Alt-ternatives

Monday's post was about Bonn and Wuppertal; today it's the neighbouring cities of Düsseldorf and Cologne. I've been to both before, some years ago, and you can read my incomplete account of their beers at that time here and here. I was keen to revisit some of the places, though I won't be repeating myself on the beers. In fact, how about an Alt-free tour of Düsseldorf, exploring the other option that most Alt houses have available?

At Uerige, my first stop, that's Hosen Hell, a Helles brewed and botted for them by Schlossbrauerei Au-Hallertau in Bavaria. It's on the stronger end of the spectrum at 5.2% ABV and is quite a deep gold colour. The aroma is lightly peachy, and the body is light too, though it manages a good bit of complexity. There's a sort of oily marzipan effect, and a touch of cinnamon spice. This is all without leaving the confines of the Helles style: the crystal-clean and slightly cakey pale lager. It's just a different sort of cake, I guess. Think Battenberg.

It was still summer at Schlüssel, where they were pouring Summer Ale. This was a big contrast to their very dry Alt, using Simcoe hops to surprisingly fruity effect. It's an innocent golden colour, but starts getting cheeky with a strong peach and banana aroma. On tasting, this explodes into a riot of floral pot pourri and air freshener spray, leading on to a slick buttery finish with zero bitterness. Somehow it manages to keep this all enjoyable and doesn't turn sickly or cloying. Certainly, it's a bit of fun for 250ml, though I'm not sure a larger measure or serial drinking would work here. Having such a distinctive counter-offer to their flagship is a great idea, and maybe more of the city's breweries were doing it.

Well not Schumacher. This was my first time in their downtown pub, Im Goldenen Kessel. It was crowded, the service surlier and less responsive than anywhere else in town, and I got stuck at a table where there probably shouldn't be a table. To top that off, their Alt alternative was... an Alt. Now, 1838er is 5% ABV and claims to be brewed with Cascade hops, but it's the clear dark brown of an Alt and has the same medium-roast base. Unfortunately, it also has diacetyl in spades, and tastes more like a Danish butter cookie than anything else. This smacks up against a sharp gastric acidity, rendering it a complete mess and somewhere close to undrinkable. The brewery advises us to look out for the hint of lemon in the aroma. Nah mate; that ship has sailed. It's just as well Schumacher's proper Alt is pretty decent.

Füchschen offers a Pils besides its Alt (and a Radler, but I couldn't be bothered with that), and there's no mention of it being brewed anywhere else, but it's very plain fare. There's a vaguely grassy aroma and quite a dull flavour with only a mild herbal edge and a dry finish. I couldn't find any other points of distinction. I suppose, again, that it contrasts pleasingly with the Alt, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with it, but I was surprised to see that they bottle it and send it out into the world. The rules in Germany are different, I guess: there's always room for one more samey pils if the price is right.

I couldn't have ordered an alternative to the Alt at Brauerei Kürzer, even if I wanted to. Kürzer Alt is all they were selling here, pumped into a transparent tank on the bar, directly facing the entrance. I don't think this brewery existed the last time I was here, but it was certainly new to me. Rather than the usual Gemütlichkeit-laden beer hall, there's a sparse and punkish Berlin vibe, plaster artfully removed to reveal bare brick. The brewery is up the back, a tangle of hoses and steel pipes.

I liked the beer. Despite the modern feel of the venue, they've taken a consciously traditional approach to Alt, starting with that lovely dark chestnut colour. The aroma is dry and roasty, like a porter, and the flavour is fiercely dry. It's almost ashen, and shocking at first, but it never turns harsh or unpleasant. There's no caramel and no hops to speak of; all is roast. My mind flips back to porter again, and how it was created as a style for drinking in quantity. This too would make a great session beer, I'm sure.

As I mentioned, I also went to Cologne, and I tried to explore the alternatives there, this time to ubiquitous Kölsch. It didn't work out as well.

