Germany: Oktoberfest
Part I. From Monastic Cauldrons to a Wedding on the Theresienwiese
How Germany chose the beer mug over the wine glass. Why did beer become the nation’s cultural code?
“Wo man singt, da lass dich ruhig nieder” (“Where people sing, there you may safely stay”)
— German proverb
Prologue. The Flight of the Geese
In eastern France, where vineyards stretch to the horizon, there lived a pair of geese on a special farm. Their owners cared for them in a peculiar way — not for their down or eggs, but with the hope that one day their livers would become a delicacy: foie gras.
— I don’t want to end up on a silver platter in some Michelin-starred restaurant, — the gander said one day.
— But where could we go? — the goose asked fearfully.
The gander thought for a moment and recalled an ancient family legend. Generation after generation in their flock had whispered the same words:
— There is a land to the east where no one dreams of foie gras. There, they prefer something else — pork knuckles. And geese are left in peace.
— How will we ever find that land? — the goose insisted.
— Easily, — he replied. — When the scent of fermenting grapes gives way to the aroma of fresh beer, we’ll know we’ve arrived.
And so, at the end of September, when the air across France was heavy with the juice of freshly harvested and pressed grapes, the pair made their decision. They rose into the sky and flew toward the sun. Born in France, they had a Schengen visa, and borders meant nothing to them. They flew for a long time until suddenly they caught a new scent — hops, malt, the foamy breath of fermentation.
Below them, lights sparkled, a fairground buzzed, a Ferris wheel rose above the crowd, and under countless tents a golden beer tide was flowing.
— Look! — cried the goose. — We’ve found it!
— Yes, — the gander answered. — This is Bavaria. This is Munich. This is Oktoberfest. The promised land… at least for geese.
In our previous journey we were in Portugal, where wine became part of the national identity — a drink that defines culture, language, habits, and even the very image of the country. Germany offers a similar example: here, beer became the code of the nation, a drink that unites burghers, craftsmen, students, and even kings under one frothy roof.
To understand why Germans became “beer-drinkers,” while the French, Portuguese, and other Europeans became “wine-drinkers,” we need to take a few steps back into history.
Origins of German Brewing
The first traces of brewing on German lands go back to pre-Roman times. Archaeologists have found vessels with remnants of grain mash among the tribes inhabiting present-day Germany. For them, beer was not so much a pleasure as a necessity — “liquid bread” that nourished and warmed in the cold climate.
With the arrival of Christianity and the flourishing of monasteries, brewing became the work of monks [1]. Benedictines and Cistercians not only prayed and copied manuscripts but also made sure that the brethren and pilgrims would not go without their “liquid bread.” During Lent, when meat and dairy were forbidden, a mug of thick, cloudy, nourishing beer provided calories and strength.
It was in the cloisters that experimentation with malt took place, hops were dried, and recipes recorded — it was the monks who made beer part of everyday life. In their stone cellars the drink was food, medicine, and a source of income: monastic beer was sold to villagers and travelers, creating a tradition that became the foundation of German brewing culture.
Here were laid the foundations of the German “beer character”: accessibility, nourishment, simplicity, and at the same time strictness in recipes.
[1] Monks and the Alcohol Map of Europe
If we look at the map of medieval Europe, monks were almost the chief architects of the continent’s alcohol traditions. Their scriptoria copied books, their vineyards and breweries shaped the tastes of entire peoples.
• France, Italy, Spain, Portugal — here, monks elevated winemaking to the rank of sacred craft. Burgundy’s Cistercians left behind terroirs with world-famous names; Benedictines gave Champagne its fame; the monastic estates of La Mancha or the Douro became the backbone of future wine powers.
• Germany, Czech lands, Austria, Denmark — here the climate was harsher, vineyards did not thrive everywhere, and the quality of grapes was often poor. Inside the monastery walls, another craft was cultivated: brewing. It was the monks who perfected malt recipes, secured the role of hops, and created the first public beer halls.
Thus the monastic orders divided Europe into two civilizations: wine and beer. Some blessed the chalice of wine at the table and used it in the liturgy, others filled mugs with amber brew. And in both cases, the result was what we now call the cultural code of nations.
Wine and Beer: Two Cultural Codes
In Portugal, Spain, and France, wine became not just a drink but part of identity. It is tied to the land, to the idea of terroir: “this wine comes from here, and only here is it possible.” Wine is a drink where man and nature seem to enter into a covenant. A glass of wine accompanies a meal, a family dinner, a quiet conversation in a small café. It is a ritual of taste and unhurriedness.
