Let’s begin in Prague. You’re thinking U Flecku, the 500 year-old landmark beer hall, aren’t you? Well yes, we went the world’s second best-known beer hall and drank the dark beer sitting alongside all the other tourists. It’s even fair to say we enjoyed ourselves. Even at tourist prices, the beer was inexpensive. The staff and crowd were friendly and relaxed.

Elsewhere in Prague, we drank plenty of Budweiser Budvar and Pilsener Urquell as we roamed from beer hall to beer hall, savoring every half-liter. But it was our quest to drink beer with the locals that led us to Branicky Sklipek Pivnice. It’s a workingman’s pub, a vanishing institution in town.

Without a doubt, it was the smokiest place we’ve ever visited; visibility was barely to the next table. The clientele was almost strictly middle-aged, chain-smoking men who had settled in for a long evening. The cold, crisp mugs of Branicky lager were about thirty-five cents. Inevitably, after a few beers, nature called. And that presented us with a problem. Well at least, it presented Maryanne with a problem.

The men’s restroom opened and closed so much that a revolving door would have been more efficient. Not so lucky for the ladies though. First try, the door was locked. Second try, the door was locked. Third try—still locked. Now wait a minute. There are hardly any women in this place. So, is someone in there? Maybe it’s broken? Maryanne could see the bartenders snickering as she looked around.

If anyone spoke English, they sure weren’t letting on. Terrific. Oh well. Suck it up and go to the bar, Maryanne. Both of the bartenders, who obviously pegged her as an American, were now laughing out loud as she approached. And then, they did a noticeable double-take when she asked for the key to the toilet—in Polish.

A handy little secret of traveling in central Europe is that if you speak a language native to one of the neighboring countries, almost everyone will understand enough of what you say. And they’ll cut you a lot of slack.

Mozart and Märzen

Most people visit Salzburg to pay homage to the city’s favorite son, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and see the cobblestone streets made famous by “The Sound of Music.” Anyone looking to purchase some beautiful Austrian crystal will enjoy going from shop to shop, and meeting the locals. Needless to say, this tiny town doesn’t lack for visitors. Beer lovers have yet another reason to enjoy Salzburg: Augustiner Brau.

The Augustiner monastery was founded in 1605 by Wolf Dietrich, Salzburg’s prince and archbishop. In 1835, the emperor handed the monastery over to the Benedictine order, which decided to cash in by inviting the public to drink their beer. Beer-savvy residents of Salzburg have flocked there ever since.

Walking into the beer hall was like a trip back in time. Not quite back to 1605, but to New Jersey, circa 1960, where our parents belonged to very ethnic Catholic parishes with large halls used for community activities. For a few brief moments, we were back in the past as we gazed at the high windows, the wood beam ceiling and the long rows of tables.

Luckily, we remembered to do as the locals do. We headed to the serving area, picked out ceramic mugs called krugs; bought tickets from the cashier; and turned in both mugs and tickets at the pouring station, where fresh, unfiltered lager was drawn from a wooden barrel. When it came time for a refill, we rinsed our mugs at the water fountain and began the process again.

Augustiner Brau was offering two beer selections: a Märzen, an amber colored lager; and, because it was Lent, a stronger brew called Fastenbier, which cost a few schillings more. For a city as expensive as Salzburg, the beer was quite cheap: about $2.50 a half-liter.

Only too soon it was time to head back to our hotel. We picked up our krugs and left them in the designated corner of the serving area and took one last long look at the marvelous piece of European culture and history know as Augustiner Brau. As we walked along the river, making our way back into town on that crisp night under the moon-lit sky, we knew our mental photo-album of Salzburg would be pleasant.

The Talking Lion

The next day we left for Munich and the start of Starkbierzeit, a celebration of Bavarian culture and potent doppelbocks. We’ve enjoyed all of our adventures in Bavaria, but our fondest memories are of that trip. The city was in a wonderful mood. The icy winter-chill in the air was gone and everyone seemed to take time to join friends and family to toast the season.

