I’m guessing some of you are getting a bit bored of these German posts where nothing happens except us eating meat and potatoes and drinking Kolsch in the quiet company of gentlefolk. It’s a bit like blogging about Cheshire Brunning & Price pubs, but at least there you get to observe the farce of English folk struggling with how to use pubs.
All Germans know how to use pubs, at least the ancient brewery pubs like Malzmuhle, whose Kolsch is called Muhlen to confuse you.
A 4pm opener, we joined some determined looking drinkers in light drizzle at 15:56.
The doors opened at exactly 16:00, but you guessed that.
And you could probably predict the decor as well.
18:30 ? That only gave us 2:30 hours. I hate being rushed.
The first words we here are “Zwei Kolsch ?”, which is good because I can’t say “Zwei”, and Mrs RM never helps out.
Some gorgeous bench seating and solid chairs here, and the blokes just in for beer had a really nice area by the barrels.
Mrs RM pointed out the way the locals made themselves at home, hanging up overcoats on coat hooks in the middle of the room. I noted the WHOLE room had reserved signs on table, and by the time we left the place was (once again) full.
I have no idea why I went for the Currywurst with all those offal options, but I seem to have enjoyed it.
Only three (3) glasses of their excellent Kolsch each ? Slackers.
Outside, a group of Lyon FC fans were assembling in the market square ahead of their evening European tie with Cologne. Yet again, I failed to attend a German football fixture in a city I was staying in.
But we did get to see French fans being surrounded by the Polizia,
which is the only reason I can think of for them herding into the Irish bar, rather than Pfaffen.