BREWVENTURE#1 - Part 2 (Germany)

Fasten your seatbelts! The second part of BREWVENTURE#1 is about to begin.

That's right—after spending around five days in the Czech Republic, it was tough to say goodbye, but I had to move on. I was definitely craving more, but I knew the neighboring country wouldn't let me down either. So, once again, I hopped on the beloved Flixbus, this time going from Pilsen to Nuremberg. The bus wasn’t too crowded, but this leg of the trip was a bit longer—about three hours, including a short break to stretch our legs.

I arrived in Nuremberg around 3:30 p.m. on a sunny afternoon. The bus dropped us off very close to the city center, right near my hotel. Less than 15 minutes later, I was at the front desk, warmly greeted by a kind lady. I hurried to my room, changed into something more suitable for the nearly 20°C weather (which pleasantly surprised me), and headed out to explore. Lunch had been a simple sandwich eaten during the bus ride, so before diving into the beer scene, I needed a proper coffee.

Nuremberg is one of those cities that still preserves its medieval wall and towers surrounding the old town. I’ve visited similar cities in Portugal, but I could clearly notice stylistic differences in the construction of the walls and towers—it was all very beautiful. Near the hotel, the inside of the old wall has been repurposed to house a variety of craft shops, restaurants, and cafés. Completely enchanted by the historic charm, I stepped into one of the cafés and ordered a slice of something that looked like “cuca” and a coffee.

Cuca? What’s that? Well, in southern Brazil, we have a strong German heritage, and we’ve adapted the word “Kuchen” (German for “cake”) into “cuca.” It’s different from a typical cake—usually topped with a kind of crumb or streusel. It’s hard to explain; I’ll share a photo to help, but really, you need to try it for yourself. That moment was one of the highlights of the trip. As a Brazilian living in Greece, I suddenly felt at home. The simplicity of a coffee and a slice of cuca transported me back—back to my grandma’s cuca, or to the ones from “Recanto do Mel” (yes, this is in Brazil). I even sent a photo to my family group chat to say I was doing well after another leg of the journey. I hadn’t expected such a comforting welcome—what a moment. 🥲

Revived, I started walking a bit aimlessly. I had a rough idea of where the city center was, and just let the charm of the sights guide my steps. I’m not sure if such a beautiful and pleasant day is common in March around here, but judging by how many people were out and about, I’d say it’s not. People everywhere—sitting in cafés, sitting on steps, even just sitting on the pavement, soaking up the sun. After strolling around the center, overwhelmed by the beauty and the good vibes in the air, it was time to turn my attention back to beer.

I noticed that Augustiner Bräu had a brewery/restaurant nearby. Augustiner is one of Munich’s big names when it comes to beer—an absolute classic. Since a trip to Munich wasn’t in the cards yet, I had to seize this surprise. And once again, just two days before the BJCP exam, I decided to try a style that was hard to find during my prep: a German Helles Exportbier. I had evaluated one label before, but it was full of flaws, so this was a great opportunity to try a fresh, proper example. And wow—the Augustiner Edelstoff was stunning. This style strikes a beautiful balance between malt and hops in a fuller body yet crisp. It’s slightly stronger than your typical German Lager, but nothing over the top (around 5.5–6% ABV). Just Beer—with a capital B. And of course the yeast, which, like in most lagers, keeps a low profile.

A perfect start to a warm, sunny day. Refreshing, satisfying—the kind of beer you hope for in every glass. I drank it leaning against a wooden barrel-turned-table, watching the locals slowly take over the street, reducing the space for cars as they sat down wherever they pleased to enjoy the sunshine. I envied them. On that day, Nuremberg felt like the perfect place to live.

But of course, Nuremberg has its own brewing tradition, and I had to track down the famous Rotbiers. “Rot” means red in German, and yeah, one look at the glass and it makes total sense. These beers are all about the malt—not as dry or roasty as an Irish Red Ale, more like a Märzen or a Vienna Lager. Personally, I love that malty profile. Sure, the finish can be a little sweet depending on the brew, but when it doesn’t cross the line into cloying, it's just plain delicious—smooth, full-bodied, and meant to be sipped slowly.

Coffee and "cuca" (left). A traditional Rotbier (center). Panoramic view of Nuremberg (right).

Right next to the first pub I stopped at was Hausbrauerei Altstadthof, one of the most traditional breweries in Nuremberg’s Old Town. They’ve been crafting classic styles by hand since day one. These days, they also distill their own whisky and gin—and yes, they offer tours. According to their website, the tours were in German, but chatting with the bartender, she told me they provide audio guides in English. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to fit that in. Next time. Same goes for tasting their whiskies—on this trip, I was laser-focused on beer.