As we made the rounds of the city’s beer halls, each establishment seemed friendlier than the one before. The same was true of the beers, of course. Before long, sharing tables with strangers and singing “Ein Prosit” every fifteen minutes seemed perfectly normal—even though our cynical minds knew the band cued up “Ein Prosit” frequently to boost beer sales.

The high point of our trip came on our last evening in town. We set out for the Lowenbraukeller to watch the folkloric revue that locals and tourists alike fill the hall to see. It’s an easy place to find as it’s right off a subway stop. The building is draped in Bavarian flags and crests prominently featuring Bavaria’s beloved lions. While these majestic creatures never roamed the forests of Bavaria, they have always been viewed as a symbol of strength.

The beer hall itself is a beautiful building. It’s huge and ornate, has Old-World charm, and is soaked in Bavarian culture. Everyone drinks lots of beer and eats plenty of food, but the real reason they come is to toast traditional music and rituals. A band plays German favorites all night, singers in traditional costumes engage the crowd and invite the audience to participate in demonstrations of strength and traditional arts like wood-chopping.

Before we departed the Lowenbraukeller, we stopped to give a big nod and a smile to the enormous mechanical lion near the main entrance. After all, Lowenbreau means “lion’s beer.” After three, or was it four, liters of dopplebock, we were looking for the subway stairs only to hear a deep voice repeating “luf fen brow.” We just stood there, looked up and laughed.

It must have been a real sight: two jolly Americans, laughing uncontrollably, just standing in front of a mechanical lion that said “Lowenbrau” every twenty or so seconds. In retrospect, we’re sure that we weren’t the first, nor the last. On another trip to the Lowenbraukellar we noticed that the lion had disappeared from the corner. Had he been kidnapped and held for ransom? Hardly. One of the staff told us that the lion only comes out for the “fifth season.”

Here’s to a season just for dopplebock!

But this is the agreement nobody expected. It comes after more than a century of bitter recriminations and costly legal battles over who has the rights to the trademark Budweiser.

The attitude at the London offices of Budweiser Budvar UK—where the beer is one of the top imported lagers—was simple as well as jubilant: “A-B needs us more than we need them.” The facts bear this out. Imported specialty beers form a growing sector of the American beer market. A-B has enjoyed considerable success with such brands as Bass Ale, Grolsch, Kirin and Tiger. Sales of Kirin in the U.S. have grown by 147% since A-B took control of distribution.

Using the brand name Czechvar to avoid clashes, Budvar has been on sale in 30 states for several years. But the deal with A-B will give the beer—which will continue to be labeled Czechvar—far wider distribution, turning it into a national brand.

Both sides were at pains to stress that the legal battles in other countries will continue. To prove the point, a few weeks after the American deal was agreed, the European Court of Legal Rights ruled that A-B cannot use the full Budweiser name in Portugal, upholding Budvar’s claim to the trademark.

Merger Mania

Nevertheless the deal in the U.S. has prompted many commentators to suggest not only that the legal battles could soon be a thing of the past but might also herald a merger of the two companies. Take a cold shower—nothing will happen for some time. The Czech brewery is still state owned. Coalition governments in the Czech Republic tend to fall apart quickly. There is no effective government in Prague at present and privatizing Budvar is not on the agenda.

Successive governments since the collapse of communism have made it clear Budvar will stay in state hands until a “suitable partner” is found. For “suitable partner,” read “anyone but Anheuser-Busch.” The Czechs are proud of Budvar. They feel strongly that, while A-B may have been brewing its Budweiser several decades before the Budvar brewery opened in 1895, the trademark Budweiser, meaning in German “of Budweis,” is a generic one that goes back to at least the 14th century. The older Citizens’ Brewery in the town now known as Ceské Budejovice also brews under the Budweiser name.

If and when Budvar is sold off by the state, it may remain a successful independent company. But the history of brewing in Central and Eastern Europe since the fall of communism shows that stockholders are open to offers. Global brewers have big check books. The biggest players in Czech brewing today are SABMiller, which owns Pilsner Urquell, along with Gambrinus and Kozel; and InBev, which controls Prague Breweries, best known for its main Staropramen brand.

