Of Beer and Men

A few dozen miles east of Prague, the Elbe drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and grayish. The water is warm in summer too, for it has slipped twinkling over the hills in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool. And Pardubice. Thanks for the sip of inspiration, John!

Pardubice is generally a nice autumnal day trip from Prague. You hop on a train and (provided it’s not delayed, a common occurrence in this neck of the woods), you’re there in about an hour. The fortunate ones might even get a slice of cake on the train. Don't wash it down with the train coffee, however, even if it's complimentary. There’s a great coffee roastery just a few minutes from Pardubice train station, and I have a hunch @honeydue will cover it quite soon in a dedicated post. Mine’s about beer, though. And men. So, let’s skip some of its architectural gems and make a quick flyby of the castle and head to the outskirts—to the U Vojtěchů microbrewery. It’s about to tell us the fable of Beer and Men.

Once upon a time (a hundred and one years ago, to be precise), František and Anna Vojtěch opened an inn in Studánka, a village back then, which has since been swallowed up by Pardubice. Here they are, accompanied by their son, František Jr.

Despite the 1930s crisis, the establishment did well, and even survived WWII, only to be confiscated by the communists in the early 1950s. Whether by luck or by strings pulled behind the scenes, Anna kept the inn, in a way; she was appointed as restaurant manager—something many other private business owners could only dream of.

Anna proved resilient, and not only when facing the communist iniquities. In fact, she outlived two dictatorships and regained the property in the 1990s—she must have been almost 100 years old by then! The inn was repurposed as a restaurant with a bowling alley and officially transferred to Anna’s grandsons, Petr and Pavel, who run the establishment to this day. Where’s the beer, you might ask?

No Czech inn or restaurant can do without beer. But Anna’s great-grandson Martin started brewing his own beer in the cellars in 2020, turning the restaurant into one of some 500 Czech craft microbreweries. And here’s where the fable begins. It tells a story of fears, doubts and uncertainties. And, perhaps, of an Eastern Bloc resentment that is still lingering in countries from the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. That fearful, nagging voice in our heads that whispers to us that local products from private farmers just can't be any good; that they're overpriced and just trying to rip us off anyway. So we're better off just heading to Lidl for some 'deluxe' items at a reasonable price. Never mind that they're flavorless, as long as they're pumped full of chemical junk. Yummy!

Just look at the lineup above: Our craft beer (poctivá—a word some people mock, or even fear for some reason) on the left; Pilsner Urquell on the right. While local beers are clearly far superior (read more about my visit to Pilsen and its beer scene here), it would make no sense to opt for Pilsner Urquell even if they weren’t. The industrial beer travels about two hundred kilometers to get here, and it likely suffers along the way. Besides, you can get it literally everywhere. The local brews are simply local. They travel 30 meters, tops, from the tank directly to your table. Why would anyone go for the pricier, less special, and simply worse-tasting alternative?

Yet some “beer pundits” are still stuck somewhere in 1992, lobbying for Pilsner Urquell. And many people just distrust local products of any kind—while sitting there for about two hours, we witnessed more pints of Pilsner Urquell served than local brews. What a shame.

On the other hand, the brewery lacks the guts to drop Pilsner Urquell from the tap and stand boldly by its own beers. Or even expand its offerings—I hoped to sample the local specialties, like a banana ale aptly named Vopičák (Monkey Boy) or Černokněžník (Black Wizard), an oatmeal stout that I thought would please @honeydue the most. Yet no luck. Only three beers were on tap, two of them being the most typical Czech style—Bohemian Lager. Would the locals dare to drink these? Or are they stubbornly attached to the well-known but mediocre, overpriced brand? And what does this beer fable tell us about men?

Beers

12° Aviatik, Bohemian Lager
As the selection was far from overwhelming and we were quite thirsty after walking most of the day—partly around the Prague main train station (don’t trust the schedules!), but mainly in Pardubice—we quenched our thirst with two types of Bohemian lager. Aviatik is, in fact, inspired by the German approach to the style, being brewed using Munich and Vienna malts, which makes it a shade or two less pale, and more aromatic on the malty side. Hops are less prominent, as it lacks the Saaz hops distinctive of Pilsen-style beers. Overall, this brew is well-balanced and pairs smoothly with traditional Czech sauced dishes, yet it was the weakest of the three we sampled.

11° Podlipák, Bohemian Pilsner
The beer the Pilsen brewmasters should take inspiration from. A proper Pilsner, with just the right herbal tones in both aroma and flavor. The pleasant aftertaste that lingered only added to its charms. Quite easy to drink; no flaws whatsoever. We instantly agreed it was the superior of the lagers on tap.

13° Kosmos, IPA
A rather unconventional IPA brewed with recently cultivated Czech hop varieties like Jupiter, Saturn, or Venus. Lacks some of the typical citrusy flavors, adds a bit of nectarine instead. It’s milder than a standard IPA, skipping the often lingering, intense grapefruit or orange-peel bitterness. Not particularly wrong, though. It is a rather summery, soft IPA for those who don’t like the strong ones. The second-best beer of the three.

I’d love to invite @livinguktaiwan to participate in #BeerSaturday! Even if you're not a huge beer buff (I guess), it's really all about the travel and tasting experience, isn't it? 😉