In Praise of Oktoberfest Beer

I am not sure of the year, but it was before 2010. Sally and I had gotten an invitation to the Widmer Oktoberfest, which they staged in the parking lot outside the brewery. It was a warm, late-September afternoon and the sunlight lit up the beer I was holding in my faceted, German-style mug (it was definitely not a Maß). The colors of autumn sparkled in the glass, yellows, oranges, and reds. I recall the malts, somewhere between gingerbread and toast, the deliciously peppery hopping, and the round but crisp finish that seemed to beg for an immediate encore.

I had certainly enjoyed American Oktoberfest beers before. I’d had a similar, startling epiphany some fifteen years before the Widmer experience when I’d tucked into a bottle of New Glarus Staghorn. I barely knew anything about beer then, and I remember wondering if maybe lagers contained depths heretofore hidden from my Hamm’s-blinded eyes. But that Widmer Oktoberfest, drunk al fresco among a buzzing crowd during my favorite time of year, was one that converted me to the style

So, before the season completely fades, let us celebrate one of the best styles in the world.

American Oktoberfest

There’s an old Zen proverb: first mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers; then mountains are not mountains and rivers are not rivers; finally mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers. Thus it is the case with Oktoberfest.

To the average American, Oktoberfest refers to an orangey-amber German beer that comes along in the fall. Examples are legion. But to the more educated drinker, Oktoberfest is really “festbier”—the stuff the chosen Six are allowed to serve in Munich at the hollowed grounds of Theresienwiese. That beer is helles-pale, with a bit of an elevated ABV for the celebratory spirit. Examples of this beer, at least stateside, are rare, and usually couched in obscure language.

Which is the real Oktoberfest? It’s the wrong question. Beer styles evolve. Munich doesn’t get a veto over Muncie. In the US, consumers have strong expectations of what “Oktoberfest” means. Paulaner, one of the official Munich Oktoberfest breweries, handles this by making two different beers—one that they serve in the tents, one they send to the United States. One is golden and 6% ABV, one amber and 5.8%. The picture at the top of the post illustrates a delicate negotiation of these two traditions, as Breakside gets all the words on the label—Oktoberfest, festbier, and lager. Yet inside the can it’s an American Oktoberfest, and a lovely beer, all toasty and rich with Vienna malts and the brewery’s characterful, crisp lager yeast. In the U.S., “Oktoberfest” means amber. Forget pale festbier, here mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers.

Sacrilege

The truth is that those darker base malts make the beer. Sacrilegious as it may sound, the old-school American oktos are more interesting beers than the modern ones served in Munich. Beers have been getting lighter for generations, and you can’t stop progress, I guess. In Austria, Anton Dreher’s old Wiener lagers faded after WWI. It took Bavarians longer to blanch their lagers, but they did, too. Over the course of the 20th century, breweries served paler beers along with their amber märzen-style beers at Munich’s Oktoberfest. The most influential may have been Augustiner and their Wiesn-Edelstoff, which is traditionally dated to 1953, but is actually decades older. By the end of the 20th century, fashion had turned definitively toward the paler version, and now you won’t see an amber beer under the tents.

That process played out in beers in the US, too, but Oktoberfest has remained a static kind of seasonal nostalgia. We return to their amber hues because they bespeak that change in season, a moment to observe and savor. I love them because they have gorgeous composition. Traditionally, Bavarians would have used Munich malt to deepen the color, but Americans may use Vienna with or instead of Munich. Those malts really taste quite a bit different that pilsner malts, and they can be quite varied. For my tastes, a toasty flavor is characteristic of Oktoberfest, and I gravitate to those versions. Hops, too, can be quite variable in potency, though brewers seem to favor spicier varieties, which complement the sweeter, fuller malts. Together they create a beautiful harmony, and a distinctive one. I love a great pale lager, but it’s no substitute for the flavors of darker malts.*

You have maybe two weeks left to go find an Oktoberfest on the shelves, and then they’ll be gone. If you haven’t had one this year, don’t delay. They’re perfect this time of year.

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* Not everyone agrees, but ignore the haters—they’re just wrong on this one.