It’s unlikely either group would be allowed to buy Budvar, as the sale would give one or other too big a stake in the Czech Republic. But the likes of Baltika—a consortium of Carlsberg and Scottish & Newcastle that is the biggest brewer in Russia—or Heineken might be keen to buy such an iconic brand as Budvar.

They would be deterred, however, by continuing legal wrangles between A-B and the Czech brewery. As well as taking on the brand, they would also have to pick up large lawyers’ bills as A-B fights for its trademark rights throughout the world.

There is only one giant brewery that could buy Budvar and end the legal battles at a stroke. You guessed it—Anheuser-Busch. As the captain of the Titanic observed, “stranger things have happened at sea.”

Back in the Czech Republic

Two weeks before the A-B and “Czechvar” deal was announced, I was in Prague for the annual awards given by the newspaper Pivni Kuryr—Beer Courier. The awards are the results of votes by the paper’s readers and Budvar has won the top prize more times than any other beer.

Beer lovers in the U.S. can get ready to drink a beer that is brewed from Moravian malt, Saaz hops and pure water—not a grain of rice to be seen—and which is lagered (cold conditioned) for 90 days. Enjoy!

The acronym, NoFibs, stands for National Organization for Imported Beers and it demands more honesty and clarity about the origins of lagers.

The point was underscored by a survey of British drinkers which showed that many thought Stella Artois was brewed in France. Actually, it is of Belgian origin but is brewed in Britain. Similar confusion surrounded other major brands.

Drinkers, for example, thought both Kronenbourg (French) and Grolsch (Dutch) were German beers, while Beck’s (German) and Budweiser Budvar (Czech) were considered to be American. The truth is that Kronenbourg is owned by British brewer Scottish & Newcastle and is brewed in Britain as well as France, while the draft version of Grolsch is also a British product. Both Beck’s and Budvar are indeed genuine imports. Confused? You’re not alone.

Origin Matters

The most significant finding from the survey was that three out of every 10 drinkers did care where their lager beer was brewed. This is encouraging and must have mightily pleased the Czech Budweiser Budvar brewery, one of the instigators of NoFibs. Budvar makes much of the fact that its export lager is brewed only in Ceske Budejovice (Budweis in German) while its rival, American Budweiser, is produced–beechwood chips and all–in a London brewery.

One surprising signatory to NoFibs is the Dutch giant, Heineken. It brews more beer than the rest of the NoFibs members put together, but Heineken was keen to make a point about the authenticity of the beer it sells in Britain. For many decades, a laughably weak (3.6 percent ABV) version of the Dutch beer was brewed under license for the British market. In 2003, Heineken took the momentous decision to stop brewing in Britain and start importing the genuine and original 5 percent beer from the Netherlands.

Heineken is embroiled in an increasingly tough fight with Inbev, the owner of Stella Artois, for market dominance in both Europe and Russia. Stella is the biggest selling premium lager in Britain while sales of the weak, British-only version of Heineken were declining rapidly. The Dutch brewer has since put a lot of marketing money behind the genuine beer. Promotions include a series of TV commercials in which a bemused Londoner is taken to the Netherlands to watch real Heineken being brewed “in horizontal tanks.” (As I have written widely about the benefits of lagering beer traditionally in horizontal–rather than vertical–tanks, I’m considering demanding royalty payments from Heineken.)

The promotion has paid a rich dividend for the Dutch brewer. In September, it reported that British sales of its beer had jumped by 29 percent in the first half of the year. Cynics might say this is a victory only for 5 percent beer over 3.6 percent, but I prefer to draw the conclusion that a section of increasingly sophisticated and well-traveled drinkers appreciates authentic beers and can absorb complex technical data from TV commercials.

But the most important lesson from the impact of NoFibs and the success of real Dutch Heineken is that honesty remains the best policy.

Coors in Burton

I witnessed another victory for authenticity in September when I visited the Coors Brewery in Burton-on-Trent. The Colorado brewer bought the old Bass breweries in Burton when Bass decided to quit brewing in 2000 to concentrate on its Holiday Inn chain. Coors found that one of the brands it owns is the granddaddy of all India pale ales: Worthington’s White Shield, a bottled beer with natural yeast sediment.