Here, I had two right off the bat. I started, of course, with their original Rotbier, then couldn’t resist trying the Rotbier Bock as well. “Bock” versions are stronger—and I put that in quotes because it’s not just about ABV. They’re fuller, bolder, richer. A lot of people associate Bocks with dark beer, but there are plenty of pale Bocks out there. In this case, the Rotbiers stayed firmly red. What really stood out during that hour at the bar was the steady stream of locals coming in to grab takeaway bottles—reusable ones, at that. It clearly has a loyal following. Once again, I was jealous of the locals. #EnvyMode

It was time to hunt down the final stop. One last place on my radar: Bierwerk, a cozy little taproom with a solid lineup of rotating taps—and it doubled as my dinner spot. I played it safe: in Germany, sausage and beer never disappoint. A solid plate of currywurst, this time paired with a Munich Dunkel. As much as I enjoy a Rotbier, I wanted something lighter to go with the food—and honestly, it was a great pairing. It had been a long, intense day. Full belly, four memorable beers, and time to head back to the hotel for some well-earned rest—Friday was going to be a big one.

I may have been a bit too ambitious with my Friday plans. The beers I bought in the Czech Republic were brought home by my girlfriend, but I was still deciding whether or not to pay for a checked bag to bring some German beers back myself. That’s when someone suggested I visit a place in Nuremberg called "Landbierparadies"—which, even without much German, sounds like “land of the beer paradise” or something similar. 

I walked in as soon as it opened, just planning to grab a few bottles to take home... and was immediately met with three long aisles, about five meters each, lined with crates of beer on both sides. I must’ve spent 20 minutes just pacing back and forth thinking, how the hell am I going to choose? Only a small fraction of the beers were refrigerated up front—probably for immediate consumption. And that’s when it hit me: I was definitely going to need a checked bag. 😅

Styles I rarely see outside of Germany were everywhere: Dunkles Bock, Helles Bock, Eisbock... I had to grab a couple of each. And this whole mission—finding the store, realizing I needed a suitcase, buying it, coming back to the shop, then getting to the hotel, bubble-wrapping the bottles and packing it all—had to happen before hotel checkout at 11 a.m. It was a bit of a scramble, and yeah, I probably turned in my room key a few minutes late... but no one seemed to mind.

Now it was time to hop on a train and relax, right? Haha. I’d heard people say German trains were a mess, but I always thought that was an exaggeration. Turns out—it’s not. I got to the platform, but my ticket didn’t say anything about which car or seat I was supposed to be in. I found a couple of staff members and showed them my ticket, and their answer was basically: “Your car hasn’t been attached to the train yet. Just get on any car and switch later at the next stop.” I was like... what!? I always thought Germans were super organized—but apparently that doesn’t apply to the rail system.

And I wasn’t the only one confused. Loads of people were walking up and down the platform trying to figure out where to go. I jumped into a random car and asked a local for help, who just said: “Sit wherever there’s space.” So I did. I ended up moving a couple times when people with seat reservations showed up—but after that, no one bothered me. Even the the guy that checked my ticket didn’t say a word when he came.

So yeah—the plan was to take a regional train from Nuremberg to Fulda, and then a local line from Fulda to Alsfeld. Quite the adventure. Every time I told a German that I came from Nuremberg by train, they looked at me in disbelief—and now I totally get why.

Finally in Alsfeld, it was time to head to the hotel and chill out, right? Of course not! 😅 Alsfeld is a very small town, and there wasn’t a single taxi at the train station. My hotel was outside the city, off the highway toward Romrod—over 40 minutes on foot. Uber technically worked, but the app kept searching for drivers endlessly and never found one. After about 20 minutes wandering around the station, trying to see if there was a taxi rank or something... one finally showed up, dropping someone off. Saved! At last, I made it to the hotel and could finally relax a little.

But why on earth did you end up in Alsfeld? A sensible person would ask.

So, that little town of Romrod is home to the "Heimbrau Convention" — arguably the biggest homebrewing convention in Germany. And it was within the convention’s schedule that the long-awaited BJCP exam would take place. When I reached out to the exam organizer, he suggested I also attend the convention, and yes, it sounded like a good idea.

