weihenstephaner brewpub in Freising. Weihenstephaner brewery has a recipe for Obazda on their website which they claim is the original recipe. It’s described as being the right amount to serve 4 people, but in my experience, just making a quarter of the whole amount is perfectly sufficient for 2-3 people.

  • 250 g Brie (or Camembert)
  • 18 g butter
  • 38 g cream cheese
  • 30 g finely chopped onions
  • 4 g paprika powder (I prefer the hot variety, plus a pinch of cayenne)
  • a pinch of caraway seeds
  • a pinch of salt and pepper each
  • a bit of Weissbier

Mix cheese, butter, cream cheese, onions and beer into a coarse cream, ideally with a fork. Season with salt, pepper and caraway seeds. If necessary, add more beer to make it creamier. If you intend to put the Obazda in the fridge a few hours before serving, add even more beer because it will firm up. Serve with dark rye bread or soft pretzels.

In Franconia, essentially the same cheese concoction is known under a different name: “Gerupfter”, meaning “plucked one”, referring to how the cheese is getting ripped or “plucked” apart when mixing through the ingredients. Distinctly local variations of the recipe exist, and in my experience, the Franconian versions are always a bit more pungent. One such recipe is the one from Sternla, a historic pub/restaurant in Bamberg that restarted brewing beer only a few years ago. Besides camembert and cream cheese, it also uses Limburger, a particularly strong, smelly cheese that some describe as smelling like feet, but also cream to add creaminess. A shot of local Bamberg beer such a smoked beer mixed in adds to the local flair of the dish.

Here’s a video (in German) that shows the process of making the dish at Sternla:

I’ve made both the Weihenstephaner and the Sternla recipe, and both have their appeal. While the Weihenstephaner one may seem a bit blander compared to the Sternla Gerupfter, it can be made more intense by complementing the paprika powder with cayenne pepper. The Sternla recipe on the other hand gets its intensity mainly from the very pungent Limburger.

(not so fun fact: I like my cheese, but pure Limburger, even when served “with music”, i.e. marinated in vinegar and onions, is the only cheese that has ever given me an upset stomach)

Kochkäse

This one is especially close to my heart, because it’s the one I grew up with. In Upper Austria, Kochkäse (“Abkochter” in the local dialect, lit. “cooked-off one”) is really more associated with having it with Most, the local version of apple cider, or just generally with having bread, spreads and cold cuts as a meal.

In my family, Abkochter has a special place. It’s a cheese spread that my grandmother on my father’s side has always made whenever we visit her. It’s a slightly sticky cheese spread made from a ripened acid-set cheese, with a very distinct flavour that I wouldn’t exactly call pungent but definitely quite flavourful. If you haven’t tried it, it’s hard to describe.

My grandmother basically grew up with that cheese spread. She mentioned to me that when she was young, her mother would go to the local dairy and buy a special type of Topfen (a low fat acid-set cheese, similar to Quark in Germany) which she would then age at home in a warm environment (apparently a slightly smelly procedure). When the Topfen reached a glassy-looking consistency, she would then melt it down to a spread together with milk and butter, and season it with salt, pepper and caraway seeds (I suppose the irony of this cheese spread is that you take a low fat cheese and add back dairy fat).

Even as recently as 25-30 years ago, local supermarkets in my grandmother’s city sold that type of Topfen at the cheese counter, but according to my grandmother, she stopped aging it herself when my late grandfather started complaining about the intense smell in the kitchen. She then switched to Steirerkäs, a type of acid-set cheese that is basically like the aged version of Topfen. Other alternative cheeses you could use would be Olomoucké tvarůžky (aka Olomouc cheese, a Czech type of cheese relatively popular in Austria; my aunt on my mother’s side uses that when she makes that cheese spread) or Harzer Käse (which is what I use because it’s readily available in German supermarkets).

So here’s our family recipe, in my version:

  • 200 g Harzer Käse
  • 125 ml milk
  • 80 g butter

Melt down cheese, milk and butter until all the cheese has melted. Despite what the name suggests, do not bring this to a boil, but only heat it as long as necessary to melt everything down. Season with salt, pepper and caraway seeds to taste. Optionally, you stir in an egg at the end, but I found that to not make a difference to either colour, flavour or texture, so I just leave it out. Let the cheese cool down before spreading it on dark rye bread.

Home-made Kochkäse in a jar.
Home-made Kochkäse in a jar.

Besides it being a taste of my own childhood, what fascinates me about this cheese spread is how widespread (no pun intended) it is with nobody realising. The first time I came across it outside of Austria was in Upper Franconia of all places, at Knoblach brewery not far away from Bamberg. Even though their recipe tasted slightly differently from my family’s recipe, it was distinctly recognisable as Kochkäse. And they weren’t the only ones to sell it: Schuhmannskeller in Bischberg, just outside of Bamberg, also has it on their menu.