Coors was expected to drop the beer but continues to brew it in a small pilot plant on the site. Sales are increasing, in particular, among young people. It’s sold in the United States by B United and is worth seeking out.

I was presented with a gold-painted bottle that marks the one-millionth-and-one beer produced since Coors acquired the brand. It has a place of pride among my tankards and special bottled beers.

The renowned Czech brewery Budweiser Budvar is so concerned about developments in its own country that it has launched a consumer campaign based on what it calls the Ten Commandments of good brewing practice. Budvar ages its premium beer for 90 days, while a new bock-style Bud Super enjoys a remarkable 120 days in the lager cellar.

Budvar warns beer drinkers that the dedicated craftsmanship that created the first pale lager beer in Pilsen in the 1840s and transformed brewing worldwide is under concerted attack. It cites the case of Pilsner Urquell—the original pilsner—where aging has been reduced from 60 days to 27. SABMiller, a merger of South African Breweries and Miller of Milwaukee, now owns Pilsner Urquell.

The group dominates Czech brewing: it also owns Gambrinus, Radegast and Velke Popovice. The other major force is Interbrew, which owns Prague Breweries, where Staropramen is the leading brand.

SABMiller claims that after 30 days in the lager cellar the yeast has no more work to do. Aging beer for more than 30 days, the group says, results in liquid lying in tanks that could be used more profitably for fresh brews. Josef Tolar, brew master at Budweiser Budvar, vigorously contests this view. He believes that long aging produces beer with greater finesse, aroma and flavor.

Budvar’s concern is not restricted to aging. It criticizes other Czech brewers for tampering with fermentation temperatures to speed up production and introducing cheaper ingredients, such as malt and hop extracts.

Budvar’s campaign is not entirely altruistic. While its overseas sales continue to grow—it’s sold as Czechvar in the United States—the brewery has lost market share at home as a result of the well-heeled onslaught of Interbrew and SABMiller. Budvar hopes its insistence on using only the finest ingredients and a long aging process will appeal to a younger “green generation” concerned about fast food and over-reliance on chemicals, fat and sugar.

But a few glasses of Budvar in the bars of Ceske Budejovice should convince skeptics that the brewery is also fighting for the soul of beer.

Dramatic Change at Burton

Interbrew outraged British beer lovers in September when it announced it planned to close Boddingtons Brewery in Manchester and move production of Bass ales to Marston’s plant in Burton-on-Trent.

Interbrew bought both the Bass and Boddingtons brands in 2000. The British government told Interbrew to off-load some of its interests, as the group’s market share broke competition guidelines. Coors arrived on the British brewing scene, bought the former Bass breweries in Burton, and continued to brew Bass ales for Interbrew.

Interbrew was anxious to break its links with Coors but was aware that Bass is synonymous with Burton and the beers would lose credibility if they left the town. It has now struck a deal with Marston’s to move Bass to the town’s other major plant.

At the same time, Interbrew said it would axe Boddingtons and transfer production to plants in North-west England and South Wales. Boddingtons Bitter was once a superb pale ale, straw-colored, rich in malt, fruit and hops, and sold only in cask-conditioned form. Today, cask Boddingtons accounts for only ten percent of total production. Bass has followed a similar tragic decline; this world-renowned brand is so reduced that it can be brewed by Marston’s, its arch rival in Burton-on-Trent.

A different attitude exists among regional brewers. Fuller’s of West London is committed to cask beer production and its London Pride brand is now the biggest-selling premium ale in the country. It has also been doing some in-depth work on its famous strong pale ale, Extra Special Bitter.

Sales of ESB have faltered in recent years. It seems some drinkers are deterred by the strength of the beer. Fuller’s brewers have responded by maintaining both the recipe and the strength of the beer but allowing it to lie in conditioning tanks after fermentation for 21 days on a bed of Goldings hops. The beer has a spicy and peppery hop aroma and palate that balances the renowned rich, orange fruitiness.

