The trip to Messhofen had been in the works for weeks – maybe even months. The Schneiders, Alex’s good friends, are regulars there, and it is thanks to them that we were able to not only tipple the heavenly brew, but to enter the inner sanctum and see (and smell) the Good Works in action.
Doors open for business at five o’clock sharp, but Clemens (the Braumeister) told us to show up around 4:30 for a personal guided tour. We constructed our day around this itinerary, with a wonderful visit to Ulm and its proudest edifice, the Münster, to get us in the mood both spiritually (it is a church) and physically (142 meters, 768 steps up and 768 down – no elevator). No doubt I would have been packing a fierce thirst even without the pilgrimage, but I am sure it helped to sharpen it.
(View of the Münster from the Danube)
(view from step 507)
True to his word, Clemens welcomed us at 4:30 on the nose and ushered us inside. Maybe Alex called ahead and asked him to wear the Lederhosen, maybe he figured he would fulfill our bigoted touristy preconceptions, or maybe he really does wear them for work regularly. The brewery has been the family business since 1841. Clemens took over for his father, who took over for his father before him, and so on back into the 19th century. Clemens Jr. was milling about, sporting the same ruddy cheeks, close cropped spiky haircut and yes, Lederhosen. He is probably only seven or eight right now, but it looks like the family business will be in good hands for another generation when Clemens decides to hang it up.
(Maximillian third from left - not really Clemens Jr.)
Through the front door was a little hallway with a small glass case displaying merchandise – t-shirts, mugs, pennants and flags, all emblazoned with the family coat-of-arms. To the left was the kitchen and a stairway leading to the family quarters above. Straight ahead was the main event: The Brew Room.
Much like its proprietor, Messhoffen Brauerei is modest. Just two kinds of beer, a Hefe-Weiss and a Märzen (a dark or dunkel concoction). Brewing takes place twice a week, with the entire process from germination to mashing to wort confined to one room. This is no coincidence, as Clemens prefers to keep things this way – simple and easy to manage. Given that this is literally a one man operation** this is essential.
Since we were visiting on a Friday, and hence a non-brewing day, there wasn’t too much of interest to see in this first room. I did my best to follow along with Clemens's all-German explanations, catching a hopfe here and a stammwürze there. Alex did her best to translate, but when we moved on to the refrigerated rooms where the Weissbier was fermenting, no words were necessary.
(Krausen rhymes with Kroy-sen)
The above picture gives you an idea of the splendor, but it would be better if I could figure out how to imbed the audio of the occasional plop, plop as foam from the Krausen cascaded over the edges of the fermenting tub, hitting the cement floor with a wet splash. Better yet, someone should invent a scratch-and-sniff computer monitor, so I could upload the fragrance of banana that permeated the room. If I had been alone I may well have gone all Augustus Glump and climbed right into the vat.
Instead, the tour moved on to more refrigerated rooms containing kegged beer awaiting shipment to Clemens’s various clients in the surrounding area. The customer base is small but loyal, again, just the way Clemens likes it. You won’t find his wares on the shelves of your local supermarket or liquor store. You can only buy it on the premises (by the bottle, case, growler or keg) or at select restaurants, none further away than Ulm (about 30 km). Keeping things to this scale allows Clemens to ensure the highest quality in his product line. If he ever decides to expand the business I will be sure the Schneiders tell him about my four years running the QC department at Criterion.
Upstairs are an elaborate pair of machines straight out of an episode of I Love Lucy (the one where Lucy and Ethel get jobs working in the chocolate factory), or to be more precise, the opening credits of Laverne and Shirley.
(Rollers equipped with special stabilizers to prevent beer from fizzing when opened... yeah right)
All those rollers, conveyor belts and brushes work together to clean, sterilize and bottle the brew. The picture above is of the fancy new Italian model Clemens invested in a few years ago when the old machine broke down. Faced with the choice of restricting the business to kegs or spending some serious cash, Clemens only had to think of his loyal customers, dutifully dropping off last week’s cases of empties and loading up this week’s fresh batch to know what had to be done.
Just before five the tour ended and we laid claim to a choice beer bench out front in what amounts to the biergarten. Several eager boozers had already lined up and Clemens had a smile and a joke for each of them. My favorites were the fellows at the next table over, decked out in riding leathers, their motorcycles parked in the shade. What an ideal way to end a full day of hard country riding (and hopefully not a way to begin an evening of hard country riding).
(The German beer bench - one of the world's greatest inventions)
All those steps at the Münster had created a mighty hunger to go with our mighty thirst, and Clemens and his wife were only too happy to oblige, serving us plates of Wurstsalat (chopped meat, onions, pickles and cabbage tossed in a vinegar dressing), Leberkäse (neither liver nor cheese – kind of like a giant chunk of grilled spam), Schmaltz Brot (bread with rendered pig fat and bits of bacon spread on it), and Sauer Käse (sour cheese).
The beer came first, of course. Lovely half-liters of sweet sweet nectar, with bubbles glittering in the afternoon sun. I started with a Dunkel, then moved onto the Weiss. A tough call on which recipe was better. Probably the best idea would be to continue researching, preferably every day around dinner time.
The glasses kept refilling and eventually my memories of the evening get as cloudy as the Hefe-Weiss I was drinking. I wasn’t drunk when the Oom-Pah band marched past. I knew no one would believe me so I took a picture.
(Where are the Ledherhosen?! You call yourself an Oom-Pah band?)
I also know that we hiked up to another biergarten next to a monastery, though I’m uncertain if the beer served there was brewed by the monks, or why I decided to take a picture of this bottle of Schnapps.
(What is that ram doing? Maybe that is why I took this picture.)
Or why I agreed to drink the Schnapps inside that bottle.
We went home with a couple of cases,
(Mine was heavier.)
though sadly I didn’t get to have much more than a sip, as I came down with the stomach flu the next day. No, it wasn’t a hangover – unless Julie managed to delay hers until we got home three days later. Something was going around Balzheim.
Since that trip I drink all my beers, from Schniederweisse to Erdinger in the glasses we bought. It isn’t the same. But we have another trip with Alex and Jochen in about a week, and I’m not sure what excites me more: our excursion to the Alps or the fresh case of Messhofen waiting for us at Jochen’s apartment in Neuchatel.
** Footnote reading nerd! Technically, it is a one-man operation on all days except on bottling day, when it becomes a six man operation. If it were a true one-man operation on bottling day it would probably look like something out of that I Love Lucy Episode.
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