Then last year, I served the dish to an American friend of mine, and he was so amazed, he asked me for the recipe. He then made this recipe when his Polish mother visited him in Berlin. His mother remembered that her grandmother in Poland used to make a cheese like that, and it was the standard way of processing the milk that they had gotten from their own cows at the time.

That got us interested, and further research showed that the same or similar kind of cheese spread also exists in other places: in parts of Poland, it is known as Hauskyjza (which is not the name my friend’s mother knew it as); in Luxembourg, Kachkéis is the equivalent product, while in France, Cancoillotte is a very similar cheese spread that is popular in the regions of Franche-Comté and Lorraine. Kochkäse is also a thing in the German state of Hesse. The Hesse tourism website has a page about it, including a recipe that starts with aging Quark. I even found some evidence that a dish like that is also known in the Czech Republic. Meanwhile in Austria, there’s only one commercial producer of it, but it has struggled with insolvency in the past.

For a cheese preparation that can be found across such a wide area, from France and Luxembourg to parts of Germany and Austria all the way to Czechia and Poland, it is relatively unknown, even though it seems like a dish that only a few decades ago was probably a lot more common that it is nowadays. And most interestingly, several of these local traditions seem to think that they exist nowhere else. I’ve specifically heard this about the dish in Austria (“Kochkäse is a distinctly Upper Austrian thing and nowhere else to be found”), Luxembourg and Franconia. Is this a pan-european (processed) cheese tradition that has been mostly forgotten?

Summary

In any case, I think all three cheese dishes are absolutely delicious, fantastic snack foods in their own right, and perfectly paired with beer: nakládaný hermelín works especially well with Czech lagers, Obazda is wonderful beer garden food best enjoyed with a Helles, and Kochkäse is great with Franconian Kellerbier (or really any kind of beer, or just as part of Jause or Brotzeit). I’m a massive fan of each of them, hence why I call them Holy Trinity of cheesy beer snacks. If you like cheese as much as I do, you should definitely try them out. They’re all fairly easy to make at home. Even I can do it! (and I’m not a good cook)

Experiment

My Experience with Super F, a Vegan Alternative To Isinglass

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At BrauBeviale in Nuremberg last year, a massive fair of the brewing industry, I very naïvely asked about vegan alternatives to isinglass at the Murphy & Son stand (the main reason to go there was to drink cask ale and maybe score a free t-shirt), and was promptly given a sample of Super F, Murphy & Son’s fining product that can be used in cold tanks and casks just like isinglass, happens to be vegan (it’s silica-based), and according to one sales guy I spoke to a few weeks later in Krákow, is even compliant with the German purity law.

Cask ale served at the Murphy & Son stand. Besides Thornbridge The Union, other cask ales like Timothy Taylor's Landlord were also served.
Cask ale served at the Murphy & Son stand. Besides Thornbridge The Union, other cask ales like Timothy Taylor’s Landlord were also served.

It took a bit longer than originally planned to brew a beer where I could try this out. I eventually settled for a simple recipe for a Pale Mild of 8.5°P (1.034) original gravity:

  • 3.3 kg Mild Malt
  • 0.2 kg Simpsons CaraMalt

And simple hop additions which should end up at about 18 IBU:

  • 22g East Kent Golding (5.8% alpha acid) @ 60 min
  • 18g East Kent Golding (5.8% alpha acid) @ 5 min

Mashing was fairly straightforward: single step infusion mash, though I may have slightly overshot the target temperature, as on brew day, I didn’t feel the best and thus didn’t pay as close attention to the brewing process as usual, which later showed in the final gravity of 3.5°P (1.014). I pitched a sachet of Lallemand Windsor Yeast, which was pretty much finished fermenting rather quickly, within 4 days.

After fermentation, I put the beer in my beer fridge to chill it down to about 5°C. Super F comes with a guide how to use it, and most importantly, how to trial the right dosage for your beer. Having only brewed 22 litres, I unfortunately didn’t want to use up quite so much beer to find the right dosage, so I just eyeballed it and picked the middle of the recommended dosage of 75 to 175 ml/hl – 125 ml/hl, i.e. about 25 ml for my homebrew-sized batch. I measured it out, and added it straight to the cold beer.

Me holding the Super F packaging. On it, it says: VEGAN FRIENDLY. SUPER F BEER CLARIFICATION. 100% clearer beer, 5% reduced water & energy intensity. Super F from Murphy & Son is a silica-based liquid fining added to fermented beer in the cold tank, to greatly speed up the sedimentation of yeast and other haze-forming particles. Beer clarity is greatly improved, meaning it can be served fresher and faster. Our recently reformulated Super F fines your beer even faster, leaving your beer clear with a compact sediment. WWW.MURPHYANDSON.CO.UK
Me holding the Super F packaging.