Germany, Austria, and the Czech lands followed another path. Here the cultural code was not local but communal. Beer was not the product of one vineyard or one plot of land, but of a whole brewery, a guild, a city. A beer mug on the table is a symbol not of individual taste but of shared festivity. It unites students and burghers, neighbors and colleagues. Germany is a beer mug and a long wooden table.
• The Frenchman more often drinks wine at the table, with food, and may even raise a glass alone.
• The German is more likely to drink a beer in company — outdoors, at a fair, in a noisy beer hall, under a festival tent.
Wine is more the language of taste, while beer is the language of fellowship.
Somewhere above the monastery roofs, geese were flying, unaware that centuries later their distant descendants would watch the results of the monks’ labor and experiments in both countries.
🍇 🍺 Two Monasteries — Two Paths
…12th century. The Cistercian Order.
— Burgundy.
Monks climb the slopes that will one day become vineyards. One takes a handful of soil and tastes it:
— Limestone. Too cool for Pinot Noir, but for Chardonnay — excellent.
Another sketches the slopes onto parchment. Thus are born the future climats — vineyard plots that centuries later will bring glory to Burgundy.
— Bavaria.
The same Cistercians, but in another abbey, examine the heavy soils of a valley. The vines here freeze and sour, but barley and hops thrive.
— This land was made for beer, not for wine, — they decide, planting hop gardens next to the monastery orchards.
One faith, one rule, one prayer — Ora et labora (“Pray and work”). Yet the result was different: in France the cult of the vineyard and wine was born, while in Germany the cult of malt and beer took root.
…200 Years Later — Wine Monk vs. Beer Monk
Somewhere in the 14th century, in a monastery garden on the Alsatian border, two monks argue: beer or wine?
French wine-making monk (with a glass of claret):
— Wine is the Lord’s drink. It adorns the Mass, inspires poets, and brings us closer to God.
German brewing monk (with a mug of amber lager):
— And beer brings us closer to life. Try getting through Lent on nothing but wine — or on nothing but beer. Let’s see who’s merrier and better fed by Easter.
French monk:
— But wine begets refinement.
German monk:
— And beer begets songs. Would the Lord be against joy?
They both laugh; the ring of a glass and a mug blends into a single chord, and each drinks his own.
How Beer Became Germany’s Cultural Code
In the early Middle Ages (before the 11th century), beer in Germany and neighboring lands was brewed from malt and water, but for flavor and preservation people used mixtures of herbs and spices — the so-called Grut (or Gruit). It could include juniper, yarrow, wormwood, St. John’s wort, rosemary, even coriander. Such brews were aromatic but spoiled quickly.
• The first mentions of hops
Hops were known in Europe since the Carolingian era:
→ 768 — records from the Freising monastery (Francia) mention hop gardens owned by the monks.
→ 9th century — monk Walafrid Strabo in his Hortulus describes hops as a useful plant.
From the 11th century onward, hopped beer was brewed more and more often, especially in northern Germany (Hamburg, Bremen). Hops not only gave the drink bitterness and a distinctive taste but also dramatically extended its shelf life, which became crucial for trade.
By the 13th–14th centuries, “hopped beer” had almost completely displaced herbal gruit. Later, in 1516, the famous Bavarian Beer Purity Law (Reinheitsgebot) enshrined hops as a mandatory ingredient of beer.
Wine was made in Germany too (Rhine, Mosel, Franconia), but only in the south and on a much smaller scale. Beer, however, was brewed everywhere — barley and hops thrived throughout the country. Wine in Germany long remained a drink of the elite — expensive and status-laden. Beer became the people’s bread: cheaper, more nourishing, more accessible. Wine went to Mass and festivals, while beer became everyday food.
After Hops — The Road to the Beer Purity Law (Reinheitsgebot)
By the 13th–14th centuries, hopped beer had driven out the old gruit, and Germany had become Europe’s brewing heartland. Cities like Hamburg, Bremen, and Lübeck were famous as “beer capitals,” exporting their brews across the Hanseatic League. Brewing became not just a craft but a matter of strict regulation: city councils set taxes, fixed prices, and even decided who was allowed to brew.
The culmination of this “order in the mug” was the famous Beer Purity Law of 1516, issued by Duke Wilhelm IV of Bavaria. It declared: no additives, only water, malt, and hops (yeast would be acknowledged later). This was more than just regulation — it was a manifesto that Bavarian beer should be honest, pure, and predictable.
Here we wrote about the trade in German beer in ancient Novgorod…
🎬…Munich, 1516. Ducal Palace.
At a long wooden table sit bakers, brewers, and city magistrates. On the table lie fresh loaves of bread and jugs of cloudy, freshly brewed beer.