First stop out of the station was Gaffel am Dom where I ordered their summer seasonal Sonnen Hopfen. Again, using an American hop in a pale ale seems to be the full extent of their iconoclasm, and this time it's Citra. I always enjoy when this sort of beer gets brewed by a German lager-specialist because you get an ultra-clean precision about the beer, and that was on display here. Visually, it's a modern murky yellow but the tight foam on top looks just like you get on a pale lager, and should really be the standard for pale ales too. In the background there's an unobtrusive malt crispness, serving as a base to deliver big lemon and lime icepop flavours up front. That's it, and that's all it needs to be. It's summery, refreshing and zesty. The city's drinking culture obliges one to drink small portions of it in sequence but I would have been much happier gulping a half litre mug of this one.

And the experiment ended there. None of the other Kölsch houses had anything new or strange for me to try. I re-enjoyed Päffgen Kölsch, this time at the central venue of Bierhaus en d'r Salzgass; got reacquainted with the lovely Mühlen Kölsch at its taproom; enjoyed a big willibecher of Edelstoff at the Augustiner place, because it was there; and was surprised to find Biermuseum still open and still serving German beers that were somewhat exciting 15 years ago but much less so now.

There was one new Kölsch tick to be had for me, at Sünner im Walfisch, a central venue I had eschewed last time, possibly because they don't normally serve their beer from the cask, though there was a platform on the bar for doing it. Sünner Kölsch is a fairly dull example of the style, cold from the keg and rather thin. Searching hard for complexity, I found a tiny hint of peachy fruit, some sharper leafy vegetable as it warmed and a little white pepper, but none of this is prominent in any meaningful way. You're much better off up the street at Päffgen.

Bonn is awash with Kölsch too. Peters Kölsch is everywhere, what with it being part of Dr Oetker's Radeberger family of brands. It's distinctive, but not really in a good way. While they may have been aiming for crisp, they've hit squarely on dry and it's almost ashen, which harms its refreshment power. Warm fermentation often provides some interesting hint of complexity, but I got none of that. I've never found a proper Kölsch that's actively unpleasant, and this isn't, but it doesn't use the features of the style to any interesting effect, even if you wouldn't mistake it for another industrial pils. But it's ticked, and that's the important part.

And then we're back on the rails. Supermarket chain REWE has its own brand of Kölsch in Richmodis, Unsurprisingly, this is another quite plain one -- the dryness still staying on my good side, however. And there's complexity too. Some of that is sweetcorn, which I'm certain isn't an ingredient, but adds a sense of the mass-market lagers from less civilised European countries. There's also a kick of sulphurous spice which I enjoyed and would have liked more of. While this is very unexciting work, it's not pretending to be anything else and as a supermarket cheapie does the job better than most.

A prolonged stopover at Mönchengladbach Hauptbahnhof afforded the opportunity to quaff a tinny of Reissdorf Kölsch. Having it slightly above cold meant I got more of a fruity flavour from this one: a pleasant hit of melon and white grape. Beyond that it's back to dry grain and the other Kölsch basics. A week in the area taught me that it's very much a style for drinking and not for trying to write about the differences between different examples. I salute anyone with the patience and palate to do that properly.

Me, I'm done with Kölsch for now, but not with Germany. There's one more post to come, with all the beers from exotic parts, like Bavaria and Pomerania.

C'est Bonn

I spent my summer holiday this year in western Germany, the Nord-Rhein-Westphalia region. Although Cologne and Düsseldorf are the big cities with the famous beers, I had never been to Bonn, so that's where I based myself. It's a pleasant if unexciting small city; well-kept without being twee, and surrounded by acres of parkland and miles of river walks for those who don't want to sit in the pub all day. Good luck to them, I say.

