Kellerbier

Every Friday morning at 7 a.m. sharp, the delivery truck would arrive streetside beneath my bedroom window. Sometimes it was the whiff of diesel exhaust that would seep into my consciousness and alert me that it was delivery day. Other times it was the rattle of the bottles in their plastic crates being unloaded from the flatbed. Either way, I’d awaken and greet them, sometimes a bit groggy from the night before, and lead the delivery team through the courtyard to the cellar of the house where I was living at the time. There they’d drop the case of beer — 20 freshly filled, half-liter bottles — and pick up the empties. And I’d pay them the usual: Around $10 U.S. (tip included).

What was this weekly beer they’d bring? And what had I consumed the night (or, let’s be honest, nights) before that led to the grogginess? In the simplest terms, it was the beer of choice in my adopted town of Bamberg, Germany (and, really, the rest of Franconia). The beer that you drink most everywhere, but especially at the bierkeller (the Fraconian term for a biergarten). Kellerbier.

But a single term — or even an official “style” designation — can’t come close to capturing what kellerbier really means. And it means a lot — to the region, to tradition, and to me. What exactly is kellerbier then? If you trust the guidebooks and guidelines, it’s “a young, unfiltered lager that’s usually either amber or pale. It can have levels of what typically may be considered ‘off’ flavors, including, but not limited to, diacetyl, sulfur, and/or acetaldehyde.” The paler stuff comes from southern Bavaria and the amber from Franconia. 

OK. But what is kellerbier, really? 

In all honesty, it’s a beer that defies pat description. Or, even more so, prescription. I can’t truly tell you “how to brew” the style. Because there isn’t just one way to do it. Or two. Or 20. There are literally hundreds of unique, idiosyncratic examples to be found within about an hour’s radius around Bamberg. All of them different. All of them delicious. But what I can do is tell you what I’ve learned about what makes a true kellerbier, having consumed literally hundreds of these various examples over the decades since I lived in Bamberg. 

So, let’s begin with the year in the scenario we opened with: 1999. I had originally gone on exchange from the University of South Carolina to Bamberg back in 1993. But after a year there, I did not want to leave. I just couldn’t leave, and I didn’t, for nearly a decade. Why? Because there was simply too much work left to do. You see, during my first year, when I wasn’t studying (which was most of the time), I had managed to visit somewhere in the vicinity of 150 breweries and their various bierkellers within the aforementioned hour’s radius of Bamberg. The problem was, there were almost 400 total in operation at the time within that same distance. And I was determined to visit more of them. All of them.

It’s more than 20 years later now. Some things have changed since those heady early days. I think the price of a case of bottles, including delivery, has risen to around $15 U.S. Home delivery still exists from my Friday go-to, as well as from the hundreds of other breweries. I’ve been back in the interceding years almost a dozen times. In that time, I have now managed to sample around 300 of the remaining 350 or so unique breweries and bierkellers. And, still, there’s so much work left to do. 

A Short History of Kellerbier

A big reason for the proliferation of small breweries in the area in and around Bamberg known as Oberfranken, or Upper Franconia, is that all landowners were given brewing rights by the prince bishops who ruled there before the area’s incorporation into the State of Bavaria. Many of these possessed the necessary land for growing raw materials, so the entrée into brewing was eased considerably. Most of these planter/brewers made their money from various sources — beer being just one of them. Why not open a brewery? In Bamberg at the time I lived there in the ‘90s there were 10 breweries. In 1910, there were 110. In the years preceding, even more. Literally down every alley and in every neighborhood. Another more obvious reason why the area is so heavily condensed with breweries is that the landscape and the soil is ideally suited for the growing of barley and hops. And while it’s no longer the hop-producing center that, say, the Hallertau is, traditions still run deep. 