Normally, the Super F should do its trick within just a few days, but life got in the way and we only managed to bottle the beer two weeks later (bottle-conditioned, of course), with another 13 days of refermentation (at the time of writing) in the bottle.

So just earlier, I poured the very first bottle. Just look for yourself:

A Nonik pint glass into which I poured the amber-coloured beer. Since the bottle is 500 ml, it's not quite full. The glass wasn't perfectly clean, so some nucleation points show. You can recognise a reverse "RS" in the back of the glass, which is from the branding of the glass, and gives an indication how clear the beer is.
A Nonik pint glass into which I poured the amber-coloured beer. Since the bottle is 500 ml, it’s not quite full. The glass wasn’t perfectly clean, so some nucleation points show. You can recognise a reverse “RS” in the back of the glass, which is from the branding of the glass, and gives an indication how clear the beer is.
Me holding up the glass after a few sips. It is pretty much clear.
Me holding up the glass after a few sips. It is pretty much clear.

The beer came out pretty much clear. It was a wonderful colour, which against the light makes it appear absolutely brilliant.

It also tastes really nice: with just a hint of hop aroma, it starts very light but then turns out to be quite full-bodied, with a lasting biscuity finish. Since this beer is bottle-conditioned, the carbonation is relatively light and very well integrated. Together with the clarity that is equal to isinglass-fined cask ales, this is probably the closest I’ve gotten to reproducing something like a cask ale at home where everything is right: the flavour (thanks to British malt and hops), the clarity (thanks to Super F), the carbonation. It drinks exactly like a cask ale, too.

All in all, I’m absolutely impressed. Clarity has always been something I’ve struggled a bit with my home-brewed beers (Irish moss only gets you so far), in particular with chill haze. The Super F was very easy to use and did exactly was the product description said. The provided instructions were clear and got me exactly the result that I wanted.

I sincerely hope that Murphy & Son will eventually make this available not just to commercial brewers, but also to home-brewers. The sample I got at the BrauBeviale industry fair will last me for a few more home-brewed sized batches, but I would actually be willing to pay money for the product, provided the price is right.

(Full disclosure: I was given a sample bottle of Super F for free in November 2024, as well as a Murphy & Son t-shirt and a few half-pint pours of cask ale)

History, Water

An Attempt To Reconstruct Historic Vienna Lager’s Water Profile

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In the reconstruction of everything related to historic Vienna Lager, there is one piece missing that I’ve not been able to conclusively reconstruct so far: its water profile, and in particular, the water profile at Kleinschwechater Brauerei, where Anton Dreher first brewed Vienna Lager.

People who read my book on the subject are probably already aware of this, but for those who are not, a quick recap of the water situation there: the original Kleinschwechater brewery was located next to Kleinschwechat’s cemetery. The cemetery was on Löss soil (wind-blown silt sediment), while the brewery’s wells were dug into soil consisting of alluvial resp. diluvial gravel. By 1869, the brewery had four wells that had gone bad due to contamination from brewery and animal waste, so two further wells had been dug in the garden next to the brew house. Of these two wells, one’s water was used for brewing, for which we have a chemical analysis conducted in 1868 by Johann Karl Lermer. It looks like this:

  • Specific gravity of water: 1.00074
  • Total dissolved solids: 0.380 grams per litre (=380 mg/L)
  • Ash content: 0.296 grams per litre
  • Organic matter: 0.084 grams per litre

The dissolved solids were analysed and their constituents were listed in percent:

  • Sodium chloride: 2.53%
  • Chlorine: 3.86%
  • Sodium: 3.45%
  • Potassium: 3.94%
  • Calcium carbonate: 22.75%
  • Magnesium: 11.27%
  • Iron oxide: 0.30%
  • Sulfuric acid: 18.03%
  • Phosphoric acid: 0.22%
  • Carbon dioxide: 24.42%
  • Silicic acid: 2.52%
  • Organic matter: 1.49%

(please note that I think I previously misidentified the “Kalk” in the original German text as calcium oxide. It more likely means calcium carbonate, which I corrected in this list)

This is fairly detailed, but how does this get us to a modern water profile consisting of carbonate hardness, calcium, magnesium, sulfate, chloride and sodium? So here’s my attempt of trying to reconstruct that. Please be aware is that my last time I had chemistry lessons was 23 or 24 years ago. I also never thought myself to be a particularly good chemistry student.