There is, as far as I could ascertain, one brewery in Bonn, appropriately named Brauhaus Bönnsch. It's a centrally located bar-restaurant on a narrow plot; modern and almost clinically bright. A compact copper-clad brewkit takes up space at the back. Bönnsch Naturtrüb is the flagship, served in the proprietary whimsical wobbly glass. The city being a close satellite of Cologne, this is a pale, warm-fermented lager in the Kölsch style, though hazy, so much more of a kellerbier. As such, it's wholesome and grainy, with a dry crunch to the malt base. I picked up a little pear ester, before a green asparagus finish. Though a modest 4.7% ABV, it has a pleasing heft, making it satisfyingly sinkable. Just as a house core beer ought to be, then.

The other regular production beer is Bönnsch Weizen. A half-litre tower of murk arrived at the table, looking more like New England sludge than the Champagne of Bavaria. The intense and unyielding banana aroma had a bang of beginner's homebrew about it, though thankfully the flavour wasn't correspondingly sweet. There's a better-than-expected hop character, showing an aniseed bitterness, balanced by smooth and dessertish vanilla and a dusting of clove spice. Like the previous, it punches above its ABV, with a substantial warmth and heavy texture, though it's only 5.5%. This is one of those beer styles it's hard for small breweries to impress with, but they've managed it here. It's a distinctive take, for sure, but it works.

A rotating seasonal beer is also on offer, and in September it was Bayerisch Dunkel, a dark lager. No murk here: it's a handsome chestnut colour, smelling subtly of burnt caramel. We're in autumn all right. It's still properly lager-clean, tasting of nuts, liquorice and roasted grain. I often find Munich Dunkel to be too bitter for my tastes, leaning too heavily on the herbal sharpness. This example is well-balanced and very approachable, pulling in the good aspects of brown lager while avoiding any unpleasant extremes. Others may find it on the bland side, but it was in my Goldilocks zone.

Moving on, John Barleycorn is the unlikely name for a large and rambling beerhall and beergarden which has been skinned with an unconvincing Irish theme. It has two house beers, brewed who knows where, under the Macholds brand.

Neither looks particularly great, both with a murky grey cast to them. I was surprised, then, by the fresh herbal hop aroma from Macholds Helles, and its mostly clean flavour. There's a tiny hint of banana, but it's otherwise and for the most part a clean and well-spoken lager of indeterminate style. It lacks the sweetness of most Helles, and also the hop sharpness of good pils, but it could pass as a basic version of either. The short-lived grassy aftertaste is its best and most distinctive feature.

Macholds Dunkel is less charming. A saccharine-sweet aroma leads to more of the same in the flavour. The same basic lager as above is there, but it seems like a bucket or two of caramel has been dumped into the tank. There's no roast, no hops, no nuance of any kind. As a result it tastes horribly cheap and is very disappointing.

And that's as noteworthy as beer in Bonn got. I did take a side-trip up to Wuppertal, famous for its inverted monorail, which is absolutely as much fun to travel on as it looks. Dinner was in Wagner am Mäuerchen, a centrally located pub which is small, traditional and exudes old-fashioned decency. From the menu, Bergisches Landbier took my fancy, since I had little idea what it is. I got a russet-coloured beer with an initial sweetness which dries out quickly. With that come flavours of cola and aniseed, and a growing bourbon-biscuit richness as it warms. It's nothing fancy, but made a nice alternative to the dominant pale lagers. The circumstances of drinking it, including the beautiful antique-style glass, gave me a sense of what going for a beer in these parts was like before pilsnerification happened in the mid 19th century.

Wuppertal isn't so far from Cologne that there wasn't a Kölsch on the menu, namely Zunft Kölsch, which I hadn't seen anywhere else, and I don't think I did since. This is a simple and fun example of a style I almost always enjoy. Salad leaves for a hop profile, and a cheeky hint of gunpowder spicing for crispness that goes above and beyond the usual.

