Cologne Part 4: In which the author casts aside the previous chronological account of the trip to talk about beer, beer and, um, beer.

Any time people ask about Chris and Kelly's time in Deutchland, they immediately jump to beer.

"Oh and they must love all that beer," someone would say, as I imagine Chris and Kelly face-down on their apartment floor surrounded by empty brown bottles covered in text with dotted and accented vowels.

But when people say these things, I feel obliged disenchant the fantasy. One trip to London and I was disenchanted, seeing on the taps of the first bar we entered: a bitter, another bitter, one more bitter, Stella Artois and Guinness. It was this way at most of the bars I visited.

For those people who think landing on European soil means surrounding themselves in every kind of ale you could imagine, think again.

I'm not saying the beer is bad — it's excellent — but if anyone's searching for some kind of malty-hopped mecca, they need look no further than right here in the Northwest. We're living in it people.

Just last week at Hale's I had an a Cream HSB and a seasonal Imperial Stout. I could have also indulged in a Blonde, a Pale, a Porter, an amber, a Kölsch-style (emphasis explained later) and a double-hopped IPA, and most of those are off the year-round list.

In Europe selection is limited by region and season – mostly by region in Cologne. But what they lack in all-you-can-drink selection, they more than make up with their direct cask offerings (I'm talking straight out of oak barrels people).

So take a stroll down the main street a block away from our fine hosts and you'll find a bar that serves Kölsch, but only one kind of Kölsch. A few doors down, it's the same. All over town, it's restaurants and bars serving one single kind of Kölsch.

But if you're in one bar drinking a so-so Kölsch, rest assured there's a better one just a few doors down.

Our first one, and probably my second favorite of the trip is the Sion Kölsch, selected by our hosts after I suggested trying a Dom Kölsch, just because the logo was snazzy.

Kölsch is pale, lightly hopped, crisp and refreshing, like an American lager, with less alcohol. I've heard people describe the Kölsch style as having a slight minty flavor to it, which makes sense to me, though that's now what I'd call it. But as far as beers go, it's not unlike biting into a crisp, juicy fruit or vegetable as far as flavor is concerned. This stuff is fresh.

It's served in a thin glass, and handed off from a "wreath" as pictured here. The roaming bartender will take your empty glass, give you a full one from the wreath and mark a dash on your coaster to keep a tab. If you don't want any more, plop the coaster on top of your empty glass.

And the Kölners guard their beer fiercely. I'm told Chris was met with spite and malice when he indicated his fondness for the alt-style ales found in abundance in Dusseldorf. This could be the case because Kölsch is also the adjective meaning "of Cologne."

And it truly is "of Cologne," vehemently so. There's rules, folks. Hales' Kölsch-style ale (brewed in Seattle) is called thus because the only way to be a real Kölsch is to brew it within sight of the Dom. Larger brew sites can (and do) sit outside of the city, but at least one brew site of each brand must be able to see the Cathedral, the only exception being those who were brewing before the rule went into place (in 1986 according to the wiki article).

There's a tale that years back men stole the Kölsch recipe from the women who brewed it, and though it's a "tale" of sorts, it's probably more or less true. At one time women did most of the brewing, and eventually men took over the industry, I imagine because they saw that they could make some money at it.

I had three other Kölschs around town, including a Reisdorf and a Ganaser, both kegged.

But the best drinks I had came from Helios. Their Kölsch was the freshest I tasted, but they also had a good variety of other ales, including one infused with rosemary. ROSEMARY

We took a few sips to figure that out. It was the seasonal, and the words "ginger" were thrown out before we were able to accurately ID the spice. But "ginger" was still descriptive because of the ales amber-color and spicy bite. But once you realize it's rosemary, there's really nothing else to say. While I have trouble distinguishing certain ingredients in a brew, this one stood out.

I don't really have a spiffy way of wrapping this up, but suffice to say I enjoyed each sip of ale I had. I'm writing about Bacharach next, where we found NO BEER, but I took a liking to the local wines.