I started off with the individual weight of each of the chemical compounds: 380 mg/L is equal to 380 ppm. Applying the percentage to the 380 ppm of should give us the respective ppm of each compound. Please note that I only listed the ones relevant for our water profile:

  • Sodium chloride (NaCl): 9.6 ppm
  • Chlorine: 14.7 ppm
  • Sodium: 13.1 ppm
  • Calcium carbonate (CaCO3): 86.4 ppm
  • Magnesium: 42.8 ppm
  • Sulfuric acid (H2SO4): 68.5 ppm
  • Carbon dioxide (CO2): 92.8 ppm

I then looked up the molecular formulas for each of the chemical compounds, as well as the molar masses of all the elements found in each of the compounds.

So now let’s use this data to reconstruct what we need in our water profile.

Carbonate Hardness

Carbonate hardness is basically the concentration of HCO3–(hydrogencarbonate) ions. While we do not have this one available directly, we can reconstruct the amount from the amount of CO2. The molar mass of CO2 is about 44.0088 g/mol, so adding the mass of one H and one C gets us about 61.01604 g/mol. When we apply this to the ppm of CO2 (92.8), we get an HCO3– concentration of 128.7 ppm, or 5.9 °dH (German degrees of hardness).

Calcium

For the calcium content, we need to go the other way, and look at the calcium content of the calcium carbonate. CaCO3‘s molar mass is about 100.0088 g/mol, while Ca’s molar mass is just 40.08 g/mol, so the 86.4 ppm of calcium carbonate should translate to about 34.6 ppm of calcium, or 4.8 °dH.

Magnesium

That one is easy, because it’s listed directly, with 11.27%, which translates to 42.8 ppm.

Sulfate

The sulfate ion is SO42-, so we should be able to reconstruct it from the sulfuric acid (H2SO4) content, following the same approach as with the calcium. H2SO4‘s molar mass is about 98.08 g/mol, while SO42- is about 96.06 g/mol, so the reconstructed sulfate content should be 67.1 ppm.

Chloride

Chlorides are either chlorine ions or chlorine atoms bound to molecules by a single bond. In Lermer’s analysis, we have two chemical compounds that involve chlorine atoms: chlorine, and sodium chloride. From the chlorine, we can simply assume the same ppm (14.7 ppm), while for the sodium chloride, we need to calculate its portion (5.8 ppm). When we add both, the total chloride content should be 20.5 ppm.

Sodium

Similar to the chlorides, we have two chemical compounds that involve sodium atoms: straight up sodium, as sodium chloride. Following the same approach, we can take the ppm of sodium (13.1 pm) and add the sodium portion from the sodium chloride (3.8 ppm). This means we end up at 16.9 ppm sodium content.

The final water profile

With all this, we end up with this water profile:

  • Carbonate hardness: 128.7 ppm, or 5.9 °dH
  • Calcium: 34.6 ppm, or 4.8 °dH
  • Magnesium: 42.8 ppm, or 9.9 °dH
  • Sulfate: 67.1 ppm
  • Chloride: 20.5 ppm
  • Sodium: 16.9 ppm

My question to all you people out there with a better knowledge of basic chemistry than me: does this make sense? Provided the German terms for the individual chemical compounds that I translated to English mean exactly what I think they mean, does it make sense to derive the amounts of ions in the water from the amount of molecular compounds determined in that chemical analysis?

Please let me know in the comments whether this attempt of reconstructing the historic water profile of Vienna Lager at Kleinschwechater brewery (at least as analysed in 1868) makes sense or not.

(thanks to Ben for proofreading the article before I published it)

The Session

The Session: The Best Beer I Can Drink At Home Right Now

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I unfortunately missed very first relaunched Session last month as I was away on holidays. But this month, it’s hosted by Boak & Bailey, with the prompt of what’s the best beer you can drink at home right now.

Let me just say that I’m in an extremely privileged situation.

One, I live in Berlin, Germany, and I can get quality beer for a rather low price in the local supermarket, literally 2 minutes away from my flat. The selection is not super varied, i.e. mostly German industrial pale lagers, but for some choice, we have Spätis, small shops that are open late and sell beer, among other things, and often a greater variety (and at almost any time of the day) than at supermarkets.

Two, I’ve been home-brewing for over 10 years now, with a focus on lager beers in recent years, and I now am experienced enough to brew beer that I consistently like to drink even with a heightened sense of self-criticism (and self-doubt!), and I usually brew the beer styles that I cannot easily get or that interest me from a technical perspective.

Three, I have a beer fridge which I use for storing bottled beer as well as for fermentation and lagering of my home-brewed beer. So I always have a stash of a variety of beers at home.