There'll be more Kölsch in the next post, when I visit Cologne, but to finish here, one of the local beers which kept me company on my various train trips. Paderbonner Pilsener is the sort of random canned lager you can pick up in the station kiosks of the region for less than a couple of euro. Unsurprisingly, it tastes very cheap, all musty and plasticky, with a tell-tale tang of hop extract. It does have a decently full body for 4.8% ABV, so I can't accuse it of wateriness, but it's quite harsh and flinty, with a note of metal shavings. I still got through it, but it's not one I'd recommend, unless you're really thirsty and there's nothing else on offer.

Cologne next, and sure we may as well drop by Düsseldorf while we're in the neighbourhood.

Belgiany

Everyone copies Belgian ales, while the Belgians try and do more interesting things with their brewing legacy. Here are some beers straddling the boundaries of tradition and innovation, Belgian-style.

In 2024, Weihenstephan hosted St Bernardus for the brewing of a Belgian-style golden ale. Now the Belgians have returned the favour at Watou and enlisted the Bavarians' assistance for the brewing of an unfiltered Helles, Kombine. At 6% ABV, the strength is decidedly Belgian and far higher than a German Helles would be. It's slightly cloudy, in a wholesome Kellerbier way. The gravity gives it plenty of density and it's a filling sipper. That in turn provides lots of room for flavour, which opens on an intensely floral honey sweetness, balanced out by malt crispness and a slightly herbal sharpness from presumably German hops. Unsurprisingly, it tastes more like a bock than any other lager style, and runs a consequent risk of turning cloying and sticky. I think it manages to avoid that, however: cleanness in the face of strength being the typically Belgian attribute in evidence here. If the aim was for St Bernardus to make something that tasted authentically German, then I think they've succeeded, adding the luxurious heft of a Belgian golden ale to the offer. It's unusual without at all being gimmicky, which I enjoyed.

Last year's Christmas beer box from Martin's of Fairview included a tripel by Hope which the shop is now selling off at a discount and I bought a bottle. It's 8% ABV and I suspect it may be the same beer which Hope released as a limited edition of their own a few months later. Perhaps this description should be in the vintage section of my web presence. It's a murky amber colour and tragically flat in the glass, feeling a bit hot and soupy. The flavour is very sweet, loaded up with tinned pears and orange candy, plus a harsh fennel bitterness that does nothing for balance. Yes, I think this is the same beer, and the months of cellaring have not made it any better. The elements of tripel are here, but they're not assembled in the same way that they are in classic Belgian examples, lacking subtlety, integration, carbonation and any sort of charm. It's strong and flavourful -- I'll give it that -- but it's not good beer, and really not up to Hope's standard.

The grand finale is a beer I had been on the lookout for but hadn't seen until I found it on the same visit to Martin's. Duvel Imperial Blond is intriguing because they don't seem to have done anything different, other than boost the gravity. The lower-strength versions serve a purpose, especially on draught, but one beefed up (slightly) to 10% ABV? That doesn't seem like it would add anything positive. It looks exactly the same as Duvel; maybe a little darker, but still very much golden, with the same tall frothy head. And it tastes identical: the same zesty citrus and peppery spice, with minimal alcohol heat. It's lovely, but I don't get it. Were there really people out there who wanted the same Duvel beer at 6.66%, 8.5% and 10% ABV? They've been given it, and the only question is why. By rights this beer should have more of everything: more spice, more zing, more substance. Instead, it's same-old same-old, but since that's the Duvel same-old, it's beautiful, and magnificently drinkable above all. I don't think I felt the extra alcohol, except for a growing warmth in the belly which I don't get from regular Duvel. While I'm glad I tried it, I won't be trading up from the Duvel my local supermarket sells, nor opining loudly that this one is the brewery's best. The extra poke seems more of an inconvenience than an enhancement.

It's hard to see where there are improvements to be made on classic styles the way the established Belgian breweries produce them. I wonder in particular which side has learned the most from the St Bernardus and Weihenstephan collaboration projects.

