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.