LIVE TO EAT: There's nothing quite like German beer with German food, so get over to the Gasthaus and see what I mean.

I've spent the last few evenings looking at 30-year-old slides of Europe; prior to this, last December's photos in Munich and Bamberg were organized. Through it all, periods of thirst have been handled with the help of Wernesgruner, a pilsner brewed in eastern Germany near the Czech border, which we've been keeping around the house.

It occurs to me that even if dinner is pickled herring from the Baltic areas of Germany and not sauerbraten or sausages from Bavaria, German beer remains the default accompaniment to German food. Make the argument for wine if you will. I like my chances of finding the ideal beer.

In turn, this reminded me of a review I once wrote about Louisville's Gasthaus restaurant. I can't believe it's been eight years since I wrote about the Gasthaus; rest assured, we've eaten there numerous times since then, and will be indulging again next week.

Louisvillians are very lucky to have the Gasthaus, and I highly recommend it. Here's a repeat of the September, 2011 review.

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Friday feast at Louisville's Gasthaus.

You have to love a place that kicks off its menu with a newspaper article on the importance of keeping children under control while dining out.

But Louisville's Gasthaus restaurant is much more than that, and has been bringing great German food to metro residents since 1993. In this second consecutive year of being unable to visit Europe, I've made do with memories, beers and meals in various locales, and as for the latter, Gasthaus ranks above both the Glarner Stube (Swiss/German; New Glarus WI) and Jasper, Indiana's Schnitzelbank in terms of authenticity and a purely Pavlovian ability to transport me to the continent, if only briefly.

The important detail missing from my photo of the Gasthaus's colossal Wiener Schnitzel a la Holstein are the anchovy fillets. Heavens! The sauerkraut was fully cooked, savory and worthy of entree status itself. You can see the strawberry torte. Aventinus Weizen Doppelbock is the star of a short but effective German bottled beer list.

Gasthaus is a splurge, and fully worth it: Two salads, two entrees, a side, two desserts and two drinks came to $125, including gratuity. Hours are short and reservations (for tables as well as desserts) recommended. The location on Brownsboro Road is easy to find, and adjacent to a well-stocked Party Mart package store.

Munich Tales 2018: A six-pack of Munich beer and food.

This post was inevitable, don't you think?

The 11 best places to drink beer in Munich, by Barbara Woolsey (Time Out)

In Munich? Want a beer? You’ve got a whole world of great options

In Munich, and the state of Bavaria, it’s not just brewing beer that’s an art form: so is consuming it. There’s an unspoken code of how to drink like a proud southern German: Always clutch your beer Maß, or litre mug, with just one hand. When you toast, make strong eye contact. And bring your own snacks – carrying outside treats into the beer garden is not just allowed, it’s polite.

But as much as tradition rules the Bavarian roost, in the capital Munich there are plenty of independent breweries and beer halls shirking the old ways. The Reinheitsgebot, a 500-year-old beer purity law dictating that only water, barley and hops could make beer, is being defied more than ever by a new guard of local craft brewers and funky tap houses without a wood barstool or painted mural in sight.

It makes for a dynamic mix of traditional taverns and beer gardens – mostly gathered in the heart of the city, where they’ve presided over the centuries – but also suave pubs rebelling against their Bavarian birthright. It depends who you’re talking to, but the latter is either a vital revolution or blasphemy. What better way to take up the debate than over a cold one?

A critical consideration at the beer hall is to not take the seat of a regular unless invited to do so -- by a regular. Anyone who must ask whether or not they're a regular plainly isn't one.

Gather Round the Stammtisch (Spiegel On Line)

Pubs around the world have their regulars -- those customers that prop up the bar every day. Germans, however, have formalized their own way of drinking, talking, laughing, and solving the world's problems. The "Stammtisch" is a venerable Teutonic tradition -- consider it a no-frills version of the French salon.

Travelling in Germany can be a thirsty undertaking and regular detours into one of the country's many Eckkneipen (corner pubs) can quickly become a necessity. Once your eyes have adjusted to the murky, smoke-filled dimness, be careful where you sit -- a wrong choice can be a severe break with German protocol.

In a crowded German restaurant or beer hall, you'll sometimes find an inviting table placed conveniently near the bar and surrounded by empty chairs. A cryptic sign hanging above will read Stammtisch. While such a table may seem tempting, sitting at a Stammtisch is a privilege reserved for the pub's regulars. If you stay long enough for a second beer, the table will likely fill up with boisterous and chummy Germans on a first-name basis with the bartender.

