At Home in the Zoiglstube: Zoigl Pubs in the Oberpfalz

Zoigl: More Than a Kind of Beer

It’s been way too long since I posted about the Oberpfalz, one of my favourite beer regions in Germany. Sure, beer in nearby Franconia is the stuff of legend. And there’s no denying the sublimity of the Alpine scenery in Upper Bavaria. But there’s something almost mystical about “Zoigl Land” in northeastern Bavaria. It’s those dense woods right up against the Bohemian frontier. It’s the streams that flow through the woods, almost silently. And it’s the captivating landscape that lends the communal brewhouses in rural towns surrounded by forests and farmland their sense of place.

Even without these enchanting surroundings, Zoigl would still be something special. In a land where lager is, for the most part, brewed to exacting standards in state-of-the-art breweries, the communal brewhouses and coolships of the Oberpfalz are an anomaly. (A coolship is a large and shallow vessel that typically resides amid the rafters of old breweries, and is a traditional way to cool the wort after it has been boiled.) The same goes for the open fermentation that many Zoigl brewers still practice.

To put it differently, the entire ethos and culture of Zoigl, from the brewing process to the places where we drink it, is an echo of the past resonating vibrantly in the present. The Zoigl tradition rejects both the standardization represented by industrial-scale breweries and the homogenization of taste represented by international beers that taste the same everywhere. This is no moribund tradition fit only for dusty ethnographic museums.

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A Brief History of Zoigl

Zoigl is brewed in the five Oberpfalz towns that still maintain a communal brewhouse. The arrangement is a holdover from the Middle Ages, and also a result of variations in the way brewing privileges were granted in different places by different regional authorities. It’s why we don’t have a communal brewhouse tradition in places like, say, Munich or Bamberg, which were marked by their status as cities early on.

In the Oberpfalz (and in some nearby Franconian towns), householders had—and, in some cases, still have—the right to brew in the communal brewhouse. Not everyone can brew at once, so householders brew in rotation. When the brew day is over, they haul the wort back to their house and ferment it in their cellar. Once the beer is ready, the householder hangs a sign above the door (a six-pointed star called the Zoiglstern) to let the townsfolk know that there’s beer to be had.

The Zoiglstube: One of Zoigl’s Most Important Ingredients

Zoigl represents a defense of a slower way of life in the face of on-demand pleasures. You won’t find authentic Zoigl beer in Bavaria’s bottle shops, and that’s part of the magic of the tradition. You have to go a Zoiglstube to drink it.

Zoiglstuben are unique expressions of place, creations that reflect the traditional livelihoods of the region and the aesthetic sensibilities of the people who brought their Zoiglstuben to life. Historically, Zoigl was served in the brewer’s kitchen or living room. Nowadays, the homey Zoiglstube takes the place of the literal kitchen. It’s more of a tavern, but one that still feels like you’re in the brewer’s living room. Everyone from miles around shows up when the Zoiglstube is open. It’s the kind of place where complete strangers become lifelong friends.

A Tour of the Region’s Zoiglstuben

Beim Käck’n, Neuhaus

Snow was falling in billows as we trudged up the hill to Käck’n, where proprietor Ernst Schönberger was welcoming Zoigl pilgrims in from the cold. Schönberger began brewing at the ripe old age of fourteen. When the brewmaster of Neuhaus passed away unexpectedly, young Ernst became the de facto head brewer of the Neuhaus communal brewhouse. He was sixteen at the time, and has been the doyen of brewing in the town ever since, mentoring folks like Reinhard Fütterer of Schafferhof along the way.

Like most Zoigl brewers, brewing isn’t Schönberger’s main occupation. He presides over a family farm stocked with dairy cows, pigs, and a tract of forest. His son is a butcher, and the one responsible for the delectable bratwurst we devoured with our rich and caramelly Zoigl.

Schoilmichl, Neuhaus

Schoilmichl is right next to the town’s communal brewhouse—so close, in fact, that proprietor Manfred Punzmann can pump his cooled wort directly from the coolship into his cellar for open fermentation.

After decades of serving Zoigl from the family living room, Punzmann converted his old cow stables into a Zoiglstube in 1994. With its vaulted ceilings held aloft by granite columns, these were deluxe livestock accommodations indeed. Warm wood and long tables with communal seating have turned this erstwhile cow den into a rustically cozy watering hole for Zoigl drinkers of the human persuasion. And then there’s Schoilmichl’s bar counter, which isn’t cordoned off from the merriment. Instead, it’s like a kitchen countertop, which makes the place feel even more homey. It’s as if you could just walk by the tap and pull yourself a drink.

As for that drink, Schoilmichl’s delicious amber-orange Zoigl looks like an unfiltered Märzen but tastes like a rich Helles enlivened by floral-spicy hops. Aromas of fresh hay and meadows in bloom recall the pastoral landscape of the region, while the slate-like minerality and smooth bitterness are sure to refresh you after a day of hiking. Pair with a platter of home-smoked meats and sausage for added post-hike bliss.

