Wreaths of Gold

If I mention “kölsch” to you, I could be describing a person from Cologne (Köln), or the traditional dialect spoken in the city, or something else that is typically of Cologne. But I’d probably be wasting my breath, because if you’ve ever been to Cologne, the first thing the word would bring to mind is a light golden, crisp, clear, refreshing beer (or ale, as purists will insist) served in a tall, slender, seven-ounce glass. Kölsch is one of the few beers in the world that has a protected geographical indication, much like the appellation d’origine contrôlée for wine.

According to the Kölsch Konvention signed by members of the Cologne Brewers Association in 1986, only top-fermented, cold conditioned beers brewed according to strict standards, and only in or near Cologne, can be called kölsch; and, since 1997, the name is protected in the whole European Union. (Of course, like all German beers, kölsch is brewed according to the 500-year-old German Beer Purity Law, which specified that beer must be made only from barley, hops, and water. In 1516 they didn’t realize that some natural yeast was sneaking in to make the whole process possible; later the law was amended to include yeast.)

You’ll find kölsch at just about every tavern or restaurant in the city; but it seems to taste best at a bräuhaus belonging to one of the dozen or so kölsch breweries in Cologne. There’s a bit of ritual, though, if you happen to be in one of the brewery establishments. Waiters (of both sexes) nonchalantly swing a circular tray called a kölschkranz (kölsch wreath) from its central handle as they circulate among the tables. Luckily each filled glass, called a stange (pole), resides in its own recessed nook in the tray. As each customer drains a glass, a passing waiter replaces the empty with a new, full stange, and pencils a tic-mark on the coaster – which also serves as the bar-bill. The only way to stop the flow is to place a coaster on top of the empty glass before the waiter can beat you to it.

To accompany the beer, most brewery-owned houses offer local, traditional dishes, like Schweinshaxe, (roasted pork knuckle), Himmel und Ääd (“heaven and earth” – fried black pudding with mashed potatoes and apple sauce) or a simple Halve Hahn. (You might expect this last item to be half of a rooster, but it’s actually a split rye roll with a thick slab of gouda and sliced raw onion inside. If you’re lucky the waiter – Köbes in Cologne dialect – will remember the mustard!)

Of course, beer – even one as unique as kölsch - is not the only aspect of Cologne that a visitor should experience. The city is as full of extraordinary attractions as you will be full of lunch after finishing your Schweinshaxe. For example, Cologne is famous for its enormous gothic Dom – the city’s Cathedral of St. Peter – whose twin spires make it the third tallest church in the world. I’ll leave the many fascinating features of the great building to the guidebooks, and just mention that you can enjoy a splendid view of the north façade from the alfresco tables of the Gaffel am Dom brauhaus. Gaffel kölsch is perhaps the most robust of the versions you’ll encounter. This main brewpub of the Gaffel brand is on the Bahnhofsvorplatz, an enormous square bordered by both the main train station and the cathedral. The Dom attracts an average of 20,000 visitors per day, so the people-watching is unbeatable. (If you want a seat with an unobstructed view of the Dom’s front façade – the largest church façade in the world – you may have to settle for ice cream at Café Reichard opposite the west end of the building.)

Or, you could visit the historic Heinzelmännchen fountain south of the church across Roncalliplatz, the busy square named for Pope John XXIII, Angelo Roncalli. The fountain, surrounded by flowerbeds, tells the legend of the helpful gnomes – the Heinzelmännchen – who, in olden times, spent their nights doing all the unpleasant work in Cologne, so that the townfolk could spend their days drinking or napping or gossiping, until a curious tailor’s wife spied on them one night, and they disappeared forever. Alas, paradise lost. Fortunately, the Brauhaus Früh am Dom, known for its light and refreshing beer, has outside tables adjacent to the fountain, where crowds of locals and tourists alike can gather, and console themselves with a stange or two in sunny weather.