Baker (slamming his fist):
— Your Grace, there isn’t enough grain! These brewers are taking our wheat and rye! The people are hungry, bread is becoming too expensive!
Brewer (jumping up):
— But beer with wheat is smoother, tastier! The people demand a good drink, not just harsh barley!
Baker (indignant):
— And the people demand bread as well! If you take the wheat, our ovens go empty. And no one eats mugs instead of loaves!
Wilhelm IV (sternly):
— Enough quarreling. The people must have both bread and beer. Order and fairness are needed. From this day on, beer shall be brewed only from barley, hops, and water. Wheat and rye stay for bread. And no more devilish herbs in beer! Let Bavaria be famous for pure beer. Then the people will be fed, and the treasury will be safe.
The bakers nod in satisfaction. The brewers grumble but understand: they have no choice.
📌Barley → a basic, inexpensive ingredient that gave beer a rough taste.
Wheat → added softness, light color, and a “noble” profile, but was too valuable as a grain for bread.
If geese had been able to read ducal decrees, they would have sighed with relief: the law mentioned barley and wheat, but nothing about geese.
💡 Detail: In practice, wheat beer (Weißbier) was not banned entirely. It became a monopoly of the ducal court in the 16th–17th centuries, brewed under special privileges for the nobility and certain monasteries. Profits flowed straight to the treasury. So while the people drank “barley pure,” the elite still enjoyed their refined wheat beer.
Why Was the Beer Purity Law Needed?
• Price control: bread and beer competed for the same grain. By excluding wheat and rye from brewing, Duke Wilhelm IV ensured they remained for bread, while beer relied on cheaper barley.
• Quality: suspicious herbs and spices were banned; the law guaranteed safe, stable, high-quality beer.
• Politics: Bavaria presented itself as the guardian of “purity” and tradition.
• Public health & safety: people had been adding all sorts of things — henbane, mandrake root, juniper, nettles, even soot for color. Hops were safer and more reliable.
• Economic interest: Bavaria profited from beer taxes, so standardized quality meant a stronger and more stable revenue stream.
Why Wilhelm IV and Bavaria?
• Regional specifics: Bavaria was the largest and most influential duchy in the Holy Roman Empire, with land well-suited for barley but not for grapes. Beer was the people’s main drink and a strategic product.
• Bread vs. beer: before the law, brewers often used wheat or rye, competing with bakers and raising the risk of famine. Wilhelm’s decree settled the matter: noble grains for bread, barley for beer.
• Economic policy: regulated brewing kept prices fair, boosted trade, and filled the ducal treasury.
• Image of power: the law showed Wilhelm IV as a ruler who cared for his subjects’ wellbeing and order.
The Long Echo of the Reinheitsgebot
• Quality & reputation: “brewed according to the Purity Law of 1516” became a powerful brand. Even today, many German bottles proudly carry this phrase.
• Conservatism: while Belgians and Brits experimented with spices, honey, or fruit, Germans stuck to the “clean” recipe. The result: German beer became the standard of stability and tradition, but slower to innovate.
• Economic role: the law kept beer cheap, nourishing, and widely available — “liquid bread” for the masses.
• Legal evolution: technically valid until the 1980s, when EU courts forced Germany to relax it for imports. Still, most German brewers voluntarily adhere to it.
• Modern symbol: today the law is less about regulation and more about identity. It’s a trademark, a cultural myth, a piece of German DNA.
What began as a pragmatic restriction in the 16th century turned into a national pride. The Reinheitsgebot is law, brand, and legend all in one. A dry decree forbidding random additives has become a declaration: “German beer is the purest in the world.”
The law established the rules, and life established the tradition. And it was from this tradition that a holiday grew, one that is destined to become global.
From Law to Festival
Over the centuries, beer became not only Bavaria’s daily bread but also its cultural signature. While France and Italy tied their identity to terroir wines and aristocratic vineyards, Germany bound itself to the mug and the long wooden table.
Beer embodied Gemütlichkeit — that untranslatable German sense of warmth, conviviality, and shared comfort. It was the drink of guilds, towns, and neighbors.
And out of this tradition grew a celebration — a royal wedding in 1810 that blossomed into a world-famous festival. What began with a few horse races on a meadow would evolve into Oktoberfest, the grand stage of German beer culture.
The Birth of Oktoberfest
Munich, early 19th century
The population: around 40–45,000. Since 1806 Munich had been the capital of the newly formed Kingdom of Bavaria under the Wittelsbach dynasty. A provincial city with a royal court, bustling breweries, and a sense of optimism. Breweries like Spaten, Augustiner, Hofbräu, and Löwenbräu were already local institutions. The dominant beer style was Munich dark lager (Münchner Dunkel), brewed in spring and autumn because summer brewing was forbidden for fear of spoilage. Beer was cheaper than wine and safer than water, so it had become the everyday drink of artisans, students, and peasants alike.