However, Romrod is even smaller than Alsfeld, and the only hotel there is the actual venue of the convention. Naturally, all the rooms were reserved for the organizing committee and invited guests. Some seminars were happening in another hotel in Alsfeld, so participants ended up scattered across hotels in that town. Once the convention officially began, there was a whole transfer system in place to take people from the hotels to the event venues.

I arrived around 4 p.m., but the transfers only started at 6. And since we’re talking about a homebrewing convention, it’s obvious that people were already eager to share their creations at pretty much any hour. I managed to get a ride with someone else staying at my hotel who was also taking the BJCP exam. We had a WhatsApp group, and he kindly offered me a lift.

I got into the car — two guys from Essen, a city near Düsseldorf. We headed toward Romrod, but they had some friends who managed to score an Airbnb-style house there. We were going to drop off the car before heading to the convention. They invited me inside — table already set. These were seasoned convention-goers, clearly, enjoying a traditional snack before diving into the beer festivities. I didn’t hesitate: gladly accepted a slice of bread with some kind of salami they’d just bought at the local store. I was genuinely surprised and grateful for the hospitality.

We then made our way to "Schloss Romrod" (Romrod Castle), where the convention was already welcoming its first participants for check-in. I went to collect my welcome bag — and it was a pretty good one: a reusable water bottle, a beer tasting glass, a hop sample from a German brand, stickers, and of course, some flyers and ads. Since I didn’t immediately see anyone sharing their homebrews, I decided to head to the bar and kick things off with a purchased beer. There were five or six taps inside a tent set up within the castle walls, plus a fridge full of bottles. But once I spotted a Rauchbier — my beloved smoked beers — the others didn’t stand a chance. I started with the "Weiherer Rauch" and wandered around the castle.

First beer at the "Heimbrau Convention" at Romrod Castle (left). Beer evaliation forms for the BJCP tasting exam (center). Remarkable tasting of "Piwo Grodziskie" during the convention (right).

It’s such a unique place — you enter the castle tower, and as you go up the spiral staircase, each floor opens up into a room with something completely different going on. As the night progressed, more events began, and finally, beers started popping up in almost every corner. But let’s not forget: my day had started early, and it had been exhausting. By around 9 p.m., I was feeling it. Problem was, the return transfers wouldn’t start until 10:20 p.m. That extra hour felt like a long one, haha — I sampled another beer or two, but as the temperature dropped with the night, my desire to be tucked in under the covers grew stronger (yes, I’m getting old!).

And of course, I couldn’t go overboard with the beer on the first night — the BJCP exam was the next morning, and I needed my senses in top shape. While waiting for the transfer, I ended up chatting with a Brazilian woman and her German boyfriend, who had come all the way from Berlin just for the convention. Finally, I made it back to the hotel for some well-deserved rest.

The next day, it was all about waking up, taking a shower, having breakfast—and going to drink beer. No exaggeration. The BJCP exam started at 10 a.m., and for nearly two hours, I had to judge six different beers as if I were in a real competition. Fifteen minutes to describe each beer’s aroma, appearance, flavor, mouthfeel, and overall impression. That might sound like a lot, but it flew by. Still, it was a really cool experience, especially getting to meet the other participants and talk about our impressions once the exam was over. Also, after the exam, the official judges revealed which beers we had tasted—three of them were commercial examples—and discussed what they had perceived and written down, so we could compare and learn from the pros. I truly enjoyed taking the exam and being part of that environment. It was absolutely worth the trip. The results, however, will take a while. Our tasting notes are compared against the official score sheets from the certified judges, and eventually we receive a score.

Honestly, I’m quite confident I hit the 60% threshold to be a Recognized BJCP Judge, and I’m even hoping I might’ve scored above 70%, which would earn me the Certified rank. But what I’m really excited about is the chance to start judging as a provisional judge. The guys from Essen already invited me to a competition they’re organizing there in September. I just haven’t found any reasonably priced flights yet to fully commit to that plan. That said, I’ll probably kick off my judging path next week already—in Sofia, Bulgaria, at the national homebrewing competition. Of course, that’ll get its own blog post.

But back to Romrod. It was just past noon and I had already evaluated six beers. Naturally, I headed straight to the bar—to finally drink a beer without having to analyze it. Then came the question: what to do with the rest of the day? There were lots of seminars, workshops, and tastings happening, but all of them required prior registration. By that point, most were already full—and, naturally, most of the activities were in German. I had also chosen not to register for anything in advance because I noticed events were taking place at two different locations, and I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to get between them.