A Stammtisch is a table permanently reserved for the family and friends of a bar's owner -- also known as the Stammgäste, or "family guests." But more than merely being a piece of furniture, the Stammtisch is where a number of German character traits come together in one place: beer drinking, conviviality, and a deeply ingrained penchant for speaking authoritatively on any given subject.

THIS is the breakfast of champion beer travelers.

A Weisswurst Breakfast (beer included), by Michelle Wagenlaender (The Munich Eye)

It is not very often that one is served beer for breakfast. And no, it has nothing to do with Oktoberfest! Weisswurst Frühstück, the traditional Bavarian breakfast, includes boiled sausages served with loads of sweet mustard, freshly baked pretzels and a refreshing Weissbier (wheat beer). In fact, the sausages without the beer, mustard and pretzels might be slightly frowned upon by the locals!

Weisswurst, translated as white sausage, is a mix of finely minced veal and fresh pork bacon and is usually seasoned with parsley, lemon, mace, onions, ginger and cardamom. This mixture is stuffed into fresh pork casings and separated into individual sausages, measuring about 12 centimeters long (4-5 inches) and 2 centimeters wide (an inch). Since it is made early in the morning, it is not consumed after midday. There is a saying that the sausages should not be allowed to hear the church bells' noon chime.

Weisswurst appears again on this list of must-try food, which thoughtfully incorporates several non-native dishes. My choice for Schweinhaxe in Munich is the Schneider Bräuhaus, as accompanied by a lovely Aventinus.

11 Delicious Dishes You Can't Leave Munich Without Trying, by Evelyn Smallwood (Culture Trip)

Schweinshaxe
Also known as Haxe or Eisbein, Schweinshaxe is a big old pig knuckle slow-roasted with the skin still on served with a knife sticking out of it. The skin is crackly and the meat just falls off the bone. Bring a big appetite. The potato dumplings that come with are basically gravy sponges.

To conclude, two posts about the Munich milieu we experienced all those years ago -- now 31 of them.

30 years ago today on THE BEER BEAT: Meeting the gang at the legendary Imbiss by Gleis 16 at the Hauptbahnhof in Munich.

 ... The famous Imbiss (snack counter) at the foot of Gleis (track) 16 is long gone, the victim of extensive remodeling, modernization and gentrification, It wasn’t all that much even in its heyday, but during the 1980’s this simple, functional train station concession stand was a genuine Munich destination for discerning budget travelers the world over.

There were two long windows with outside counter space, plentiful tile and stainless steel, wonderful beer taps, kitchen equipment for preparing basic nibbles, and several customarily greasy, though by necessity diligent, employees in white shirts, sometimes augmented with blue smocks.

In front of the Imbiss were a handful of regular standing-room-only cocktail tables, and also some that resembled smaller, elongated versions of the telephone wire spools that used to litter backyards in the Georgetown of my youth.

Standing at these tables by morning, evening and night were locals, tourists, commuters, vagrants and assorted hangers-on, the majority of them savoring the Imbiss’s only true specialties: Cool Hacker-Pschorr golden lager at a reasonable price and a portion of Leberkäse, a high-quality form of all-meat bologna cut from a warm deli-sized square loaf, weighed and priced, and served with a crusty roll and plenty of mustard.

The Imbiss at Gleis 16 never disappointed. Like Munich's defunct Mathäser Bierstadt (tomorrow's topic), the Imbiss represented old-fashioned egalitarian functionality for the city's everyday commuters, as well as short-term visitors like us, for whom it was a fine and refreshing perch to observe life's rich pageant.

R.I.P., Mathäser Bierstadt.

30 years ago today on THE BEER BEAT: Munich's incredible Mathäser Bierstadt, symbol of a lost era.

 ... It was cavernous, filled with nooks and byways and various banquet rooms and snugs, and decidedly grittier than the Hofbräuhaus – no less attractive for tourists, but rowdy and with an earthier composition of native German barfly.

These many years later, what I’ve taken away from three Munich nights in July isn’t capable of being detailed. That I experienced it with wide eyes and a sense of wonderment cannot be doubted. For a beer- and history-loving Hoosier just shy of his 27th birthday, roaming Europe for the second time, Munich was the epitome. It was Disneyland with ubiquitous mugs of foamy lager and all the sauerkraut and potatoes one cared to eat.

Unfortunately, the Mathäser perished, and the site is now an ultra-modern cinema and entertainment complex. I walked past it in 2004 and bowed in reverence for what used to be. The last time I was there during its actual existence was in 1995, and even then the beer hall seemed exhausted, even if we did our level best to enliven the proceedings.

PINTS & UNION PORTFOLIO: Oktoberfest season is an ideal time to revel in the range of German beer styles.

Schlenkerla, fresh from the barrel.

