At the Pub, German and Austrian Style

~Evoking Gemütlichkeit at the Wirtshaus~

It was the early 1990s. I had only recently discovered what German beer was all about, and was doing my level best to try as many of them as possible. Occasionally, my friends and I would find our way past the cheap student pubs and happen upon a traditional establishment. Those moments always had something of a magical quality about them. I couldn’t help but notice heavy-beamed ceilings here, a few antlers there, and happy imbibers everywhere. Aside from the happy imbibers, I’d never seen anything quite like this in my hometown of Vancouver.

Back then it was more of a sense of enchantment with my surroundings, and perhaps the vaguest desire to know more about them. But my true fascination with the Wirtshaus is of more recent vintage, dating back to the time when I arrived in Vienna a decade ago to begin a stint at the Wien Museum. Once my Wien Museum colleagues found out that I was into beer, they started inviting me out for drinks at places called Wirtshäuser. These modest establishments were culinary institutions in Vienna, they told me.

The first thing I noticed when we got to Gasthaus Quell was the wood. Wood everywhere, right from the moment you walk through the wooden vestibule protecting the guests within from the elements without. Ancient, it looked as if it had welcomed decades’ worth of visitors.

Inside was more wood, mahogany-toned wood that radiated a casual warmth and echoed with the laughter of those well into their cups. Wainscoting that wrapped around the entire place, reaching up to walls stained yellow from years of smoke. Wooden benches set into the walls, all bearing the scuffs of use and the occasional inscription of guests bent on leaving their mark for posterity. A wood-paneled bar with cabinets that looked like they’d been there since before the First World War. And parquet floors supporting the ensemble of wooden chairs and tables covered in red-and-white checked table cloths.

We settled into our beer and wine and sunk into our surroundings. An old Kachelofen lent the place a homey feel, posters and paintings blended with the rhythm of the wainscoting, and a discreet crucifix in the corner presided over it all. Soon our plates of Schnitzel and Backhendl (Austrian fried chicken) arrived to provide a foundation for our imbibing.

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The Viennese claim the Wirtshaus as a unique ingredient in their culinary identity. But it didn’t take long before I realized that I had seen these kinds of establishments before—dozens if not hundreds of times, in fact. If there is something ineffably Viennese about its Wirtshaus culture, the Wirtshaus itself has a long history in Central Europe. Aside from slight differences in menu offerings, the warmth and simplicity of a Viennese Wirtshaus is no different from the kinds of places I had been visiting since the 1990s in Upper Bavaria, in Franconia, and even in Munich.

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At the Wirtshaus

What makes these places so special? It’s no one thing in particular. It’s the rusticity of some places, the homey décor of others. Wirtshäuser come in all shapes and sizes. Still, you’ll notice family resemblances. They all have a certain feel, an atmosphere of cozy comfort. This, if anything, is what sets the Wirtshaus apart from a restaurant. The beer flows more liberally here, the laughter rings louder. What follows are a few characteristics of your typical Wirtshaus, Gasthaus, Gasthof, or Bräustüberl that evoke a sense of Gemütlichkeit.[1]

Wood and Rusticity

Whether you’re in Vienna or in Franconia or in the Brauhäuser of the Rhineland, wood is the signature of the Wirtshaus: wooden chairs and wrap-around wooden benches, well-worn wooden floors that have supported legions of imbibers, heavy-beamed ceilings that shelter us from the elements, and, of course, wooden wall paneling.

Writing around 1580, Montaigne had this to say about his travels through the Germanic realms: “Over the course of our entire journey we saw not one single meal hall that wasn’t paneled with wood.”[2] Plus ça change. Dark or light wainscot paneling, it doesn’t matter: Wood lends warmth and is an essential part of that “Wirtshaus feel,” a kind of comfort and coziness that you don’t always feel at bistros and coffeehouses with their Thonet chairs and marble furnishings.

The Kachelofen

As if wood weren’t enough to create a cozy atmosphere, the Kachelofen exudes its own warmth, sometimes literally. These wood-fired stoves are a central feature of most Wirtshäuser. The Kachelofen is a tiled masonry furnace that originated in the Alpine regions of Central Europe. It provides warmth in winter and personality throughout the year. Ceramic tiles are glazed or hand-painted, and come in many shapes and colours, though green is widespread. Historically, these tiles bore intricate designs testifying to the wealth and status of the owner.

The Ausschank and the Schwemme: The Heart of the Wirtshaus

All Wirtshäuser have an Ausschank (sometimes called a Schank or Bude). The Ausschank is not only the ensemble of beer taps, zinc bar counter, and wooden wall cabinets with brass-handled doors—an ensemble that’s sometimes a work of art in its own right— it’s the heart of the Wirtshaus, the place where the servers oversee the comings and goings. The Schwemme in front of the Ausschank was the historical center of urban and village life, a jovial and occasionally raucous place that played host to workers, coachmen, peasants, peddlers, and domestic servants. Even if the more “respectable” clientele headed to the remaining rooms, to the Stuben discretely set off from the Schwemme, the Wirtshaus was one of the first social spaces where workers and peasants mingled with local officials, merchants, and clergy.[3]

Today’s Wirtshaus is no longer separated by class, but you’ll occasionally come across remnants of these old spaces. Take Schlenkerla in Bamberg, for example. The “Gassenschänke” corridor that runs from the entrance to the back of the house is solely for imbibing. The Stube to the left of the entrance houses the Stammtisch and is where locals congregate for a Seidla or two, while the rooms to the right cater mainly to guests who want a sit-down meal.