ESB drinkers are now presented with a beer that doesn’t overwhelm the tastebuds with sheer alcohol and fruit but also offers a solid hop presence. It speaks volumes for Fuller’s commitment to its brands that it has sensitively improved ESB’s appeal instead of panicking, reducing the strength and destroying its rich heritage.

The two brewers have been slugging it out in courts throughout the world for more than 100 years. The battle becomes ever more bitter. Each side, like armies in World War I, gains a few yards of territory but is often forced back to the trenches under a hail of hostile fire.

And the lawyers stand on the sidelines, their meters running.

Point of Contention

The dispute centers on who has the best claim to the trademark, Budweiser. A-B says it started brewing its version in St. Louis in 1876 while Budvar didn’t arrive until 1895. But, for centuries, beers from the South Bohemian town were known generically as Budweiser. The old German name for the town is Budweis. An older brewery in the town, now known as Samson, sold its beers under the Budweiser label long before Anheuser and Busch fired their kettles in Missouri.

In a court case in 1880 between A-B and the Joseph Uhrig Brewing Co., Adolphus Busch said his beer was produced “by the process by which beer is made in Budweis, to my best knowledge.” A-B was already a litigious company. In a second case between A-B and the Fred Miller Brewing Co. in 1898, Adolphus Busch said, firmly and categorically, that his beer was “brewed according to the Budweiser Bohemian process.”

No chest-thumping there about American Bud being “the original.” Even the marketing tag, “the King of Beers,” was a reworking of “the Beer of Kings,” which was applied to the Bohemian versions when they found favor with the local monarch in feudal times.

Behind the Iron Curtain

In 1911, a short-lived agreement permitted both the American and Czech beers to be sold in the United States under their full titles. But A-B quickly reneged on the deal. It went on the offensive in 1939 in an attempt to remove all the Czechs’ rights worldwide to the Budweiser trademark. A-B chose its time well—the Nazis were just invading the Czech homeland. For the duration of the Nazi occupation, the beer was known as “Budbrau.” The country and its beers then disappeared behind the Iron Curtain for the best part of 50 years, leaving the rest of the world free to A-B.

But long before the Eastern bloc began to fall apart, those in power started to export Budvar with some vigor to the West. The impoverished communist regime was desperate for hard currency and began to promote Budvar on the other side of the wall.

Battle of the Buds

The battle of the Buds recommenced. If one company managed to register its trademark in a particular country, its rival was forced to use a pseudonym: “Bud” in the case of A-B, “Budejovicky Budvar” for the Czechs. When either side does lose a trademark dispute, it gets its lawyers to contest the court ruling.

The Czechs are able to sell their beer under the full Budweiser Budvar label in Austria, Belgium, Britain, France, Germany, Hungary, Poland and Switzerland. In Denmark, Finland, New Zealand, Slovakia, Spain and Sweden, the brew is sold as Budejovicky Budvar.

Last year the Czechs received a major setback in Italy where their beer had been sold as Budweiser Budvar for some time. A-B went to court, won its case, and as a result, the Czechs can no longer use any trademarks that refer to Budejovicky or Budvar. The beer is now sold in Italy as “Czechvar,” and Budvar admits it has lost sales. Czechvar is the name used in the United States, where sales resumed in 2001 with considerable success.

The Czech Republic has been invited to join the European Union, the giant trading bloc of western Europe that is now moving east. Budvar has welcomed an agreement that will protect such titles as Budejovicke pivo (Budejovice beer) in 25 European countries. A-B hit back with a statement saying the agreement did not infringe its own rights in Europe. It would take a clever (and rich) lawyer to work that one out.

Meanwhile, British beer drinkers are bemused by Anheuser-Busch’s new TV campaign for Bud that focuses on the freshness of the beer. A typical ad attempts to impress viewers with the fact that a particular batch of Bud started to be brewed on January 3. But if the ad runs on TV on January 13, this means that the entire brewing and packaging process lasts just 10 days.

It may be beer, but is it lager?