The unbelievably massive Kolner Dom in Cologne. I couldn't get the entire cathedral in frame.

I’m brewing a Dusseldorf Altbier today; it’s currently in the mash tun, resting at 150F. I took Jamil’s recipe from Brewing Classic Styles and made a few slight modifications due to a shortage of two of the malts. Fortunately, I”m still within the style guidelines. Although it’s not like it really matters. Not in the US at least. I have yet to try an American made Altbier that is as good or sessionable as the examples I tasted in Dusseldorf last summer.

I’m not so much of a snob that I think you can only get good Altbier in Dusseldorf. On the contrary, I believe any beer can be made anywhere (with the exception of spontaneously fermented ales). Why there are no good American-made Altbiers has more to do with the lack of good imported examples. The precedent simply hasn’t been set on this side of the pond.  I can’t blame a brewer who has only read about Altbiers and sees them described as hoppy (by German standards) beers to then turn around and make a hoppy (by American standards) beer. Somethiing certainly gets lost in translation.

On the other hand, Altbier’s cousin, Kolsch, has scores of excellent, traditional examples in the US. I’ve been making one for a couple years that is a favorite among friends that I designed long before my stay in Cologne. I had imported Sion and locally made Summit Kolsches as my guidelines, along with the excellent Classic Styles Series book on Kolsch (all I really got from the Altbier book was that “Alt” means “old”). So why are there so many great examples of Kolsch in the US, but none of Altbier? To answer that, you need to look for something that you won’t find in a recipe or in the BJCP style guidelines. To borrow from their neighbors, it’s a certain je ne sais quois. In other words (and I just watched Moneyball yesterday), how can you not be romantic about beer?

My wife and I had been planning a trip to Europe for a few years. Initially, our plan was to go to Ireland, as we both have Irish ancestry. Sometime during those years of planning, I met a German man through work who became a close friend, so his country got bumped into first place (Ireland is on the board for our next trip now). We flew into Munich in late August and over the course of 8 days, drove all over southern Germany, spending each night in a different town, until flying out of Dusseldorf. In short, it was amazing, and I highly recommend the trip to anyone who has the time and money. We spent the second to last night in Cologne, and took a train up to Dusseldorf  the next day.

Cologne, like much of Germany, is entrenched in old and new history – less than a kilometer from our hotel was a series of ultra-modern office buildings, including a quite impressive one inhabited by Microsoft. About a kilometer beyond that was the massive 19th century Kolner Dom. In-between those two was a beautiful park along the Rhine River, dotted with the Altstadt (Old Town) buildings. The weather was beautiful the day we were there and many people were lazing out in the park and enjoying meals and drinks in the outdoor cafes.

A beautiful, fresh glass of Kolsch at the Sion pub in Cologne.

The jet lag had really thrown off our eating schedule, so we had lunch in the hotel restaurant at 3pm. If I remember correctly, the beer menu had a Pilsner, a Weizen, and a Kolsch. I ordered a Kolsch and the waitress either the waitress misheard me or I mispronounced it, so she asked “Do you mean, the city beer?”. Kolsch and Cologne are synonymous in any beer drinker’s mind, so hearing her ask if I wanted “the city beer” was beyond amusing for me. She seemed glad that’s  what I ordered. Looking around the restaurant, most people were drinking Weizens. The beer came out in the standard 25mL Stange glass. The nose was beautifully biscuity – like fresh baked bread – and was more aromatic than most commercial examples I’d tried. The taste was good, but not really any different than anything I’d had stateside. There’s not a whole lot going on in the taste of a Kolsch – it is meant to be a session beer afterall.

The session characteristics are emphasized at the Sion Brewery. It’s just a short walk from the Kolner Dom, down a narrow brick street. We found a table outside and almost immediately had a waiter ask us what we would like to drink. We ordered two Kolsches, which he pulled off of a circular platter that probably held close to two dozen stanges of Kolsch. He ticked my coaster twice with a pencil. In the hot sun of that day, our first glasses didn’t last very long. The waiter came by again and asked if we wanted more. He handed us two more and ticked my coaster twice more. Throughout our time there, the waiter would swing by, ask us “More?”, and swap out our glasses. We almost never had an empty glass. You just don’t find that kind of service in Germany, or even the US. Kolsch is low alcohol and very easy to drink. I could see it as being a very dangerous beer at a cafe with a group of friends and an attentive waiter.

This beautiful canal seemed out of place in the otherwise modern, urban downtown Dusseldorf.

The next day we took a train up to Dusseldorf. The ride was only about 45 minutes, but felt much longer due to a group of teenagers across the aisle from us that may have never bathed in their entire lives. The train moved slowly and made a few stops. We saw the rustic clean charm of Cologne turn into industrialization and urbanization. Buildings seemed newer, but were covered in graffitti (which was actually a welcome balance to their drab, gray stone exteriors. Once we checked into our hotel and began to explore, I realized the city definitely seemed more “American” than the others we had been visiting. The buildings were larger, more modern, and less charming. The streets were wider and straighter, but busier. We had to walk quite a ways to get to the Altstadt. Massive modern buildings locked the Altstadt into a few crowded blocks. This was quite a change from Cologne, which is surprising considering the short distance between the cities – they’re practically connected.

The Altbier glass is shorter, but wider than the Kolsch Stange.

Many of the cafes were filled to capacity so we eventually found one with a few tables open. The food was passable, but not great. Fortunately, they carried Altbier. It came out in a 20mL glass similar to the stange – only shorter and wider. The beer was a dark brown with only a small head. It smelled pleasantly musty and malty. It reminded me of cellars and beer aged for long periods of time – think old British Crystal malt. I didn’t get my coaster ticked, but the waiter did swing by a couple times to make sure I didn’t have an empty glass. Later that night, we had a meal at the hotel restaurant. I ordered another brand of Altbier. The waiter seemed happy that an American tourist was ordering his city’s beer. He asked me what I thought of it and whether I liked it. I told him I had never had anything like it and I loved it. He seemed very pleased at that answer. That’s when I realized that Altbier and Kolsch are very similar.

The two beers may be on different ends of the color spectrum, but they’re both easy to drink, sessionable beers. They both have a heavy emphasis on bready, biscuity flavors, but one emphasizes fresh while the other emphasizes aged. The elusive (at least for Americans) Altbier, is the older, darker cousin of the Kolsch. That hoppiness that is so often attributed to Alt comes from balancing out the caramel and Carafa. These two beers have more in common than what separates them. Of course, I’d probably get run out of whichever town I made that statement in. The residents of those two cities are fiercely proud of their beer, and for good reason – they’re both fantastic session beers. Prost!