🎬 …Munich, October 12, 1810.
On the meadow outside the city walls, an unusual buzz fills the air. Crowds pour in: craftsmen in aprons, ladies in lace-trimmed dresses, students with feathers in their caps. Wagons bring bread, pretzels, roast chicken, and sausages; brewers roll heavy oak barrels, spreading the aroma of fresh hops. Brass bands strike up cheerful marches as people settle at long rows of benches and tables.
On the royal tribune appear King Maximilian I Joseph and his family. But all eyes are on the young couple: Crown Prince Ludwig (24) and Princess Therese of Saxony-Hildburghausen (18). They smile, wave to the cheering crowd. The meadow will forever after bear her name: Theresienwiese — “Therese’s Meadow,” though locals simply call it Wies’n.
Horse races begin: sleek thoroughbreds thunder around the track, children squeal with delight, mugs clink, beer foams, toasts resound. The entire city has been invited; the beer flows freely, and for once, everyone can drink without paying.
No one suspects that this wedding festivity will become a tradition lasting for centuries — Oktoberfest, Bavaria’s gift to the world.
🎬 …Munich, late autumn 1810.
“In Bavaria, autumn begins with a liter mug”
The horse races are over, but memories of the colorful celebration still linger. In a dim tavern on the city’s edge, three townsmen sit at a wooden table — a shoemaker, a baker, and an old bookbinder. Heavy mugs of amber beer stand before them.
Shoemaker (wiping his mustache):
— What a festival our Wittelsbachs put on! I haven’t seen such joy since childhood.
Baker (nodding):
— The music, the fair, the races! And the beer — fresh as if straight from a monastery barrel.
The old bookbinder (shakes his head thoughtfully):
— If only we could have it again next year…
For a moment, silence. Then the shoemaker slaps his palm on the table:
— Why not, friends? A wedding is a one-time thing. But a people’s festival… that could be every year!
Baker (smiling):
— True. Let princes and kings live their own lives. We liked the celebration just fine.
They raise their mugs and drink to the idea. And in such conversations, at simple wooden tables, the thought was born: let Oktoberfest not be a one-off feast, but a new tradition.
Why “Oktoberfest” in September?
The name is historical: the very first celebration in 1810 truly took place in October, starting on the 12th. For much of the 19th century, the festival was held in October.
But Bavarian weather taught a lesson. October is chilly, damp, and often rainy. September, on the other hand, still holds summer warmth — perfect for sitting outdoors with a liter mug.
So over time, organizers shifted the start date earlier. Today, Oktoberfest begins on the third Saturday of September and ends on the first Sunday of October. In 2025, that means September 20 to October 5.
Two-thirds of “Oktoberfest” now actually take place in September — but legends don’t get renamed. “Septemberfest” just doesn’t sound the same.
As Bavarians like to say:
“When Germans want sunshine in their mugs, they move October into September”
A Brief History of Oktoberfest
• 1811 — the royal wedding celebration is repeated the next year, marking the start of an annual tradition.
• 1881 — roast chicken is sold for the first time, becoming a festival classic.
• 1886 — electric lighting turns the Wies’n into a glowing city of lights.
• 1892 — glass beer mugs appear, along with dance floors and bowling alleys.
• 1901 — sensation: an “Arab Bedouin village” exhibit, complete with residents, is presented at the fair.
• 1910 — the centennial celebration: 1.2 million liters of beer are consumed.
• 1930s — Bavarian white-and-blue flags are replaced with swastikas, only to return after the war.
• 1950 — a new tradition begins: the mayor of Munich taps the first keg, accompanied by twelve cannon shots. A rivalry starts — who can open a keg with the fewest hammer blows? Thomas Wimmer needed 19 (a disaster), while Christian Ude set the record with just one strike. The famous cry is born: “O’zapft is!” — “It’s tapped!”
• 1980 — September 26, 10:19 p.m.: a terrorist bombing at the main entrance kills 13 people and injures over 200. The attack shakes the nation, but the festival continues.
• 2001 — even after the September 11 attacks in the U.S., Oktoberfest goes ahead, standing as a symbol of life’s triumph over fear.
Over the years, the shoemaker’s, baker’s, and bookbinder’s dream came true — and then some. Today, the Wies’n is like a small country of its own, with borders, laws, a treasury, and an “army” of Maß glasses. Shall we go inside?
To be continued…
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