By Megan Sayler
When I told my family I would be visiting Munich, I got empathetic advice from my grandfather, who left Germany for the United States at age three, and from my parents who had visited the Bavarian capital. They all said I should eat, drink, dance, sing, and celebrate my German heritage at the Hofbrauhaus, the city’s celebrated beer hall.
With Hofbrauhaus beer drinking in my genes, I led my seven college friends to an evening of drinking and dining at the famous beer hall. Little did we know that ahead of us was consumption of too much sauerkraut, dumplings, sausage, and schnitzel, washed down by liter mugs of German beer, all to be shaken up by polka dancing, and crowned by an embarrassing self-invitation to sit down at a table with the most important person of the evening.
As the grand double doors opened, we stepped into what looked like an adult Disneyland. We saw waiters and waitresses costumed in green leather outfits that stopped mid-thigh, called lederhausen, accessorized with knee-high socks, suspenders, vests, and hats. They were delivering mugs of German beer, in shades ranging from light amber to very dark brown, to long wooden tables packed with thirsty guests sitting on wooden benches. Sounds of conversation, laughter, and music bounced off the burgundy and forest green painted walls until the polka band in the middle of the room hushed everyone for a toast. Everyone held up their one-liter steins, called a Mass, when the lead singer of the band proposed his toast, after which everyone clinked their mugs together and took a big swig of beer. Our crew watched with anticipation, knowing we would soon join the happy beer drinkers. We knew that the only way to conquer Munich’s Hofbrauhaus, as many had done before us, was by consuming German food and big beers. We were ready.
First, we dined upstairs in the Festival Hall, which is the third room known for its traditional Bavarian dance and folklore entertainment. We hurried up to the top floor and paid the 20-euro admission fee. The smaller hall had large vaulted ceilings with pink and blue Bavarian coats of arms lining the room, as well as arched windows adorned with flags of the Bavarian districts. In the center of the room was an all-you-can-eat German buffet line, which came highly recommended. In the back of the room, an Oompah Band played upbeat music that got our feet tapping. The place was bustling with tourists attempting to reach the buffet, dodging the lederhosen clad waiters and waitresses who were balancing 5 beers in each hand. After sitting down at one of the wooden tables with my food and beer, I set out to do what would make my Grandpa Bernard proud. I used two radler beers (a lemonade and beer combination) to wash down potato dumplings, wiener schnitzel, apple strudel with vanilla cream, a large pretzel, egg noodles with cheese, and a veal sausage dipped in sweet mustard. Never in my life had I felt so full. I had been warned about the German comfort food, but I was too stuffed to feel comfortable. On stage, the Bavarian “Schuhplattler” dancers swung each other around, the alphorn players played, and the yodelers sang.
Sufficiently stuffed with German cuisine, the seven of us then paraded down the stairs, beers and belongings balanced in our hands, to join the party on the first level, known as the Schwemme room. While we were upstairs, the lower hall became crowded and an older couple already occupied the only table we spotted with open seats. Reluctantly, we scooted toward their table and asked politely to sit with them. They looked at each other, at us, said nothing, and then scowled. We took that as an open invitation to join them. The woman shifted her body away from us as we sat down, and the man observed each one of us as we threw our purses next to him. Trying to break the ice, we saluted them with our beers and asked if they were having fun, but got no response.
The language barrier between us was difficult, but we began communicating with gestures, individual words, and facial expressions. We learned the men were locals from Munich, came here every Friday and Saturday, had fought in World War II in Hitler’s army, and snorted tobacco they called “snuff” every 10 minutes. The conversation dwindled, until the waiter let us in on a secret we wish we had known previously. He informed us that the table we were sitting at is reserved for the Hofbrauhaus chairman and his guests, and that one of the men we were clinking glasses with was the chairman. Our mouths and eyes opened wide out of fascination and embarrassment. My mind raced back to the questionable looks we encountered when we sat next to them. We were oblivious to the sign above the table that read “Stamm 100 Tilch.” The German guest of the chairman pointed at it and said in his quiet, halting English, “If you finish a beer at this table now, you will live to be 100 years old.” He lifted his stein to each of us, smiled, and we all took a big gulp.
The mix of people gathered in one room was unlike any sight I have seen. Just as New York is the melting pot of the United States, the Hofbrauhaus is the melting pot of Munich. The young, the old, the very old, male, female, locals, and tourists all come to this place for one reason--to enjoy the atmosphere and culture of old Munich, and maybe to see if they can hold four big beers in each hand. While the Hofbrauhaus is known as the biggest tourist trap in Munich, over half its visitors each day are local regulars; the chairman and his friends come here as part of their daily lives.
A visit to the famous MΓΌnchen Hofbrauhaus made me appreciate the opportunity to sample the traditional cuisine, music, and companionship of the German culture, that my grandfather loved so much.
