Today, a truncated “Hip Hops.” Worry not; I’ve grown no less wordy in my dotage, but the time demanded by undertaking to write an actual book, and simultaneously working on two book-length (internet only) projects, suggests a rigorously disciplined use of my time.
And … if you know me, it should be obvious that discipline isn’t one of my strongest suits. I’m the kid on Malcolm in the Middle who invariably follows the butterfly, so today I’ll try to stay on task.
One of the guiding mantras of the “buy local” movement holds that supporting locally-owned businesses needn’t demand wrenching alterations to one’s buying habits. Rather, incremental shifts in spending ― 10% here, 10% there ― add up to meaningful change over time.
This way of thinking extends to modifying one’s patronage of chains and franchises. The ultimate destination is support of locally-owned independent businesses, but (for instance) the start might come from eschewing Kroger for Aldi, while patronizing a farmers market in season.
That’s positive shifting. After all, grocery monopolies are the most difficult nuts to crack when it comes to modifying personal spending choices. They’re ubiquitous and easy, but monopolies are monopolies, even when brightly decorated.
As for beer, it has been almost 40 years since I shifted my own spending far away from dreck like Banquet, High Life and PBR. Recently I drink much less overall than during my Falstaffian prime, and tend toward local breweries in Louisville and Southern Indiana most of the time. As such, it’s about time to make a run to Monnik for some of Buddy’s superlative lagers in cans to stock my fridge.
But when shopping for provisions at Aldi, I reach for Wernesgrüner Pils from eastern Germany, which clocks in at 4.9% abv and is sold in half-liter cans at the price of $5.99 for a four-pack. Carlsberg currently controls Wernesgrüner; as international brewing conglomerates go, Carlsberg is by no means the worst; after all, no one on the planet can touch AB InBev for its recurring evil intent.
(Have I ever mentioned how much I detest American mass-market beers?)
Wernesgrüner dates to 1436, but I first tasted it in 1989 while working and traveling in communist East Germany. Along with Radeberger and Köstrizer Schwarzbier, Wernesgrüner was brewed to a sufficiently high standard of quality to be exportable to finicky West Germany, which was a considerable feat, providing a reliable source of hard currency to the GDR.
In East Berlin there was a showplace cellar restaurant, moderately priced and good, that always had Wernesgrüner on tap, and we went there often. After the Berlin Wall fell, most of East Germany’s breweries were purchased by (formerly West) German companies, like Bitburger, which landed both Köstrizer and Wernesgrüner; in 2021 Carlsberg snagged the latter.
I’ve no idea how Wernesgrüner became the semi-official German import choice of Aldi stores in the US, UK and Australia. I know only that one day many years ago, overcome with Trabant nostalgia, I saw it and thought “hmm, why not?”
It’s better than Warsteiner or St. Pauli Girl, and the price point remains quite reasonable. The fact that it is shipped in large quantities so as to supply so many Aldi stores nationwide seems to ensure freshness; there’ll always be exceptions, but my experience has been uniformly good.
Wernesgrüner strikes me as a sessionable, mid-range choice. Here’s the style definition for German Pilsner, courtesy of the Beer Judge Certification Program:
Drier and crisper than a Bohemian Pilsener with a bitterness that tends to linger more in the aftertaste due to higher attenuation and higher-sulfate water. Lighter in body and color, and with higher carbonation than a Bohemian Pilsener. Modern examples of German Pilsners tend to become paler in color, drier in finish, and more bitter as you move from South to North in Germany.
Wernesgrüner’s “grassy hops” and balanced character are consistent with my recollections of this beer from the former GDR, and I recommend it. For further reading about beer in the East Germany of old, go here: My Beers in the GDR, Part Three: Yes, there was lots of beer in East Germany.
The GDR’s leading element quickly concluded that beer was sufficiently important in a German cultural context to satisfy public demand with beer and sausages, viewing beer as a beverage of moderation and, we must assume, both safety valve and an irreplaceable source of revenue.
Available evidence supports the notion that having concluded that East Germans needed beer, the leading elements did their best to supply it. By the time the Wall fell, the GDR’s annual per-capita consumption of beer had risen to West German and Czechoslovak levels.
Previously at Hip Hops:
Hip Hops: Count me as a beer classicist, but not a beer classist
Roger Baylor is an entrepreneur, educator, and innovator with 