Schafferhof, Neuhaus

For me, one Zoiglstube stands out as a kind of first among equals. This has as much to do with the beer as with the personality of its owner, Reinhard Fütterer, a gregarious chimney sweep with a penchant for collecting antique furniture from the region’s shuttered Wirtshäuser.

It takes a certain aesthetic sensibility to create a welcoming Zoiglstube, and Fütterer is nothing if not thoughtful in his approach. He prefers “to let the wood, the floors, and the furniture speak”: a table with pin marks from the nineteenth-century zither player who anchored his instrument there; a bread oven from 1925 that recalls the bakery that was once part of the Schafferhof farm; old pictures with humourous drinking sayings lining the walls. It’s these things that rekindle a connection between the region’s past inhabitants and today’s Zoigl drinkers.

Fütterer is meticulous about his Zoigl as well, always trying to capture the essence of hops “floating just above the beer without overpowering it.” The result: a wonderful amber-gold Zoigl that’s full bodied and rich, with an uncluttered malt canvas that features light toast and fresh country bread. But it’s the hops that really shine—subtle but distinctive, with notes of pepper and baking spice.

Zum Posterer, Windischeschenbach

Once a postal station, this Zoiglstube next to the St. Emmeram vicarage is now a cozy two-floored tavern with rustic furnishings and well-worn wooden floors. Be sure to arrive here as soon as it opens if you want any chance of finding a seat.

Joseph Zehrer, the person who eventually opened this postal station, was the tower watchman for the parish of St. Emmeram. From his post next to the vicarage he’d keep a keen eye out for fire, ringing the bell and blowing his horn when he spotted one. Eventually he traded his fire horn for a postal horn, opening up the postal station in his erstwhile watch post in 1865.

Today, Posterer is like a small museum that tells the story of the olden days. An old cash register lines up on the ledges alongside old kitchenware, a post horn hangs from one of the ceiling beams, and an old pushcart for Zoigl casks sits in one of the corners. The Zoigl here is hazy deep amber with a firm bitterness balanced by a toasty maltiness—an excellent lubricant for impromptu drinking sessions with locals or lively groups of hikers from a few towns north.

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Schloßhof, Windischeschenbach

It was one of those perfect mid-autumn days as I made my way to Schloßhof through streets bathed in the golden sunshine. Located on the site of a former palace that was destroyed in 1810, Schloßhof is anything but palatial. Instead, it has the feel of a large living room. Ten tables of varying sizes pack in people close together beneath knick-knacks on the wall that reflect the local way of life. I joined a group of locals from Weiden, and after a Zoigl or two, we were joined by a group from Dresden to round out the table.

Several Zoigls later and a Sauerer Käs for good measure (an entire block of sliced Limburger cut served with vinegar, pickled onions, and tomatoes), we had collectively notched one of those memorable Zoigl sessions into the books.

And a fine Zoigl it is. The colour of maple syrup, Schloßhof’s beer is like the scent of alpine meadows mingling with light toast, roasted almonds, and honey accented by floral-spicy hops. Finishes crisp and pleasantly bitter.

Kramer-Wolf, Falkenberg

Kramer-Wolf’s Zoiglstube radiates rustic charm, its yellow walls bedecked with farm implements and musical instruments that entertained peasants well into the night after a hard day’s work. The Zoigl here is a hazy amber-orange brew combining spicy noble hops with toasty malt accented by honey and a hint of caramel. Though hearty, its light effervescence and peppery finish ensures that you’ll order more than one.

Food here is hearty as well. The Schlachtschüssel, an ample dish of liverwurst, blood sausage, and juicy pork belly, is emblematic of the region. Many Zoigl brewers are also butchers. Kramer-Wolf’s proprietor, Herr Fischer, happens to be a butcher as well, so you can rest assured that your Schlachtschüssel is fresh from the stables. Accompanied by a veritable mountain of sauerkraut, this is one of the least Instagram-worthy meals you’ll come across, but is it ever divine.

Beim Strehern, Eslarn

Some Zoiglstuben are more difficult to get to than others, like Beim Strehern in Eslarn. Eslarn is out of the way—snug up against the Bohemian border, in fact, and a good hour by bus from Weiden on the trainline between Regensburg and other Zoigl towns. It took several years for all the stars to align, but I finally made it here recently.

Eslarn is one of those places that the rare foreign tourist will ever visit. There’s a church, just like there is in every village and town. And a bakery or two. But not much in the way of accommodation or restaurants. The town’s not even that high up on the list of travel destinations that Germans visit, despite its beautiful natural surroundings.

Now, if you’re a beer traveler, that changes things. Beim Strehern is one of the only games in town. Its Zoiglstube clad in wooden beams and rustic furnishings is always packed, and their covered courtyard is usually full come dinner time. The top-shelf  Zoigl flows fast and furious here, swirling together honey over toast, milk caramel, and bruschetta with fragrances of freshly mown hay. It’s got a refreshing bitterness that compels you to order round upon round—which is what we did with our newfound friends. Just be careful when the schnapps shows up.

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Images by Franz D. Hofer

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