That said, these are the best beers I can drink at home right now that I chose for each of the categories of privilege:

Supermarket/Späti beers

  • The number 1: Augustiner Lagerbier Hell. I mean… it’s Augustiner. Some people may find its slight sulphur note a bit divisive, but it’s a Berlin staple for a very good reason, in a place that previously was dominated by German Pils for decades.
  • The contender: Tegernseer Hell. People who like Helles but aren’t as much of a fan of Augustiner usually like Tegernseer a lot. Personally, I sometimes prefer Augustiner over Tegernseer, sometimes the other way around. Either way, both are great beers. Usually, it’s easier to find Tegernseer Hell in Spätis than in supermarkets.
  • The wildcard: Wicküler Pils. I consider this beer to be the better Jever. As dry and bitter as bottled Jever, but with a smoother bitterness, and significantly cheaper, too. Former neighbours of ours used to do an annual beer blind taste test among their friends. Wicküler Pils consistently came out as the best by far. That’s how I learned about the beer, and I’ve been a convert ever since.

Home-brewed beers

Just to be clear, since the question is “best beers you can drink at home right now”, I’m not listing my best home-brewed beers I ever brewed, but literally what I have in my fridge at the time of writing.

  • The number 1: the 2024 batch of my Czech Dark Lager. It is just sooo good. I wrote about this in late 2022, and even though the 2024 is slightly different, it’s just as good as previous years.
  • The contender: my 2024 Kellerbier experiment. Not the freshest anymore, and only very few bottles left, but since the bottles were always refrigerated, it kept well.
  • The wildcard: random bottles of Barley Wine that I brewed 5 to 10 years ago and kept in a crate my work room. They’re oxidised, but last time I tried one of them, it was oxidised in a good way, with lots of dried fruit and sherry notes.

Beers from the beer fridge

This is all the weird and wonderful stuff that I keep in my beer fridge. What I have in there was definitely in there at the time of writing.

  • The number 1: Krug-Bräu Lager. A insanely drinkable dark lager from Breitenlesau in Franconia. Only a few places in Berlin sell this beer (I got mine from the Ambrosetti beer shop), but when I stop there, I will usually bring one of those back home, and that’s what’s currently in the fridge.
  • The contender: Thornbridge Nouveau, brewed in collaboration with BRŁO brewery, a DDH Session IPA. Funnily enough, this was a free sample handed to me at the booth of Totally Naturally Solutions at BrauBeviale last year, as two of their products (hop extracts) were used in brewing that beer (hashtag not an ad). I’m usually not someone who often drinks pale ales or IPAs, but this one was pretty amazing when I had the first of two cans they gave to us.
  • The wildcard: Goldfinger Danube Swabian. When Tom Beckmann, who brewed a historic Vienna Lager with malt made by Sugar Creek Malt using some of the historic descriptions of the malting process from my book, handed me a four-pack of that beer last year, I drank three of them and thoroughly enjoyed them, but I just can’t bring myself to have the fourth and last one.
History

19th Century Brewing in Württemberg

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In my research yesterday about beer production statistics in Southern Germany, I came across a curious bit of information, namely that an incredibly large number of top-fermenting breweries operated in Württemberg in the late 19th century, but they on average produced only relatively small amounts of beer.

I then dug a bit further and noticed that statistics for Württemberg made a distinction between “commercial breweries” (using the German term “gewerbsmäßig”, referring to an operation done in order to generate income) and “private breweries” (“Privatbrauereien” in German).

Normally, “private breweries” at the time referred simply to privately owned breweries, as opposed to publicly owned breweries (of which people own shares) or communal breweries (owned e.g. by the citizens of one particular town or city by virtue of their citizenship). But in this case, the private breweries were strangely juxtaposed with commercial ones… so, were private breweries non-commercial?

Turns out, yes: in parliamentary records of the local parliament of Württemberg from 1853, I found a description of what constituted private brewing: it was the non-commercial brewing by Upper Swabian farmers, where it was customary for all farmers who owned larger farms to also own a brewing kettle in order to brew beer for their own use, which included the house drink for the farm workers (the records’ context is a discussion about taxation of malt and how it disadvantages brewing farmers as opposed to those who make wine or cider; the German text uses the word “Obstmost”, presumably referring to any fermented alcoholic beverage made from fruit).

An 1871 article about the brewing history of Württemberg gives more insight: Württemberg has traditionally been more of a wine and cider country. Brewing really only started in 1630 in Stuttgart, but was again banned in 1663 in favour of wine growing. Only two breweries with a brewing monopoly (and owned by the sovereign) were allowed to brew and sell beer. This monopoly was only disbanded on 17 March 1798, and in the years after, private breweries were formed, but only with the territorial gains between 1803 and 1810, new regions were added to Württemberg in which beer brewing was already common (the areas of Württemberg before that time are called Altwürttemberg, lit. Old Württemberg, the newly added parts Neuwürttemberg, lit. New Württemberg). In the following years, beer production increased without the wine or cider production or consumption going down in any way.