But why kellerbier and not, say, helles (as with much of Bavaria)? Again, that may have something to do with geography. The sandstone hills that comprise the Franconian countryside provide more than a lot of beauty. They also serve a very real, and very important, purpose for the production of kellerbier. Buried beneath the hills (or, more specifically, cut into them), at a depth ideal for lagering beer at 43 °F (8 °C), are vaulted cellars. “Keller” means “cellar” in German. And lining the walls of these kellers throughout the centuries — and to this day — are rows and rows of (traditionally wooden) kegs of kellerbier. These bierkellers are found scattered throughout the countryside as well as within the city limits of Bamberg and other towns. Many are owned by the breweries themselves. Some are owned by the locals for their personal storage. At any rate, traditionally, brewers would produce the beer at the in-town breweries and then lay it down young for lagering on the outskirts of the village in a bierkeller. And the locals who owned their own keller would go to pick up their own young beer to lay down for lagering. As we all know, it’s sometimes difficult to resist tapping into a fresh keg before the beer is truly “ready.” This is, and likely has always been, the case with the locals and their kellerbier. Moreover, town and village dwellers who didn’t own their own keller could fetch fresh beer daily (diesel delivery trucks weren’t a thing yet) from the breweries’ bierkeller to take home for the evening’s meal. Having worked up a thirst to get to the caves, they would often stop to have a few while there. Hence the tables and the shade trees. And the snacks that pair perfectly with these refreshing brews. The original biergartens in Franconia were all perched atop these cellars. And so the Franconians still call their biergartens “bierkellers.”

It was as common a ritual as going to the butcher for your meat, the market for your produce, or the bakery for your daily bread. Indeed, kellerbier is the beer locals have for centuries considered their “liquid bread.” Like the best German bread, it can vary in style and execution widely and wonderfully, from light to dark, yeasty to grainy. It fits no parameters and yet somehow manages to comprise all the parameters of what beer should be. It’s almost always served super fresh. Poured from a gravity keg with a brass tap hammered into the bung and a “ventil” smacked into the top to allow some air in and improve the flow (and add just the faintest hint of oxidation in some cases) into a traditional ceramic mug. Set down in front of you at a rustic outdoor table, and often accompanied by plates of roasted, cured, or ground pork, it’s been this way for centuries. And it continues to this day. Franconians are a proud, stubborn people that way.

How, and Where, to Find the Best (and My Favorite) Kellerbiers

As mentioned, to best understand kellerbier you’ll need to visit the area. Because to truly experience kellerbier you have to drink it in its native habitat: The bierkeller. Yes, commercial examples are readily available. And more and more places are brewing kellerbier. But just trust me on this one. The fresh stuff from Franconia — served from a gravity keg at the bierkeller — is the definition of kellerbier, if there can be a definition at all. And it’s a definition with hundreds of entries. Go and try, say, a few dozen. The place makes it easy. 

By bike — my personal preferred mode of transport — you can easily reach around 150 bierkellers using Bamberg as your home base. You can rent a bike from one of the handful of shops. And simply set out. Any direction will do. Cycle through the beechwood forests surrounding Bamberg (which feed the area’s rauchbier brewers with the clean-burning wood for making that specialty) and pop out to any village that may lie just beyond the lines of trees and you’re likely to happen onto a gem of a bierkeller. Some directions are hillier than others. You can choose based on your desire to supplement your sojourn with a workout. The Steigerwald to the west is most arduous, but you’ll be rewarded for your work at the Reundorfer Schmausenkeller (beers from Brauerei Müller), the Pettstadter Keller (Löwenbräu Buttenheim), or the lovely Witzgall beers in Schlammersdorf. The Hauptsmoorwald to the east (Griess Keller, St. GeorgenBräu, Brauerei Honig, Brauerei Reh). North or south can take you on a flat path along the Rhine/Main/Danube canal (Brauerei Kraus, the Forchheimer Kellerwald, basically paradise for bierkellers and kellerbier, and the Kreuzberg kellers in Hallerndorf). Whichever direction you choose, just continue the loop alongside the waterways and/or back through the woods. You’re guaranteed to hit at least a half-dozen breweries in a jaunt of a few hours. And they’ll all be magical. Just ask the respective locals you’ll meet.

As you cycle through the region, remember, let the locals and not your academic expectations be your guide. Kellerbier may be brown. Or gold. Or near black. As well as pale or amber like the guidelines say. Anyway, it can be kinda hard to tell when you’re peering down into your ceramic mug (if you’re anything like me, in pure amazement at how satisfying the stuff is). How wonderful to catch that whiff of SO₂ that sometimes hits you in the nose and makes you think of the fresh stream water that runs through the valleys throughout the region of sandstone hills and, at its most severe, jurassic rock formations. Streams that, as in the case of the lovely little Felsenkeller in Rossdorf am Forst, for example, run right alongside your biergarten table. Or that, say, at Brauerei Mager in Pottenstein, are home to the rainbow trout the brewery/restaurant will fish out of the Wiesent River and serve broiled with butter and potatoes to go along with your bright, hoppy half liter. 