So I decided to head back to the hotel. Grabbed lunch on the way, and took a well-earned nap. My next activity wouldn’t start until 5 p.m., and since I wasn’t entirely sure how the shuttle transfers worked, I figured I’d just walk there. Yes, my hotel was along a highway, but to my surprise, there was a pedestrian path that followed the road all the way into town. Sure, it took about 40 minutes, but the weather was lovely, and I had time to kill—so it turned out to be a pleasant little bit of “exercise.”

This activity took place at the other hotel, in Alsfeld. It was a tasting session of a nearly extinct historical Polish beer style called Piwo Grodziskie. In fact, it was extinct for a while—but thanks to a collective effort from various sectors of Polish society, the style has made a comeback and is now being interpreted and brewed again by both industrial and craft breweries.

The tasting was led by Marek Kamiński, co-founder and president of the Polish Craft Beer Association. He was also one of the judges at the BJCP exam and is a big name in the beer scene, both industrial and homebrewed. He brought eight different examples of the style, which was truly impressive—I’d never even seen one on sale before! He took us on a tasting journey, starting with the original recipe, then exploring more artisanal interpretations, and finally newer experimental versions, like those brewed with fruit additions.

The room had about 20 people, and the Germans seemed quite familiar with the style. But for me, it felt like a proper masterclass—covering everything from the style’s historical background and disappearance, to its revival, production tips for homebrewers, style characteristics, and more. Unfortunately, the session had to wrap up a bit abruptly, as we all had to catch the last shuttle transfers back to Romrod. I didn’t know it yet, but the night was far from over. We filled our glasses one last time—there was still plenty of beer left from the tasting—and headed to the shuttle stop.

Back at the Romrod Castle, I still had no idea what was planned for the evening. Luckily, I ran into the Brazilian-German couple again and asked what was going on. That’s when they explained: this was one of the most anticipated moments of the entire convention. In a large hall, less than 10 minutes from the castle, the convention beer competition was about to happen. Inside the welcome bag we’d received earlier, there were four cards I hadn’t known what to do with. Turns out, those were our voting ballots for the evening’s competition. There were two rounds, with nearly 50 beers each. We could vote for the best beer and the most popular beer. “Best” is self-explanatory—but “most popular” meant the one with the best marketing, presentation, or general vibe—often the most fun or creative.

It was a blast. People showed up in costumes, handed out stickers, freebies, posters—you name it—to win our votes. The crew from Essen, for example, had brewed a Scottish Ale and showed up in full kilt gear to serve it. The whole event was easily the most fun part of the convention. Many attendees spend the entire year preparing and testing their recipes, just to have the chance to present them to a crowd of beer lovers in Romrod. At the end of the night, they announced not only the winners of the official BJCP competition but also the people’s favorites—both best and most popular. And in that celebratory atmosphere, the final evening of the event came to a close.

But don’t worry... the journey wasn’t quite over yet

The next morning, the closing event was a traditional German breakfast. Those white sausages were served, along with bread and, of course, a Weissbier. As soon as I met the folks from Essen, I told them I was interested in stopping by Bamberg on my way back to Nuremberg, where I would catch my flight home. And since people were coming from all over Germany, I was hoping to hitch a ride with someone heading that way. They immediately said, "You need to talk to Daniel." And on the very first day, they introduced me to Daniel. Over beers and conversation, he said yes, I could ride with him. But I hadn’t gotten his number yet, and I wasn’t sure if, at the time we talked, he was sober enough to remember. 😂
But yes, Daniel came through! On Saturday night I confirmed with him and got his number just in case. He also told me he needed to leave earlier and probably wouldn’t stay for the breakfast. I must admit, after ten days of drinking at least two liters a day, I wasn’t too keen on starting the day with sausages and Weissbier. So that’s how it went—barely had I arrived at the hall, and Daniel was already asking if we could head out. A good passenger doesn’t pick the time, and that way, I’d also have more time to explore Bamberg.

Daniel Stenglein was part of the organizing committee for the event, so every time we talked, it was clear how busy he was. On the drive, I finally had the chance to really chat with him, and with our shared interest in beer, the trip flew by. I found out he’s been and still is a judge at the World Beer Awards, and he had even given a seminar during the convention that seemed very interesting—about the role of oxidation in beer. But of course, it was in German.
Beyond the kindness of giving me a ride to Bamberg, he also turned out to be a genuinely friendly and open guy. He gave me tips on Weissbier production, we talked brewing equipment, and he even dropped a golden nugget:

Every two years, BrauBeviale is held in Nuremberg. It’s considered the biggest brewing fair in the world. Tickets aren’t sold—they’re distributed by people in the beer industry to those they think would benefit from it. And who’s one of those people? Daniel! He said he could get me tickets if I was interested. What a legend!  Unfortunately, there’s no edition this year, but if all goes well, I’ll be in Nuremberg again in November 2026.