When I told my family I would be visiting Munich, I got empathetic advice from my grandfather, who left Germany for the United States at age three, and from my parents who had visited the Bavarian capital. They all said I should eat, drink, dance, sing, and celebrate my German heritage at the Hofbrauhaus, the city’s celebrated beer hall.
With Hofbrauhaus beer drinking in my genes, I led my seven college friends to an evening of drinking and dining at the famous beer hall. Little did we know that ahead of us was consumption of too much sauerkraut, dumplings, sausage, and schnitzel, washed down by liter mugs of German beer, all to be shaken up by polka dancing, and crowned by an embarrassing self-invitation to sit down at a table with the most important person of the evening.
As the grand double doors opened, we stepped into what looked like an adult Disneyland. We saw waiters and waitresses costumed in green leather outfits that stopped mid-thigh, called lederhausen, accessorized with knee-high socks, suspenders, vests, and hats. They were delivering mugs of German beer, in shades ranging from light amber to very dark brown, to long wooden tables packed with thirsty guests sitting on wooden benches. Sounds of conversation, laughter, and music bounced off the burgundy and forest green painted walls until the polka band in the middle of the room hushed everyone for a toast. Everyone held up their one-liter steins, called a Mass, when the lead singer of the band proposed his toast, after which everyone clinked their mugs together and took a big swig of beer. Our crew watched with anticipation, knowing we would soon join the happy beer drinkers. We knew that the only way to conquer Munich’s Hofbrauhaus, as many had done before us, was by consuming German food and big beers. We were ready.
First, we dined upstairs in the Festival Hall, which is the third room known for its traditional Bavarian dance and folklore entertainment. We hurried up to the top floor and paid the 20-euro admission fee. The smaller hall had large vaulted ceilings with pink and blue Bavarian coats of arms lining the room, as well as arched windows adorned with flags of the Bavarian districts. In the center of the room was an all-you-can-eat German buffet line, which came highly recommended. In the back of the room, an Oompah Band played upbeat music that got our feet tapping. The place was bustling with tourists attempting to reach the buffet, dodging the lederhosen clad waiters and waitresses who were balancing 5 beers in each hand. After sitting down at one of the wooden tables with my food and beer, I set out to do what would make my Grandpa Bernard proud. I used two radler beers (a lemonade and beer combination) to wash down potato dumplings, wiener schnitzel, apple strudel with vanilla cream, a large pretzel, egg noodles with cheese, and a veal sausage dipped in sweet mustard. Never in my life had I felt so full. I had been warned about the German comfort food, but I was too stuffed to feel comfortable. On stage, the Bavarian “Schuhplattler” dancers swung each other around, the alphorn players played, and the yodelers sang.
Sufficiently stuffed with German cuisine, the seven of us then paraded down the stairs, beers and belongings balanced in our hands, to join the party on the first level, known as the Schwemme room. While we were upstairs, the lower hall became crowded and an older couple already occupied the only table we spotted with open seats. Reluctantly, we scooted toward their table and asked politely to sit with them. They looked at each other, at us, said nothing, and then scowled. We took that as an open invitation to join them. The woman shifted her body away from us as we sat down, and the man observed each one of us as we threw our purses next to him. Trying to break the ice, we saluted them with our beers and asked if they were having fun, but got no response.
The language barrier between us was difficult, but we began communicating with gestures, individual words, and facial expressions. We learned the men were locals from Munich, came here every Friday and Saturday, had fought in World War II in Hitler’s army, and snorted tobacco they called “snuff” every 10 minutes. The conversation dwindled, until the waiter let us in on a secret we wish we had known previously. He informed us that the table we were sitting at is reserved for the Hofbrauhaus chairman and his guests, and that one of the men we were clinking glasses with was the chairman. Our mouths and eyes opened wide out of fascination and embarrassment. My mind raced back to the questionable looks we encountered when we sat next to them. We were oblivious to the sign above the table that read “Stamm 100 Tilch.” The German guest of the chairman pointed at it and said in his quiet, halting English, “If you finish a beer at this table now, you will live to be 100 years old.” He lifted his stein to each of us, smiled, and we all took a big gulp.
The mix of people gathered in one room was unlike any sight I have seen. Just as New York is the melting pot of the United States, the Hofbrauhaus is the melting pot of Munich. The young, the old, the very old, male, female, locals, and tourists all come to this place for one reason--to enjoy the atmosphere and culture of old Munich, and maybe to see if they can hold four big beers in each hand. While the Hofbrauhaus is known as the biggest tourist trap in Munich, over half its visitors each day are local regulars; the chairman and his friends come here as part of their daily lives.
A visit to the famous MΓΌnchen Hofbrauhaus made me appreciate the opportunity to sample the traditional cuisine, music, and companionship of the German culture, that my grandfather loved so much.
Megan Sayler, a University of Kansas journalism student from Kansas City, studied in the CIMBA undergraduate program in spring, 2009.
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