Kellerbier in Bamberg

The kellerbier I would drink most when I wasn’t consuming the bottles I’d have delivered was my local: Mahrs Bräu. It’s also probably the most well-known example in the world. I lived at the time in an area of Bamberg known as the Wunderburg. It was, and remains, a working-class area. A bit of a walk from the touristy spots where the more famous taverns of Schlenkerla and Spezial are located. A stroll along the canal and a flight of stairs or a ramp up the riverbank will take you to the brewery, bierkeller, and super cozy tavern. If you’re navigating, it’s literally across the street from another brewery, Keesmann (with their own version known as Sternla). And, being a bit out of the way, both of those are priced more for the local wallet/budget. A half-liter of fresh kellerbier straight from the gravity keg used to cost around $2 U.S. Now it costs closer to $3 U.S. But it’s still just as fresh and just as delicious. 

Even with a cellar full of delivered bottles, I would make the walk almost nightly with my 3-liter ceramic Stützle (roughly “growler”) for the evening’s beer. Three liters to go cost me $5 U.S. back then. These days it’s a little more, but not much. Mahrs Kellerbier is more specifically known as Mahrs Ungespundetes. Ungespundet means unbunged. Which is to say the tanks aren’t bunged or spunded. So the CO₂ produced during fermentation is largely lost and the resulting beer is very low in carbonation. At Brauerei Hönig – my Friday fill-up source – their unbunged kellerbier is simply called “lagerbier.” In some places it may be called something even more cryptic like “urtrunk” (original drink, roughly). Again, don’t pay too much attention to names. Focus on the next sip from your ceramic mug instead. Other Bamberg examples can be found at Spezial (Ungespundetes); Klosterbräu (Kellerbier); Greifenklau (Zwickel); Bürgerbräu Bamberg/Kaiserdom (Kellerbier).

Brewing Your Own Kellerbier

While I mentioned earlier that I can’t possibly prescribe one way to brew kellerbier, I’ve learned enough to say the following of the “style” for those looking to brew it in its most traditional form. And it’s not what you may be thinking. As mentioned, kellerbier can range in color (and, thus, grain bill) from the very dark to the very pale. That said, you’re likely going to be working with some combination of Pilsner and darker Munich malt. If I had to give a classic ratio, I’d say 70% Pils and 30% Munich is a good starting point. But the ratio can be much higher or lower. So go with what you feel most comfortable with, I guess. The hops are noble varieties with Spalter and Perle perhaps being the common. Go with all lower alpha acid hops and do two charges — one at 60 minutes and another at 15, to anywhere between, say, 20–34 IBUs. Yeast should be the Weihenstephan classic lager strain; something that won’t flocculate out completely before around 7–8 weeks. Kellerbier should be slightly cloudy. That’s about it for ingredients. Now onto the important stuff. 

The most important things I’ve learned about making true kellerbier center on fermentation and serving method. First, make a yeast starter if using liquid yeast or use two packets of dry yeast. That should kick off fermentation quickly, even at low temperatures — 50–52 °F (10–11 °C) is a good place to start. Let temperatures free rise to around 58 °F (14 °C) during primary. They can go a bit higher even, so don’t fret too much. Kellerbier is known for having some estery qualities, as well as a whiff of SO₂ on the nose. This young beer flavor is prized in the super-fresh stuff. To me, it is reminiscent of the organic smells coming off the creeks that sometimes flow through Franconia. It just screams freshness. Also, and this is key, keep the primary fermenter unspunded. The CO₂ should escape almost completely, leaving a very low amount of CO₂ in solution. True kellerbier comes in somewhere in the low 2.0 volumes of CO₂ range. It can go even lower than that in some cases. After primary, drop the temperature steadily over the course of another week or so to the 30s °F (1–3 °C). Hold at that temperature for one more week (so this is three weeks total before you consider serving). 

