This was in todays OC register
Article - Travel - Ultimate beer run
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Ultimate beer run
Hitting the brew trail in the Czech Republic
By EVAN RAIL
THE NEW YORK TIMES
In the jagged Jizera Mountains of the northern Czech Republic, the village of Stary Harcov seems an unlikely place for an epicurean pilgrimage. Driving through a dark forest on a linden-lined lane barely wide enough for a single vehicle, I approached a row of timber-framed houses that felt as idyllic and lazy as a Sierra Nevada ski town in midsummer. The only sound was the buzzing of insects from a nearby meadow.
But as the sun set, a crowd formed outside a barnlike family house, taking seats at three rough-hewn picnic tables in the front yard. Dressed in T-shirts and plumbers' coveralls, they lined up at a small window, fetching half-liters of Vendelin, a honey-colored lager, as if it were liquid gold, even though the price of 15 koruna (roughly 70 cents) was only about half the usual rate for a Czech beer.
Why travel all this way, near the borders of Poland and Germany, for a cold one? For starters, the beer is outstanding, with an unusually complex aroma: a bouquet of apricot blossoms with a note of fresh-baked bread, like fruit jam on sourdough toast. In the mouth, the taste is rich and sugary followed by a long, crisp finish. But more importantly, this is the only place where you can sip this particular Czech lager. Brewed in small batches in a tumbledown shed by the owner and namesake, Vendelin Krkoska, the beer has a distribution zone of about two mountain meadows. It is available nowhere else, and nothing else I've ever tasted is quite like it.
"Of all the lager beers, Czech beers are certainly the most unchanged," said Garrett Oliver, brewmaster and author of "The Brewmaster's Table," speaking via phone from his office at Brooklyn Brewery. "And when you go back there, you go back to the original flavors."
Going to the source is an emerging pastime for beer lovers. The wine trails of Napa, Bordeaux and Piedmont need no introduction. The same, however, cannot be said for the beer trails of Bohemia and Moravia. And yet, in recent years, amateur beer hunters have begun carving their own paths through these ancient Czech kingdoms, tapping into the same passion for local hops and barley that drives oenophiles to cross the globe for Zinfandel and Nebbiolo.
Wine snobs might call this overreaching, but great beer is inextricably tied to its environment in much the same way that a great Burgundy displays a characteristic terroir. Real Pilsner, for example, is made with the low-sulfite, low-carbonate water of the Czech city of Pilsen, its original home. Many have tried, but it's nearly impossible to make a good Pilsner elsewhere without doctoring the water – and even then, it will never taste the same.
TAKING THE BEER TRAIL
Around Europe, a handful of beer trails have already emerged, like the lambic breweries of the Senne Valley in Belgium, the seven Trappist monastery breweries of Belgium and the Netherlands, and the dozen or so Koelsch beer makers of Cologne. But the Czech lands are, in some ways, the birthplace of modern beer making, with a brewing history that dates back more than a millennium. Today there are some 450 Czech beers made by about 100 breweries, ranging from golden Pilsners to black, Baltic-style porters. It is also the beer-drinking capital: Czechs consume more beer than any other country in the world, more than 320 pints annually for every man, woman and child.
"Bohemia is it," Oliver said. "It is the fountainhead, if you like, of most beer in the world."
The Czech tourism bureau recently started to promote this fountainhead, alongside its historic castles, spa towns and cosmopolitan capital. There are now beer festivals, packaged beer trails and a new brochure, "Beer Travels" – the only English-language booklet on Czech breweries. Beer makers, too, are actively courting visitors, with factory tours, slick tasting rooms, gift shops and even beer hotels.
For my own beer trail, I decided to start with two of the largest and most beloved, Budvar and Pilsner Urquell, which together constitute much of the country's zymurgical and political history. To round out a four-day trek, I looked to the country's smallest makers: Vendelin, which struck me for its picturesque remoteness, and Novosad in north Bohemia for its colorful back story. And I would check out one of the country's newest breweries, hidden inside a 540-year-old pub.
I started off with the most controversial. From Prague, I drove south for three hours, past fields of white poppies, carp ponds and thick pine forests, until I reached the city of Ceske Budejovice, home of the country's most famous – or infamous – brewery: Budvar. It makes a flavorful lager called Budweiser Budvar, and for years it has locked horns with the American giant Anheuser-Busch over the rights to the iconic name.
Budvar's argument is straightforward: Its hometown, Ceske Budejovice, is known as Budweis in German, and "Budweiser" refers to someone or something that originates from that town. Like Champagne and other gastronomic appellations, Czechs argue that the name is specific to the beer's place of origin. (It is also a point of national pride: Budvar, which is government-owned, was originally founded in response to an earlier, German-owned brewery in town.)
Anheuser-Busch disagrees, arguing that it brewed its first Budweiser in St. Louis in 1876; the Budvar brewery, it points out, was founded in 1895. Courts around the world are still working out the details.
One thing is certain: Ceske Budejovice, the largest city in south Bohemia, is nothing like St. Louis. Its preserved Old Town is a sleepy warren of candy-colored Renaissance and Baroque buildings, spread out under a 16th-century Black Tower. At the pubs around the main square, waiters serve Budweiser Budvars to the strains of Czech polka. (Don't even think about asking for a Bud Light.)
The beer is made about a mile north of the Old Town, in a mixed residential and industrial neighborhood surrounded by green hills. On a hot Friday afternoon, a dozen people gathered inside the sleek visitors' center, furnished with plasma screens, plush banquettes and multimedia displays showing Budvar's global distribution. A gift shop was piled high with souvenir shirts, backpacks, bottle openers and just about anything with room for a Budweiser Budvar logo.
Although the brewery was founded 112 years ago, it is surprisingly modern. Six copper kettles that resembled giant, upside-down goblets sparkled in a vast, sunlit brew house. The smell of fresh hops punctuated the air, a sweet and slightly peppery funk that is somewhat similar to marijuana, its botanical cousin. The hops, widely considered among the finest in the world, come from the town of Zatec in northwest Bohemia. They give Budvar its characteristic citrusy nose, adding brightness to the sweet golden body.
The tour concluded in a factory-style tasting room, littered with plastic cups of Budvar. Having sampled beers all over Europe, I was surprised by how much more vibrant the brew tasted at its source. The hoppy bitterness arrived like the chirpy opening notes of a Hammond organ. The malt struck a rich, deep bass. The only thing it shared with the other Budweiser was the name.