Munich, Germany – There is nothing like tipsy South Korean soccer fans rocking out to male accordion players dressed in lederhosen to get you in the mood for authentic Bavarian food.
But what could I expect? I picked the worst time in, oh, three decades to dive beer stein-first into one of Europe’s most traditional, yet touristy, dining experiences: the Bavarian beer hall.
For some reason beer halls just lose a bit of their Old World charm when you’re sitting next to Mexican fútbol aficionados in sombreros while singing Costa Ricans parade past your table in a conga line.
The World Cup returned to Germany for the first time since 1974, and I’m back in Munich for the first time since 1978. It hasn’t changed much. When I emerged from the subway onto Marienplatz, Munich’s main plaza, I think I saw the same bad accordion player I left 28 years ago. However, beer halls were still a great place for a cheap, authentic Bavarian meal.
For advice, I contacted a Bavarian woman I’d met a few years ago in Tobago. She and her boyfriend offered to take me to the most traditional beer hall in Munich. I’ll love it, she said. It’s been around forever.
The Hofbrauhaus.
I recoiled. The Hofbrauhaus may be the biggest tourist trap in Europe. It’s a bigger trap than Buckingham Palace. Buckingham Palace has a purpose. Hofbrauhaus’s main purpose is for drunk Theta Chis to introduce Bavarians to filthy fraternity songs. I avoided the place when I was 22. I didn’t want to go at 50.
However, I remembered my last trip here when I also reluctantly visited a tourist trap. I just happened to hitchhike into Munich in September, right during a festival I wanted desperately to avoid: the Oktoberfest. It’s the ultimate beer hall. Every brewery in Munich opens up a giant tent in the fairgrounds for all-day consumption. Beer and sausages fly around like shrapnel. Six million attend.
A Munich guy I met in Italy wanted to take me. I had a ball. I met all kinds of Bavarians, the beer was fabulous and I ate the best sausage of my life.
Other than passing out in a subway and waking up in a wheat field, it was a lovely evening.
This time, I asked my hotel manager where he would go and he pointed me toward Weisses Brauhaus. It’s down the street from Marienplatz in an old, gray building built in 1572.
I liked it immediately. This place was real and not just because I couldn’t find one of the few English menus. When I did, the food choices ran the gamut of true Bavarian cuisine: 15 different kinds of sausages, ox diaphragm, Munich root pork’s belly, boiled pork’s tongue, calf’s feet and the usual sauerbraten and Bavarian roast.
The waitresses were dressed in modest Amish-like black outfits. Waitresses in most touristy beer halls look as if they work part-time popping out of cuckoo clocks.
I sat outside on a perfect, sunny day and had the brauhaus butcher platter: six different sausages on a bed of luscious, fresh sauerkraut with boiled potatoes. For 12.40 euros (about $16) it was the perfect tour of Bavarian sausage: smoked, grilled, boiled. I was also introduced to the schweinswurst, a soft, fat, white sausage with odd green specks inside.
Yeah, it was a little touristy. I heard American and Australian accents and looked across the street at a McDonald’s and a Burger King. The nearby Holy Ghost Church, built in 1392, also had been defaced by a lederhosen souvenir shop below it. But with a tall wheat beer, I at least had my big toe steeped in Bavarian culture.
The next night at Hofbrauhaus I thought I might as well be in China, or, at least, a frat house somewhere. I heard the songs the minute we opened the door. But inside the massive hallway, built for 5,000, a table full of Mexicans in sombreros were singing soccer songs instead. (Attention, Bavarians: I’ve been to Mexico a dozen times. I’ve never seen one Mexican wear a sombrero.)
We snaked our way through the massive, packed hallway, past the lederhosen band and full tables of South Koreans, Costa Ricans and Americans, to the courtyard outside.
Truth be told, it was a wonderful evening. We sat under one of the chestnut trees signifying a true beer hall, and started with a plate of obatzda. It’s a blend of three Bavarian cheeses with butter, a soft French Camembert, onion and caraway which formed a great, cream cheese-like spread we ladled over bread, radishes and onions.
Then came my suckling pig. Roasted in locally brewed Hofbrau beer, it nearly fell off the bone and melted in my mouth. Combined with potato dumplings and a tangy bacon cabbage salad called speckkrautsalat, it helped me tolerate the American wearing a T-shirt proudly announcing his frat affiliation.
But this was the eve of the World Cup and 10,000 Costa Ricans were in town for the opener here against Germany. I firmly believe half of them were in the Hofbrauhaus that night singing, “O-LÉ, O-LÉ O-LÉ O-LÉ! TI-COS! TI-COS!” Meanwhile inside, a fat guy in suspendered shorts and knee- high socks played an accordion to a swaying pack of South Koreans.
And somewhere in the nearby Alps, a shepherd kicked a soccer ball to his son.
John Henderson covers sports and writes about the food he eats on the road. He can be reached at 303-820-1299 or jhenderson@denverpost.com.