For serving, if you’re going to bottle condition, reduce the amount of priming sugar considerably. If you really want to get the full effect, though, you should consider filling 5-quart (5-L) party kegs instead of bottles. Bottled kellerbier is a bit of an oxymoron. True kellerbier always comes from the keg, by gravity. 

So, yes, there are innumerable ways to brew kellerbier. And fewer ways to enjoy the true stuff. At Bierkeller Columbia we brew but one example of kellerbier. Our inspiration is our favorite: Mahrs Ungespundet. Find a clone recipe for it below.

Bierkeller Columbia’s Kellerbier clone

(5 gallons/19 L, all-grain)
OG = 1.054  FG = 1.013
IBU = 24  SRM = 6  ABV = 5.4%

As a lover of kellerbier from my decade of living in Bamberg, Germany, when it came time to create the flagship beer at Bierkeller Columbia (Columbia, South Carolina), I modeled it after my favorite: Mahrs Ungespundet. It is an unfiltered Franconian lager with a bready malt character that is balanced by soft carbonation and clean Perle hops.

Ingredients
8 lbs. (3.6 kg) Weyermann Pilsner malt
3 lbs. (1.4 kg) Weyermann Munich II malt
4 oz. (113 g) Weyermann acidulated malt 
5.6 AAU German Perle hops (60 min.) (0.9 oz./25 g at 6.2% alpha acids)
2.1 AAU German Perle hops (15 min.) (0.33 oz./9 g at 6.2% alpha acids)
1⁄2 tsp. yeast nutrients (10 min.)
White Labs WLP830 (German Lager), Wyeast 2124 (Bohemian Lager), or SafLager W-34/70 yeast
1⁄2 cup corn sugar (if priming)

Step by step
Mash in with 4.2 gallons (16 L) of strike water at 144 °F (62 °C) for 40 minutes. Target a mash pH between 5.2 and 5.6. Raise to 154 °F (68 °C) for 20 minutes. Raise mash temperature to mash out at 168 °F (76 °C), then recirculate and sparge with 170 °F (77 °C) water. Transfer to your brew kettle slowly, collecting 6.5 gallons (24.6 L).

Boil wort for 60 minutes, adding hops and yeast nutrient at times indicated. At the end of the boil conduct a whirlpool for 15 minutes, then cool to 48 °F (9 °C) and transfer to your fermenter. Pitch rate is 2 million cells/°Plato/mL (about 500 billion cells). Aerate wort well if using a liquid yeast strain.

Let temperature free rise to 56–58 °F (13–14 °C) over the first seven days and hold there for three days or until active fermentation has ceased. Over the course of several days, drop temperature to 32 °F (0 °C) and hold for one week. Keg and force carbonate or add priming sugar and bottle condition. 

Bierkeller Columbia’s Kellerbier clone

(5 gallons/19 L, extract only)
OG = 1.054  FG = 1.013
IBU = 24  SRM = 6  ABV = 5.4%

Ingredients
4.5 lbs. (2 kg) Pilsen dried malt extract
1.5 lbs. (0.68 kg) Munich dried malt extract
1 tsp. lactic acid, 88% 
5.6 AAU German Perle hops (60 min.) (0.9 oz./25 g at 6.2% alpha acids)
2.1 AAU German Perle hops (15 min.) (0.33 oz./9 g at 6.2% alpha acids)
1⁄2 tsp. yeast nutrients (10 min.)
White Labs WLP830 (German Lager), Wyeast 2124 (Bohemian Lager), or SafLager W-34/70 yeast
1⁄2 cup corn sugar (if priming)

Step by step
Starting with 5 gallons (19 L) of water in your brew kettle, heat to 180 °F (82 °C) then turn off the heat. Stir in the dried malt extract. Once completely dissolved, turn the heat back on and bring to a boil. 

Boil wort for 60 minutes, adding hops and yeast nutrient at times indicated. At the end of the boil conduct a whirlpool for 15 minutes, then cool to 48 °F (9 °C) and transfer to your fermenter. Top up fermenter to 5.25 gallons (20 L). Pitch yeast at a rate of 2 million cells/°Plato/mL (about 500 billion cells). Aerate the wort well if using a liquid yeast strain.

Follow the remainder of the all-grain instructions. 

Written by Scott Burgess