Maybe he liked the conversation, because at first, he said he’d drop me off somewhere on the outskirts of Bamberg, near where he lived. But in the end, he dropped me right in the city center, less than five minutes from my hotel. I felt indebted to Daniel—hopefully, one day, I’ll be able to return the favor.

Finally, I arrived in Bamberg. In the texts leading up to the first BrewVenture, I must have mentioned that Bamberg is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is famous for its smoked beers—some of my personal favorites. The flagship brewery in Bamberg is likely Schlenkerla. And, not by coincidence, my hotel was right next to it. What I learned in these days interacting with Germans—and during the trip with Daniel—is that besides Schlenkerla, only one other brewery still smokes its own malt. There are others that produce smoked beers in the region, but nearly all buy their malt from these two breweries. Both Daniel and another German I met at the convention told me that, to them, the other brewery is actually better. Schlenkerla has broader market reach and is known worldwide as the Bamberg beer. But apparently, locals prefer the other one: Brauerei Spezial.

And what does smoking your own malt imply? Control! Malt can be smoked with different types of wood, for different amounts of time, during the malting process or afterward, etc. No matter how well you know your supplier, the only way to ensure consistency in the smoke character of your beer is to do it yourself.

Putting the technical talk aside, I arrived in Bamberg around noon on Sunday with a mission. Google Maps showed Spezial would be open until late afternoon (though Daniel had warned me otherwise). I figured I’d save Schlenkerla for later since it stayed open until around 11 p.m. Spezial is a bit farther out, on one edge of the city center—about a fifteen-minute walk. Unfortunately, it was all for nothing. 😭 Daniel was right. They don’t open on Sundays.

Still, a few other breweries were open, so I made the most of it. I ended up having lunch at Schlenkerla, and it did not disappoint. I’d had it bottled several times—it’s even relatively easy to find here in Greece. But drinking it fresh from a wooden barrel is a whole different story!  I don’t know if you understand me, but the flavors—especially the smoky character that some might find harsh—are much more rounded. It’s soft, gentle… spectacular! Once again, I was savoring every sip, holding the glass up in reverence, nodding in approval.  What a treat!

(PAUSE FOR A RANT: it’s currently 9:52 a.m. and writing this is making me salivate! Writing about beer is a constant exercise in self-control. HAHAHA. Time for another coffee.).

Wood barrels ready for service at Schlenkerla (left). Fridge full of local classics at the Zapfhahn (center). Glass of Schwarzbier at Klosterbräu (right).

I had beef cheeks with a delicious sauce for lunch. And feeling quite content, I went ahead and ordered a dessert beer. Since it was Lent, they had a “Lentbier”—a full bodied beer traditionally consumed by monks during fasting. It is served with a bit more yeast, therefore richer nutritionally. It also showcased Schlenkerla’s mastery of weaving smoke flavor into any style. Full belly, one liter of beer—time for a nap. But only because the hotel was right next door. 😜

After waking up, I walked around and explored more of Bamberg’s gorgeous old town. It’s one of those cities built on a river, full of canals, bridges, and stunning medieval panoramas. It’s quite small too. I stopped for a coffee and then resumed the beer journey. Again, because it was Sunday, some breweries were closed. I ended up at Zapfhahn, a bar and burger place on one of the city’s main streets. They don’t have their own label—it’s just a taproom. I wasn’t too impressed with what was on tap, but they had a fridge full of local beers.

I know—I always say that draft beer is the freshest, most alive version possible. But every rule has its exception. Their menu included a map showing where each beer came from. All of them were within a 50-60 km radius of Bamberg. So, we’re always close to the source. And as I mentioned, German consumption culture is different. According to Daniel, Germans only drink Weissbier from bottles for instance—the bottle re-fermentation is considered part of the traditional process.  To top it off, they had Spezial in bottles. So after all the hype, of course I had to try it. And yes, it was delicious, balanced, and expressive. But the barrel lover in me kept nagging: “It’s probably even better at the brewery.” One day, I’ll find out.