Complexity through strength

I like a bit of cedar spice in a beer when I can get it, so was attracted on sight to this cedar-aged American-style barley wine from Czech brewer Sibeeria. I don't know why they decided to call it Nostalgie 70s but that's what we're stuck with. It's 10.7% ABV.

In the glass it looks appropriately rich: a luxurious dark amber colour, just very slightly hazed. There's no sign of the cedar in the aroma but I'll grant that it does smell like an American barley wine: sweetly unctuous with a layer of zesty hard candy added to some of the sugar. It's as thick as it smells, and surprisingly not hot for all of the strength and density. I'm guessing it's done with wood chips rather than barrel ageing as there's no spirit aspect either.

The flavour is fairly straightforward, with lots of floral honey, lemon bon bons, and toffee pudding. This is very much a dessert of a beer, making serious use of its caramelised malts. The American hops are present but not much more than an afterthought: if you came to it seeking classic Bigfoot, you'll be disappointed. The cedar takes a moment or two to emerge, but it's there in the finish, adding a seasoned sprinkling of peppery spice. I don't know that the beer needed it, but it's welcome, and helps offset the otherwise intense sweetness.

This is a very fine beer, and it's a shame there aren't more like it. The American barley wine combination of big malt and big hops is an old-school winning formula but unfortunately rather out of fashion these days. I didn't think that need would be answered from Prague, but that's just a lucky break for me.

A dog so small

When I was a kid they played lame music for middle aged people in the supermarket but this morning at Whole Foods it’s now all amazing bangers from my youth.

— Matthew Yglesias (@mattyglesias) August 24, 2025 [since deleted]

This tweet reminded me of the observation that there's been a recent generational shift in beer; that the cool craft of 15+ years ago now has something of a yer-da vibe. In these parts, the impression is strongest with BrewDog, a ship that's still afloat but, according to the business pages, is springing leak after leak.

Lest it suddenly wink out of existence, I took an afternoon spin across to their gargantuan Dublin brewpub to do a bit of catching up. From the onsite kit there was Hazy Craic, a light 3.8% ABV effort and looking quite wan and sickly in the glass, though properly hazy. If it's all hop flavoured I would be surprised because there's a lot of mango and passionfruit in it, to the point of tasting artificial and syrupy. Not that it's thick: the ABV is very much in evidence in its light body. That does mean, however, that it lacks the necessary softness for good hazy IPA. There probably isn't much point in making them at this strength. What you're left with is a mélange of tropical fruit, something that's technically not out of keeping with the style, but not done this way. I'm all for brewpub experimentation though I don't think this one worked very well.

Headquarters has two new lagers and I started with the lighter one as a palate cleanser. It's titled simply Cold Beer and is 3.4% ABV. For the bad boys of craft beer, they're really watching their excise duty overheads. The visuals here are excellent: a pristine bright gold and a perfectly Germanic fine froth on top. It smells on the sweet side, so seems to have been designed malt forward, which is probably a good idea for this sort of thing, avoiding the sharp edges that too many hops can bring to light lager. The flavour certainly doesn't shout hops, but barely whispers anything else. I guess the clue was in the name: it's extremely plain. Cold and fizzy? Check. The sweet side I picked up in the aroma manifests as a kind of marzipan effect, suggesting fermentation esters which probably aren't meant to be there but there's nothing to mask them. I'm not going to ding it on the technicalities of precision lager brewing, however, because I know next to nothing about that. The marzipan doesn't cling to the palate so this beer does its job of being cold and refreshing. Did BrewDog need a Budweiser clone, though? I guess they have data somewhere that says they do.

