Herr Ober, noch eins!

An Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier sat ominously on the scrubbed wooden table in front of me. Befitting its name – smoke beer – it had a deep dark colour with hints of reddish brown when the light caught it just right. The head was snow white, the tightly packed bubbles fluffy and light. For many beer aficionados a Schlenkerla Rauchbier classifies as the holy grail of German beer culture, something to be quested for and something to be shown respect.

The Schlenkerla taproom is a maze of gothic arches located in the storied old town of Bamberg in Franconia, Lower Bavaria. Some people come to Bamberg because it’s one of Europe’s best-preserved medieval towns. They come to marvel at the cathedrals and cloisters, to wander in reverie through the twisting network of ancient streets and bridges. Others, like me, come because it has more breweries and produces more types of beer than any other town in Germany. Bamberg is Mecca in the religion of beer.

Bucking up my nerve to give the Rauchbier a go, I watched the matronly, gruffly mannered waitresses lugging huge plates of pigs’ knuckles and dumplings through the crowded cavernous rooms. With a lingering hint of sauerkraut still wafting by from somewhere, I leapt into the abyss and was greeted by the most intensely flavoured beer I’d ever encountered. I can only describe it as a mouthful of liquid smoked bacon.

I suspect drinking something as challenging as Rauchbier needs to be learned just like the drinking of a good, complex whiskey. Whether spirits, wine or beer, the palate needs educating and training. Mine clearly wasn’t there – the result, I’m sure, of too many youthful years spent drinking Rolling Rock, Bud and Corona. I kept working the Rauchbier, inventorying the flavours, determined to find a point of access, and hoping yet for salvation.