I continued the pilgrimage as night fell. The temperature dropped, and being Sunday, options were limited. I chose to go to Klosterbräu and have one beer before and one after dinner. It was officially founded in 1533, though documents suggest brewing activity there as early as 1333. It’s considered the oldest still-operating brewery in Bamberg. Walking into the restaurant felt like stepping back in time—wooden floors, wood paneling halfway up the walls, wooden chairs. If I close my eyes, I can almost smell it. That mix of wood, something already cooking in the kitchen, and, of course, beer.

On the menu, they had a Schwarzbier—a style not often found out of Germany. Since I’d planned for two beers, I saved the smoked one for later and started with that. A delicious mix of roasted coffee notes balanced with a touch of dark chocolate. I know I’m eclectic, but it’s strange this style isn’t more popular. For dinner, I had schnitzel, and I think I haven’t yet mentioned how huge food portions are in both the Czech Republic and Germany. In this case, it was two large cutlets plus sides. It was great, and I thought I had plenty of time—until the waiter came over saying it was last call and they’d be closing. So, in the final moments, nearly bursting with schnitzel, I still ordered a nightcap: the house Rauchbier. And once again, I felt that sense of fulfillment.

By then, exhaustion was setting in, and I began reflecting on the past ten days. What a privilege! To dive into two beer cultures that, while distinct, help you understand the role beer plays in their daily lives. While many today demonize alcohol consumption, these countries are full of microbreweries that not only stimulate the local economy but create amazing environments for social interaction and sharing—so important for our mental health. Not coincidentally, they’re among the top five countries in per capita beer consumption—but I don’t think they rank high in alcoholism or mortality stats.

As for Germany specifically, I don’t have the words to describe what it’s like to experience German beer culture up close like this, inside a homebrewers’ festival. On the ride from Romrod to Bamberg, Daniel suddenly said, “The craft scene here in Germany is dead.” I was like, what? We just left a convention that served around 100 beers last night—how is that dead? We’re in a country where every region has hundreds of microbreweries! Then he explained that styles outside of traditional German ones (IPAs, NEIPAs, West Coasts, Sours, etc.) are virtually non-existent in the market. And that’s when I got it—microbreweries offering Helles, Weissbier, Märzen, and Pils on every corner aren’t considered “craft beer” by Germans. It’s a historically acquired staple, unlike anything I’ve seen elsewhere. There’s no room here for the traditional craft market that fell in love with hops, dry-hopping, and more recently acidity and sourness. That was part of my (very small) disappointment with newer Czech craft brands. I imagine Belgium and the UK might have similar contexts, but they’re likely the only places in the world that haven’t completely sold out to the American influence.

We might think it’s just pure love for all the incredible styles available here. But Daniel added that there was an initial attempt to introduce IPAs and their variants. However, beer consumption in Germany is truly unique. The country is big, and nearly every village has a brewery  (mostly more than one). People consume very locally, understanding that many of the best styles are only truly experienced at the source or nearby. They buy crates of beer at breweries or specialty shops for just over €1 per bottle. I had the pleasure of visiting one of these shops in Nuremberg.

In other words, there’s not a cold chain for long-term storage. Beer is made to be consumed fresh, and the habit of buying crates means it hardly ages. Now imagine trying to introduce APAs and IPAs. First, they were more expensive. Second, they were completely unfamiliar. And little was done to explain the styles to people used to their cheap, local beers. Because they weren’t bought quickly and were stored at room temperature, they oxidized. And hoppy styles suffer a lot from a loss of freshness. First the aroma fades, then the malt flavor develops a overly sweet caramel taste that has nothing to do with the original style. So when someone finally opened their wallet to try an APA or IPA, they had the worst possible experience. As a result, these styles died in the German market before they even had a chance to live. But at the homebrewers’ convention, I tried plenty of IPAs, APAs, and variants of great quality. A privilege for those who are friends with these brewers or attend homebrew events.

To wrap it up, I’d say it really wasn’t enough time. There were breweries left to visit in practically every city I passed through. But that’s okay—now that I know there’s a direct flight to Nuremberg, it’ll always be on my radar. I might be one of the strangest people when it comes to visiting Germany.
I haven’t been to Berlin. I haven’t been to Munich. But I know Nuremberg, Bamberg, Alsfeld, Romrod, and Weimar. 😂 Let’s see if I can expand this beer exploration through Germany soon. I hope you enjoyed reading. I know the texts are long, but they’re for those truly interested.

And if you ever know someone visiting these regions, now you know where to find a few tips. Feel free to share the blog or the Insta—it's always a pleasure to give personalized tips.

Until next time—cheers!