Fool's Gold, the 5% ABV Helles, looks altogether more serious, approaching amber in colour and with a fair amount of haze going on. So it looks like a German brewpub lager, and it smells that way too: the grainy biscuit and mild grassiness of the rustic sort of Helles. Those distinctly noble hops swing into action from the start of the flavour, suggesting salad leaves in a light herbal dressing, although without the vinegar, I'm happy to say. Low-to-no filtration, and a decent gravity, gives the taste a richness and depth which the previous two were lacking. The almond-like esters from the last beer are here too, to an extent, but masked by the green hops and a biscuity grain crispness. While it's not a stellar example of a German-style lager from a full-size brewery, I would be quite happy to find it as a kellerbier somewhere in Germany. It's quirky, and quite charming in the way it diverges from clinical Helles. Maybe there's something to this whole "craft beer" concept after all.

Who is making new amber ales in this year of our lord twenty twenty-five? BrewDog, apparently. Here's Shore Leave, only 4.3% ABV, so channelling Irish red more than anything American in its spec. Not that it looks like one. It's barely amber at all, more a tarnished brassy shade. Still, the aroma is delightfully fruity in a red way: cherries and strawberries in particular. We're back to the thin body of the early beers, however. Onto that is tacked a toasted grain crispness which does remind me of Irish red ale, and then a mild sort of bubblegum sweet side. I am unimpressed. I had hoped for a bigger malt richness; more caramel malt and a bigger new-world hop load. This is very weak tea and feels brewed to a price point, to be inoffensive, not that BrewDog would ever admit to such a thing. It is most definitely not an explosive riot of hardcore anything. I say "meh", BrewDog. Meh!

I had the strongest beer on the menu to finish: Pinball, a double IPA. It's a hazy one, 8% ABV and pale yellow, which seems to be the norm when these are done well. And it is done fairly well: there's a freshly tropical aroma of pineapple and mango, dusted with cinnamon spice and set on a vanilla base. It's all very familiar, and the likes of Whiplash and Hopfully turn out beers like this on the regular. That's not a criticism -- good beer is good beer -- but there's nothing distinctive or different going on. For a boozy, murky, hop bomb it's very well balanced, and the different elements of fruit, spice and custard unfold in a discrete and mannerly way. It's the hazy DIPA style done in a way which suggests experience and expertise. That's not exciting unless you've never had one before, but I fully accept it, and enjoyed it.

Having been an observer of the company since 2008 I will say BrewDog did once have an edge, even if it never quite measured up to the cringeworthy marketing bluster. On today's showing, that edge seems to have been dulled by the intervening years and business requirements. If I wanted a stunning craft beer experience, I don't think any of the 17 house beers on the menu would have delivered that.

I was quite shocked when I learned that the De Molen brewery and brand had been discontinued by its owners because the craft beer customer base which once supported it simply moved on and the brewery, under multinational management, never adapted to that. The momentum and capital behind BrewDog will take longer to wind down and fade out, but I wouldn't be surprised to see it happening.

Stout, porter and mild

Can you feel the evenings drawing in, and the lure of dark and wholesome beers? Today's three don't have anything much to connect them, other than arriving into my eyeline at around the same time last July.

Stout is represented by Nocturne, no not that one. The White Hag has chosen the name for its new coffee stout, even though it's in permanent use as Rye River's export stout. It had its Dublin launch on draught at Tapped on Nassau Street and I went along, where they were serving it carbonated. Now, you won't normally catch me calling for nitro, but coffee stout ought to be creamy, and this 4.5% ABV fizzy job didn't give me any of that. It didn't taste very strongly of coffee either, I thought, with the centre being a kind of nuttiness: crunchy hazelnut and a drier, harsher, peanut-shell rasp. Where the coffee does appear is in the finish, but it's not creamy and in no way rich, tasting to me like dreggy grounds: coffee on a technicality, but not an improvement to the beer. This was all-round disappointing and needs to be bigger, rounder and warmer to suit my tastes.