A map of the Kingdom of Württemberg after 1815
A map of the Kingdom of Württemberg after 1815

In fact, by 1874, Württemberg was the German state with the second-highest annual beer production per capita at 154.3 liters, only surpassed by Bavaria with 240.6 liters.

In later parliamentary records from 1890/1891 (again discussing taxation of malt resp. beer), the beer brewed by farmers as house drink is specifically referred to as top-fermented or white beer, which sounds like private brewers were mostly brewing top-fermented beers.

This is also reflected in the Württemberg brewery statistics for 1896/1897. For that year, 1805 commercial and 4,385 private breweries were recorded. Top-fermented beer was brewed by 336 commercial breweries and 4,383 private breweries, while bottom-fermented beer was brewed by 1,767 commercial and just 4 private breweries. Interestingly, these numbers don’t quite add up, which means that some breweries, both commercial and (probably two) private ones, brewed both top- and bottom-fermented beer.

But private breweries weren’t to last: while there were still 5,252 of them operating in 1890/1891, the number fell down to 2,137 in 1909/1910. The number was not consistently going down, though, but rather up and down with an overall downwards trend especially noticeable from about 1904/1905.

A graph with the number of private breweries in Württemberg between 1890/1891 and 1909/1910.
The number of private breweries in Württemberg between 1890/1891 and 1909/1910.

Unfortunately, 1909/1910 is the last fiscal year for which I’ve been able to find separate numbers of private breweries.

In roughly the same time period, white beer production also fell massively, from 110,168 hl in 1890/1891, down to just 15,524 hl in 1913/1914.

Graph of the amount of white beer brewed in Württemberg between 1889/1890 and 1913/1914
The amount of white beer brewed in Württemberg between 1889/1890 and 1913/1914

So, to summarise, private breweries were non-commercial breweries operated by farmers in the beer region of Württemberg to brew beer to be consumed in their own household and by their farm workers. The vast majority of that beer was top-fermented. Private breweries were only permitted from 1798 when the beer brewing monopoly of Württemberg was abolished, but only grew in the years after land was redistributed between German states. So while Württemberg had farmhouse brewing in the 19th century, it was not a tradition per se in Old Württemberg, where the common fermented alcoholic beverages were wine and cider, and only gained foothold during the 19th century. None of the sources that I found mentioned whether this farmhouse brewing already existed in the territories that later comprised New Württemberg before they were made part of Württemberg.

History

Top- vs. Bottom-Fermenting Breweries in Parts of Southern Germany 1889/1890

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I previously wrote about top- vs bottom-fermenting breweries in Germany (in particular the Northern German Brewing Tax Association), and then specifically about Prussia, Germany’s biggest state at the time, as the individual provinces were very different in how widespread bottom-fermenting breweries were.

What was still missing was the South of Germany. While I still don’t have full statistics, I at least have some numbers: full numbers of top- and bottom-fermenting breweries and respective production volumes for Bavaria and Württemberg, for Alsace-Lorraine we only have the number of breweries.

Please note that the statistics are for different time period: Bavaria’s numbers are for all of 1889, while Württemberg’s and Alsace-Lorraine’s numbers are for the fiscal year 1889/1890, i.e. 1 April 1889 until 31 March 1890. For Alsace-Lorraine we only know the total production volume (797,807 hl) not split up by top- vs bottom-fermenting, while for Baden we only have the total number of brewing vessels (1,918), their combined volume (17,198 hl), and the total production volume (1,630,976 hl), but nothing divided by top- vs bottom-fermenting.

Also, the data on Bavaria distinguishes between “brown beer brewery” and “white beer brewery”, but brown beer was equivalent with bottom fermentation, while white beer was equivalent with top fermentation.

BreweriesProduction Volume [hl]
StateTFBFTFBF
Bavaria 1,6215,260212,22814,062,842
Württemberg4,8702,31590,2873,328,793
Alsace-Lorraine8150n/an/a

What is very noticeable how small the top-fermenting breweries must have been: while the average bottom-fermenting Bavarian brewery would have brewed 2,673 hl, the average top-fermenting Bavarian only brewed 130 hl per year. So while there was a large number of breweries, most of them probably only brewed at slightly more than home-brew scale, probably only just serving their super local community, or the niche of white beer drinkers within it.

