Rogers Mal
Brew haha in Bavaria
THE one infallible sign of civilisation and enlightenment is the existence of sauce. A good, rich sauce shows that thought has gone into the food preparation— it’s no longer just a fuel.
From this elevated thinking, society developed. That’s the theory anyway, and as you tuck into a hot creamy cider and watercress sauce with added citrus and Manchego pearls, maybe in a back street café in Barcelona, you might be inclined to agree.
An equally attractive theory is that the discovery of beer led to what we might fondly call civilisation.
But as the evidence has melted into the mists of pre-history, we’re unlikely ever to know for certain.
We can certainly assume that our ancestors turned up their Neolithic noses at water, which might well be contaminated. Alcohol, all told, was preferable.
As well as an alternative to water, alcohol fulfilled many roles — as a currency; on occasion a political tool, sometimes in religious ceremonies. Alcohol was also terrific for philosophical and social discourse. Ould pub talk was born
Beer was probably ‘discovered’ in many different places.
Wild grain, used in the huntingand-gathering epoch to make gruel, would be stored for lean times. Fermentation of cereal grains — either accidentally or on purpose — meant alcohol.
SUBSEQUENTLY, the theory goes, somebody said, here, why don’t we grow the stuff ourselves, just outside the hut? Farming was on its way; we began to edge away from hunting and gathering and towards the template of society enjoyed today.
But agriculture, particularly the production of grain, was a cleft stick. It was now much easier for an overlord, squire or local big shot to tax smallholders.
‘Right, you’ve got two fields of barley; that’s thirty big ones you owe me. Late payment will incur a penalty.’ It’s enough to drive you to drink.
The story of civilisation is one you can pick up as you go along. No need for lengthy study. Visit Bushmills Distillery one week to see where whiskey fits into the story, maybe Burgundy the next for to consider Chablis, then head for the furnace heat of Andalucia to see how they make sherry. You’ll soon get the whole scoop on civilisation.
A first class place to contemplate it all is Weihenstephan a former Benedictine monastery in
Bavaria, not far from Munich. The Weihenstephan Abbey, high above the city of Freising gives breathtaking views across the old town, the Upper Bavarian Plateau and the distant Alps.
Any reason to go to Munich is a good one — it’s one of the world’s great cultural centres.
But before lingering in the city’s art galleries and concert halls, its restaurants and parks, head northeast to Weihenstephan. They’ve been brewing beer here since 1040AD — so it’s one of the world’s oldest commercial outfits still producing the same commodity.
The brewery came into being on the cusp of a very fortuitous discovery — that hop seeds could be key in brewing.
Beer had long been flavoured with herbs and fruit, and although satisfactory enough — like, it got you drunk — the taste wasn’t great. But hops imparted a refreshing bitterness; just as importantly, they acted as a preservative.
Beer could now travel, making a wider market possible and spurring competition. Many different beers, ales and lagers were soon on their way.
Weihenstephan monastery was decommissioned in the 19th century, but beer production was barely interrupted.
TODAY its known as the Bavarian State Brewery Weihenstephan, operated in conjunction with the Technical University of Munich. Tours are currently suspended, with no definite date for re-opening. However Germany is emerging from lockdown, and the brewery’s restaurant and beer garden (pictured left) are already open for business.
Freising is on the River Isar which flows into the Danube. The great river crosses 11 countries — and not one of them call it the Danube.
In Germany you need to ask for the Donau. From its shores you can catch a cruise boat and sail down to another Benedictine institution, the Monastery of Melk.
This gloriously flamboyant abbey, which unlike Weihenstephan is still in the business of forgiving sins, was built in honour of an Irishman, St Colman of Stockerau.
Originally a castle dating from the 10th century, Melk has since had the builders in, regularly, with today’s awesome structure being mostly constructed in the early 1700s.
They have an extensive library where you can read about religion, civilisation and society. Probably beer too.
And who knows, you might even find redemption here — if that’s in your holiday plans.