For porter, it's The Right Amount of Approachable, a collaboration brewed at Boundary with input from Kinnegar. We're still at 4.5% ABV, but here it's the hopping rather than the dark malt which is to the fore: a dank and spicy aroma, leading to a flavour of hay meadows and grapefruit zest. The label mentions that rye has been included in the grist, so maybe that's a factor in the spicy grassy effect; regardless, it's delicious. The actual dark malt side of the equation manifests as a gentle mocha roast sweetness, but the beer is light (or, less charitably, thin) so that element is relegated to the background. To me, this has a lot in common with Kinnegar's mighty black IPA Black Bucket, but it lacks the satisfying roundness which 6.5% ABV gives that one. It's still packed with flavour, and has a beautifully long aftertaste of ginger and chamomile, but seems a little hollow around the middle; an undesirable watery aspect that bothered me. It is, of course, perfectly possible to make impressively full-flavoured beer at session strength, but this felt like one designed as a punchy flavour bomb and not given the appropriate substance to carry it. Maybe the profile is just too close to Black Bucket for my palate to accept the slight variation. My perception is the one at fault, and not the beer. I would have liked more of a dark grain character from this, but what they've done instead with hops and rye is admirable. Don't expect ordinary porter, and certainly don't expect Black Bucket, and you will enjoy. Phew.

Lastly a mild. We do not get a lot of canned mild on the shelves of Dublin off licences. This one is from Abbeydale, and simply titled Dark Mild, from their Restoration Series of classic styles. At 4% ABV it's maybe a little strong, and is murky and brown in colour. The aroma is deliciously beery, mixing tangy and metallic English hops with chocolate cereal and treacle tart. I am instantly transported to the pub, and a good one at that. It's lightly textured, and extremely quaffable; I had to hold myself back from draining it until I had enough written. Drink it slowly and there's brown bread, caramel traybakes and chocolate milkshake. The roasted side is missing, likewise any bitterness or the dark berry tartness, all of which are my favourite features of mild. Regardless, this does the basics of mild very nicely, and is a tasty beer regardless of its assigned style. I'll take a 440ml can, but really it deserves to be pulled from a cask.

I'm a little surprised to find I preferred the straight-up interpretation of mild to the coffee'd stout and hoppy rye porter. I'm sure I'm not the first to point out that microbrewing tries too hard sometimes.

Bavarian big boys

It's bad form that the Traunstein beers have been in circulation here for some time and I haven't yet ticked off the main core lagers. A sunny Sunday afternoon last month provided the opportunity.

I started with the Helles, and as expected there are no surprises here. It's 5.3% ABV and a medium golden colour, perfectly clear of course, and topped with a fine white froth. The body is full and smooth, as Helles should be, and it's very satisfying to take big gulps of it. That gives the flavour a spot-on spongecake richness, and it's maybe a little sweeter than is typical, lacking hop character and with with a layer of fruit esters -- apricot and banana -- making it seem even bigger, rounder, and maybe even somewhat ale-like. That became rather cloying by the end, so I don't think this is a great session candidate, but it got the afternoon going properly. I was in the mood for crispness next.

At 5.1% ABV, the Bayerisches Pils is a bit of a whopper. It's rare to see these over the 5. Still, it looks light and easy-going, a considerably paler shade of yellow than the Helles. I had hoped for a bit of hop aroma but there isn't much, only a faint hint of salad leaves. Sadly, I didn't get the crispness I was after. The high-ish gravity makes this another full-bodied chewing lager, and while it's nowhere near as heavy and sweet as the previous one, it's not the angular, precision-engineered German pilsner I wanted. I can see why the brewery sought to make it clear that this is specifically a Bavarian pils, free of hardline Prussian influence. There's a little basil and spinach in the foretaste -- the minimum level for a German pils -- and a dry grassy aftertaste, but otherwise this is quite a malt-forward beer. There are no fruit esters and it doesn't cloy, so if you're up for a session when round Castle Traunstein, this is the beer to stick with.

Both beers convey a sense of luxury, being almost dessert-like in their richness. You need to be in a Big Lager mindset to enjoy them. My only real beef is that these two aren't sufficiently different from each other. That pils in particular needs dried out and hopped up.