Even more extreme is Württemberg, where the average top-fermenting brewery only produced 18.5 hl per year, even an order of magnitude smaller than the average Bavarian brewery. That’s just 35.5 liters per week, probably only just enough for what a single pub or inn was selling in that time period. And don’t forget that these are averages, so there were likely breweries that brewed even less.

Now I wonder even more about top-fermented beer in Württemberg. Like, was it a cottage industry of small brew pubs or inns of de-facto homebrewers serving small niches of white beer drinkers? Was this something originally rooted in a farmhouse brewing culture we don’t know about yet? The statistics tell us nothing about whether any of that top-fermented beer in Württemberg was even sold or whether it was brewed for home consumption. 35.5 liters would be just enough to serve the weekly consumption of a farm, that’s about 5 Maß of beer per day.

I think there’s a lot more research that needs to be done about top-fermented beer in Württemberg in the late 19th century.

History

Anton Dreher Jr.’s 1878 Patent on Pasteurisation

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I recently came across a patent (Reichsprivileg, lit. Imperial Privilege, as they were called at the time) about a conservation method that had been granted to Anton Dreher Jr. which he had submitted in August 1878.

As the patent submission was entirely handwritten in Kurrent, the predominant cursive handwriting in Austria at the time, I had great troubles reading it (despite having learned the basics in elementary school, 31 or 32 years ago, for like a day, just for fun), but sending it through Transkribus with a special Kurrent model yielded great results that required only very little correction.

Reading the patent itself was actually quite interesting: it specifically acknowledges “the famous French chemist” Pasteur’s work on pasteurisation of beer and wine to improve their shelf life and transport stability for export into tropical countries. One limitation they still had was it required sturdy packaging, which at the time were either well-sealed stoneware or extra thick glass bottles, in which the beer had to be pasteurised. Otherwise, all the carbon dioxide would escape, or even worse, the packaging would not withstand the internal pressure.

With all the carbon dioxide removed, the beer would only be an “unpalatable alcoholic extract”, the Imperial Privilege says. The disadvantage of the required sturdy bottles was that they were very heavy, which greatly increased the freight costs.

Dreher’s approach was the following: the beer was packaged into any vessel that could be tightly sealed, such as glass bottles, stoneware bottles, or casks. The packaged beer was then put into a larger vessel that could withstand internal pressures of up to 10 atmospheres (roughly 10 bar, or 147 psi), the vessel was filled with water and sealed up. The water was then heated either through direct firing or steam to the degree it should be heated.

Through thermometers and pressure gauges, the temperature and internal pressure could be determined and based on that, the required counterpressure in the sealed vessel could be applied and adjusted.

Once the required temperature has been reached, cooling is started by applying cold water. As the internal pressure is lowered, the counterpressure equally needs to be lowered, until everything has cooled down to regular atmospheric temperatures.

The specific novelty of this approach, according to the Imperial Privilege, is that it allowed pasteurisation of beer for export in any vessel instead of just sturdy bottles.

The header of the submitted Imperial Privilege, literally saying “description”, with a crossed-out 1877 revenue stamp with a face value of 15 Kreuzer, and Emperor Franz Josef’s face on it.

You can find the original letters in the digital archive of Imperial Privileges of the Austrian Patent Office, while this is the transcription of the German text:

Der berühmte Französische Chemiker Pasteur hat zuerst darauf hingewiesen, dass gegohrene Getränke, als: Wein und Bier eine grössere Haltbarkeit und Transportfähigkeit in tropische Länder erlangen, wenn dieselben bis zur Siedhitze erwärmt und darauf wieder abgekühlt werden. Die Erfahrung hat die Zweckmäßigkeit dieses Verfahrens bestätigt und es ist der früher unmögliche oder wenigstens höchst riskante Transport solcher Getränke in tropische Länder wesentlich erleichtert worden.

Die Erwärmung des Bieres ist nun mit Schwierigkeiten verbunden, weil die Kohlensäure, bekanntlich ein Hauptbestandtheil des Bieres, bei dem Erwärmen entweicht und nur ein ungeniessbarer alkoholhaltiger Extract übrig bleibt. Um nun die Kohlensäure auch in dem erwärmten Biere zu conserviren, müsste man bisher zu dem Erwärmen Gefäße wählen, welche das Entweichen derselben verhindern. Dazu eigneten sich nur Glas- oder Steingutflaschen, welche um dem Drucke der Kohlensäure und Ausdehnung der durch Erwärmung ausgedehnten Flüchtigkeit zu widerstehen, sehr dickwandig sein müssen.

Dadurch würde aber sowohl die Waare als deren Fracht empfindlich vertheuert.

Es ist mir nun gelungen ein Verfahren zu entdecken, wodurch die Erwärmung des Bieres bei vollkommener Konservirung seiner Kohlensäure in jeder Art dicht verschließbarer Gefässe ermöglicht wird.