Yesterday I placed the emphasis on Oktoberfest-Märzen, arguably the most famous seasonal style of beer in the world.

Hacker-Pschorr Original Oktoberfest is on tap at Pints&union, and here's a style primer.

The seasonality of Oktoberfest in time, beer and year.

In an excellent article at Fortune, Anne Becerra contributes a mouth-watering overview of different German styles, with her top pick for each. She's the beverage director at Treadwell Park in New York City and plainly nails these choices, from Oktoberfest-Märzen to Pilsner, and from Roggenbier to Helles. I've emphasized one passage in this excerpt.

“What I really love about German beers are the subtle nuances, the attention to detail, and the consistency,” Becerra says. “German brewers really understand the importance of balance, and the beers are crafted to perfection Every. Single. Time. Like a good friend that’s always there when you need them, reliability is key. As American craft beer continues to grow in popularity, and the search for latest thing or the newest It Style takes over, let’s not forget about the beers that have been getting it consistently right for decades, often centuries. I love Oktoberfest season, because in addition to all the great Oktoberfest styles, I inevitably end up celebrating German beer, food, and culture as a whole—not that I really need an excuse to do that, but it helps.”

As for her top recommendations, it’s exactly what a beer rookie like me would want to see. It’s got something for every palate. And not all of them are ridiculously difficult to find—or come with a purchase quantity limit.

The Pints&union bottle and can list includes the following selections from Germany and Austria, and there'll be others as time passes. Note also that the current draft lineup has Pilsner Urquell (Bohemian Pilsner), Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (Bavarian Wheat) and the aforementioned Hacker-Pschorr Original Oktoberfest.

Central State Garden (Gose)
Daredevil Vacation Kölsch (Kölsch)
Schlenkerla Märzen Rauchbier (Smoked Lager)
Schneider Aventinus (Wheat Bock)
Schneider Weisse (Bavarian Wheat)
Stiegl Grapefruit Radler (Lager & Fruit Soda)

For those interested in a comparison, now's the time for a beer sampling at Pints&union. Recalling that Oktoberfest and Märzen are largely interchangeable in terms of style, first order a draft Hacker-Pschorr Original Oktoberfest, and then finish with a Schlenkerla Märzen Rauchbier.

Taste the smoky difference, and ruminate about the timeless classics.

THE BEER BEAT: "Bock brings the Germans rushing to the beer garden."

In the USA: on the Bock imagery of goats.

Doppelbock is the perfect example of a seasonal beer style redolent of history and faraway places, and yet deemed insufficiently sexy for narcissistic, hop-laden, shoe-gazing geeks.

No bitterness in this soul, mind you.

There actually was a Bock Fest in NuLu yesterday, and maybe I should have gone over and taken stock, but after being in Munich 20-odd years ago during Starkbierzeit (strong beer time) ... well, you know.

It might not be the same, although I commend the organizers for furthering Bock recognition in Louisville.

Apart from every other consideration, and whether one prefers malty or bitter, it is the seasonal nature of Doppelbock that we found enticing during the dawning age of better beer consciousness. Celebrator and Salvator were available during the warm weather months, but who wants to drink them in July?

Summertime was, and remains, intended for Bavarian-style wheat ale.

Even before the inception of Gravity Head, we'd time the arrival of draft Doppelbocks at the Public House for the Lenten season, as in Bavaria. More often than not, is was still chilly outside. In a word, ideal.

At Pints & Union, we'll keep a bottled version of Doppelbock (as well as Hefeweizen) year-round, but there'll be only two spare faucets for rotating drafts, and these will be scheduled to pour as we used to do it, traditionally and seasonally.

No one ever described the theory and practice of Doppelbock quite as wonderfully as the late Beer Hunter, Michael Jackson. This piece is from 1998.

Bock brings the Germans rushing to the beer garden

After the dark months of winter, the Bavarians are now venturing cautiously into their beloved beer gardens, even though the weather is not yet reliably warm enough to ensure comfort.

They can always give themselves a little central heating with a Bock Beer. In Germany, this is a brewery's strongest beer, unless - as is often the case - it also has a "double" Bock.

Both variations are seasonal specialties for cool weather, and the Doppelbocks are especially associated with Lent. Extra-strong beers were originally made at this time of year by monastic breweries as "liquid bread" to see the brothers through the weeks when their diet forbade not only meat but also fish.

The notion of beer as liquid bread is not fanciful. In the dawn of civilisation, bread was baked as a raw material for brewing and in some corners of the world "traditional beers" are still something of an alcoholic porridge.

A rich, malty beer like a Doppelbock is quite filling and does not, like the lighter, hoppier styles, further arouse the appetite ...