Wirtshaus Décor: The Stuff That Surrounds Us

Franconia, springtime. All the orchards are in bloom. It’s early evening, you’ve just hiked over from the next town with a friend from home. An elaborate wrought-iron sign marks the spot, an old wizened door beckons. Inside, the Wirtshaus echoes with the sounds of merriment and the clinking of glasses. Just past the bustling Ausschank where the barkeep is pulling beers, you spy a few free seats.

After a few beers you realize you’re surrounded not only by a full house of folks engaged in the same imbibing pursuits as you, but also by paintings of beer-drinking revelers and monks quaffing foamy mugs of beer. In the corner, a statue of Gambrinus raises his mug, exhorting you and your friend to drink another, which you invariably do.

Rotund beer-drinking monks, revelers straight out of a Bruegel painting, the king of beer: These are common Wirtshaus motifs, as are hop garlands and harvest scenes. Depending on the region, you’ll find trophies of the hunt, cow bells, implements of the countryside (pitchforks, ploughs, and ox harnesses at Kramer Wolf in the Oberfpalz), or depictions of people in traditional attire (Gasthaus Engel in the Allgäu). Witty or humourous sayings pertaining to drink abound, coexisting with crucifixes and other religious iconography.

Say you’re traveling solo and have found a seat at an urban Wirtshaus on a quiet day, perhaps at Siebenbrünn in Munich or Trödelstuben in Nürnberg. The soothing buzz of conversation begins to meld with the warmth of your surroundings after a few draughts of your beer. Slowly, the homey décor comes into focus—the pewter dishes and beer mugs on the ledges, the paintings of peasants accenting the rhythm of the wainscoting, the flowers on the table, the coziness of a living room. On the other side of the Wirtshaus a cuckoo clock and old-style window curtains evoke simpler times.

Elsewhere in your travels, stained-glass windows and artful inlays add splashes of colour to all that wood, especially in the Rhineland. Depictions of historical or mythical events line the walls, along with views from the surrounding area. The wood-etched vistas at the Malzmühle in Cologne and Uerige in Düsseldorf are particularly impressive. In some places you’ll find intricate motifs and designs painted onto the wood (Hinterbrühl in Munich, Maierbräu in Altomünster, or Göller in Drosendorf). In Westphalia, tilework contributes a decorative flourish (Gasthaus Leve in Münster).

Gemütlichkeit in the Twenty-First Century

As you can see, no two Wirtshäuser are the same. And that’s the beauty of visiting these cultural institutions. But these kinds of places weren’t always a given. Fortunately, after years of decline (Germans and Austrians talked of “Wirtshaussterben,” or the death of the Wirtshaus), the Wirtshaus is experiencing a renaissance.

In the decades following the Second World War, numerous innkeepers succumbed to the pressure for change, thinking that interiors in step with the times would attract more customers. During the 1960s and 1970s, wood paneling was ripped out of Wirtshäuser by the kilometer.[4] In many respects you can’t blame the innkeepers: They were facing stiff competition from supermarkets, and from trendy new establishments that responded to the accelerated pace of postwar society. Nor did they have a crystal ball that could predict that people would feel nostalgic for these warmer, cozier interiors in the not-too-distant future.

Many innkeepers came to rue their decision to renovate these old classics, especially as tastes among progressives and conservatives alike shifted back in the direction of tradition. Beginning in the 1970s and 1980s, well-preserved Wirtshäuser became destinations in their own right.[5] As it turned out, it was precisely the singularity of those old haunts that attracted people concerned about the waning of tradition in the face of homogenization and the anonymizing forces of globalization.[6]

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And all that wood? Today, for innkeepers who want to create that sense of Gemütlichkeit in their Wirtshäuser, historical wainscoting is as sought-after as any other valuable antique.

Related Posts

This is the final installment in my series about the Wirtshaus. Follow the links below for the earlier articles.

The Wirtshaus: Beer, Taverns, and Everyday Life

The Origins of the Contemporary Wirtshaus

For posts about drinking establishments beyond Central Europe, see:

A Pint of Prose and a Dram of Poetry in Edinburgh’s Old-Style Pubs

A Few of My Favourite Things: Belgian Beer Cafes

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Endnotes

[1] See, inter alia, the contributors to Karl Gattinger (ed.), Genuss mit Geschichte: Einkehr in bayerischen Denkmälern—Gasthöfe, Wirtshäuser und Weinstuben, 6^th ed. (Munich, 2018), along with essays in Ulrike Spring and Wolfgang Kos (eds.), Im Wirtshaus: Eine Geschichte der Wiener Geselligkeit (Vienna, 2007).

[2] Cited in Greipl, 11.

[3] Whether in literary sources or in contemporary guidebooks, you’ll come across anecdotes about how people of all classes mingled in the Wirtshaus. Culinary historian Ingrid Haslinger suggests that these romantic accounts of social leveling are exaggerated, pointing out that classes were often separated from one another in the discrete spaces of the Wirtshaus. See Haslinger, “Budl, Sparherd, Flaschensumpf,” in Im Wirtshaus, 46-47. Birgit Speckle, Streit ums Bier in Bayern: Wertvorstellungen um Reinheit, Gemeinschaft und Tradition (München: Waxmann, 2001), also critiques these stereotypes of cross-class conviviality, tempering the latter-day notion that Wirtshäuser were egalitarian spaces where people from all walks of life came together in harmony.

[4] Kos and Spring, “Typisch Wirtshaus: 10 Kennzeichen,” in Im Wirtshaus, 27.

[5] Greipl, 20-22.

[6] These sentiments dovetail with the rediscovery of local and traditional culinary culture, a rediscovery driven by Slow Food in Italy and similar grassroots initiatives (farm to table) elsewhere. The Zoigl renaissance—which began a decade or so later—was also an effect of these rediscoveries.

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All photos by Franz D. Hofer

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