Bei dieser Methode wird dem in der Umhüllung befindlichen Biere und seinem durch die Temperatur bedingten Drucke ein Gegendruck entgegengesetzt welcher jenem das Gleichgewicht hält oder ihn noch um etwas überschreitet.

Dadurch wird das Entweichen der Kohlensäure verhindert und der Zweck, das Bier mit seinem ganzen Kohlensäure-Vorrath zum Versandt zu bringen, vollkommen erreicht.

In ein Gefäß, das einen Druck von 3, 4 bis 10 Atmosphären auszuhalten im Stande ist, werden eine beliebige Anzahl Flaschen, Steingutkrüge, Fässer etc gebracht, das Gefäß mit Wasser gefüllt und dann dicht abgeschlossen.

Hierauf wird dus eingefüllte Wasser bis zu dem gewünschten Temperatursgrade entweder mittels direkten Feuers oder durch Dampf erwärmet.

Mit der Erwärmung des die Bierbehältnisse umgebenden Wassers steigert sich natürlich die Wärme des Bieres selbst und damit auch dessen Druck.

Durch Thermometer und Manometer lässt sich seine Temperatur und sein Druck genau constatiren und der nothwendige Gegendruck darnach entsprechend reguliren.

Der Gegendruck wird durch eine einfache Wasserdruckpumpe erzielt.

Ist die Temperatur des Bieres bis zum gewünschten Wärmegrade gestiegen, so wird mit der Abkühlung durch kaltes Wasser begonnen und hauptsächlich daraufgesehen, dass die Abnahme des inneren Druckes mit dem äußeren Gegendrucke gleichen Schritt hält, bis das Bier zur gewöhnlichen atmosphärischen Temperatur abgekühlt ist.

Die Neuheit der eben beschriebenen Entdeckung besteht demnach darin, dass Bier in jeder Art verschliesbarer Gefäße unter Anwendung äußeren Druckes zum Transporte in tropische Länder und zum Transporte überhaupt fähig gemacht werden kann, während früher nur Bier in Flaschen zu diesem Zwecke präparirt werden konnte.

Wien, am 20 August 1878.

History

Photos of Johann Götz from the National Archives in Kraków

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This is a bit of an unusual type of post for my blog. Instead of lots of texts, I’ll be mostly posting a few images instead, namely photos depicting Johann Götz (aka Jan Ewangelista Goetz) that I found in the National Archives in Kraków. The quality may not be the absolutely best, as I basically just took snapshots with my Pixel 6 phone camera, but it’s good enough for now.

None of the photos were dated, so when it comes to the age of them, all I can say is “1893 or earlier”.

Photo of Johann Götz by Awit Szubert, Kraków. Digitisation licensed under CC BY 4.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Photo of Johann Götz by Awit Szubert, Kraków.

The first one is a photo taken by Awit Szubert (1837-1919), a photographer from Kraków. In this photo, Johann Götz wears historic clothing of Polish noblemen, a kołpak hat with a feather on his head, and boots. Attached the clothes is some sort of side arm, like a knife or a small sword. Johann Götz is stood next to a table and has his left hand on a book. On the other side of him, there’s a cushioned chair.

Portrait of Johann Götz by Walery Rzewuski. Digitisation licensed under CC BY 4.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Photo of Johann Götz in a sitting position with his right arm resting on a table and his left hand resting on his left upper thigh, showing him halfway from the side, by Walery Rzewuski. Digitisation licensed under CC BY 4.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

The next two photos show Johann Götz wearing a suit jacket with two medals, one around his neck, and one as a breast medal. Both photos were taken by Polish photographer Walery Rzewuski (1837-1888), based in Kraków. The breast medal is the Golden Cross of Merit with the Crown, while the one around his neck is the Knight Commander medal of the Pontifical Equestrian Order of Saint Sylvester.

Portrait of Johann Götz by Franz Grainer. Digitisation licensed under CC BY 4.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/
Portrait of Johann Götz by Franz Grainer. Digitisation licensed under CC BY 4.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

The final set of photos are two portraits of Johann Götz by Franz Grainer (1840-1904) in Reichenhall, Bavaria. Again wearing a suit jacket but this time buttoned up all the way, he looks more serious with a straight head on the left one, but a bit more smiley (as much as that’s noticeable with his beard) with a slightly tilted head on the right one. Franz Grainer was also the court photographer of Princess Therese of Oldenburg, as is noted on the back of one of the photos.

Judging from the years of death of each of the credited photographers, I would say that the photos themselves are all in the public domain (in Poland, copyright expires 70 years after an author’s death). Please note that this is not legal advice.