While you’re visiting Cologne, you’ll no doubt hear of the historic Rathaus, the venerable city hall, whose tall tower is adorned with over a hundred statues clinging to its steep sides. The figures honor important people in the city’s history: modern dignitaries like Konrad Adenauer, ancient VIPs such as Augustus and Marcus Agrippa, and local heroes including Johann Maria Farina, who invented Eau de Cologne. Perhaps the most peculiar image is a little chap bending over and presenting his bare bottom to the world. Variations of this theme appear surprisingly often in medieval Rhenish sculpture. The figures are called kallendressers in Cologne dialect, which means something like “gutter poopers”. This one’s part of the statue group featuring Konrad von Hochstaden, who was Archbishop of Cologne back in the 13th century. Why would the Archbishop’s memorial feature such a rude boy? It may be because von Hochstaden angered the citizenry by imposing a hefty tax on beer – not a good way to be remembered fondly. Which reminds me – it’s only a few steps north through the Alter Markt – the Old Market – from the Rathaus to Brauhaus Sion, the first kölsch brewery to reopen in the devastated city after World War II, and a favorite with locals.

In the Alter Markt, a grand space edged with shops and plenty of open-air cafés, you’ll see another much-photographed kallendresser at number 24, and, in the center of the square, a tall statue of a famous general from the Thirty Years War. He’s Jan von Werth, a Cologne lad who grew up poor, and fell in love with a lass named Griet. When he proposed, she turned up her nose because he had no prospects. Heartbroken, he joined the Army, became a war hero, and married a rich, aristocratic lady. One day he returned to Cologne, and of course spotted Griet, who had waited in vain for a rich man to propose. “Oh, Jan,” she exclaimed. “If I had only known!”

Too bad that Peter’s Brauhaus wasn’t there on the corner where the square meets Mühlengasse, as it is today, because it’s a perfect place, a bit upscale but still friendly, for long-parted lovers to reminisce over a couple stanges of Peter’s tasty, slightly hoppy, kölsch. And the gratin potatoes with tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella are excellent.

Whether you lunch at Peter’s or Sion, you may feel the need for a bracing walk afterward. If you stroll east toward the Rhine a few hundred yards, you’ll come to the Rheingarten, a pleasant riverside park with walking and cycling paths. Head north, and before long you’ll come to the western end of the Hohenzollernbrücke, the railway bridge crossing the Rhine from the Hauptbahnhof. There is a wide cycle-and-pedestrian lane you can take across the bridge, lined with chain-link fence to which are attached thousands upon thousands of padlocks, each engraved with the names of a loving couple. Lovers attach the locks to the fence and toss the keys into the river, to declare their undying devotion.

Once across, you’ll find a walking path along the riverbank, edged with cast concrete steps leading upward from the water. This structure, almost a quarter-mile long, is called the Rheinboulevard; in 2015, after five years of construction, it replaced an old, obsolete railway embankment. Now, at evening during fine weather, it’s crowded with people, including many young couples, enjoying the free view of the river and Cologne’s skyline beyond, silhouetted against the sunset.

As you sit, drinking in the view of the city and the noble towers of the Dom, no doubt you will reflect that there are other Brauhauses left to discover in the darkening streets of Cologne. And you will be right, of course. There is the oldest of the kölsch breweries, the Brauerei zur Malzmühl, “the Maltmill Brewery”, set in a tangle of streets near the Heumarkt (the old Haymarket), usually packed with hungry locals; or, in a quieter part of the Heumarkt, the cavernous Gilden im Zims premises, where an unwary guest might get lost searching for das klosett, especially after several stanges of Gilden’s excellent brew. Then there is Sünner im Walfische, still serving kölsch in the tiny old brew house south of City Hall, at the sign of the whale, though the beer is now brewed across the river; Reissdorf, drunk in several brauhaus pubs in the city, and exported in bottles around the world; and still others yet to be found. As you walk back across the Hohenzollernbrücke, along the fence covered with an estimated 50,000 love locks, perhaps you’ll reflect that surely, somewhere among them, one of them should read “Cologne + Kölsch, forever!”

Text © 2022 by Joe Gartman; Photographs © 2022 by Patricia Gartman. First published as Cologne’s Kölsch Legacy in German Life Magazine, September 2022