It was Benjamin Franklin who said, "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."
I'm going to take that one step further: "Beer is God." (After all, some religious folks tout wine as the Lord's blood.)
If you've only sipped on flavorless American yellow-water, you'd likely disagree; but if you've drunk your way through Europe, you'd be apt to convert to my thinking.
Beer fits most of the criteria for a religion. It has zealots who can be brought to violence over the contents of their cup. And if you truly indulge, miracles tend to happen (even if you regret them the next day). Need I speak of the drink's controlling powers?
The only thing beer as a religion is lacking is the holy pilgrimage. Some would argue Munich is the Mecca, Jerusalem or Santiago de Compostela of beer drinking. I'd agree. But like any good pilgrimage, devotees would need an acceptable route to the land where water flows like ... well, like water, except that water is used to make really, really good beer.
This summer, I searched for that route. Like the stories of many acclaimed faiths, the stopovers most apropos on this journey were gardens. Beer gardens.
Those true believers headed to Bavaria for the 200th anniversary of Oktoberfest -- the Christmas/ Rosh Hashana/Ramadan of beer drinking -- shall taketh the trail that from this day forward will be known as The Beer Garden Pilgrimage to Munich.
Starting point: Prague. In this Czech Republic capital considered to be the new Paris, there are two beer gardens not to be missed.
The first is U Pinkasu, just off Wenceslas Square, at 16 Jungmannovo. Established in 1843, this rectangular garden is next to a towering cathedral with giant bell jar windows, casting both a haunting and holy shadow over the outdoor tavern. Most beer gardens in Europe are more beer and less garden, but this one actually has fauna that clings to the church's stone facade. U Pinkasu was the first bar to serve the famous Pilsner Urquell.
You won't find a beer garden with better fare than U Pinkasu. And pilgrims will appreciate the prices that still embody pre-euro Eastern Europe, with appetizers around $5 and most entrees under $10. Of the old Bohemian specialties, the tastiest is the beef goulash with bread dumplings -- a rich stew served with matzo ball-esque slabs of dumpling. And it would be heresy to pass over the soft sausages soaking in beer broth.
The waiters are friendly but pushy with the tips. Ours brought a calculator to the table and typed in the gratuity he felt he deserved -- a bit more generous than the standard 10 percent. Credit cards are accepted, which is not common as the pilgrimage marches forward.
Onward young believer. Next stop: the yellow fortress of U Fleku. This spot at Kremencova 11 serves only one beer, Flekovsky Lezak 13. Even my non-beer drinking girlfriend enjoyed this dark lager.
Waiters march around the stone yard with trays stacked with foaming 0.4-liter glasses as if it were a dim sum restaurant. To sip the black magic will run you $4 a glass. The garden, which accommodates 450 imbibers, is larger than U Pinkasu's, yet has a more romantic vibe. Accordion players and other musicians play local tunes, while mixing in a few Western favorites like "Oh My Darlin' Clementine."
An on-site museum offers tours of the brewery that, if you speak German, will teach you all about the three-week brewing process of Flekovsky Lezak.
As for food, I can only recommend what not to order: beer cheese. Unless you're a huge fan of two cold mounds of Easy Cheese mixed with onions and paprika, along with a side of over-buttered bread you could break a tooth on.
Upon leaving Prague, you may start to feel overwhelmed. Gone are the quaint 100-person gardens. Hello, stadium-sized courtyards. But what they lack in charm, they make up for with lots of good beer.
In Vienna, take the U-Bahn (subway) to Praterstern, famous for its Ferris wheel and amusement park. Head south through the park to the green fence of Schweizerhaus, which started serving beer in 1766.
Inside, thousands of boisterous beer gardeners drown out the sounds from the park -- and make finding a table like battling the mobs at Black Friday sales. When you do locate a free seat, be prepared for gruff waiters. I asked ours to recommend a beer from the list of seven. Instead of offering guidance, he threw his hands in the air and kicked at the loose gravel as he stormed off.
Disgruntled staff members are tolerable thanks to the $4 half liters that include three types of Budweiser Budvar (of no relation to its poor American namesake), Paulaner wheat beer (Hefeweiss), a frothy red brew (Rotes Zwickel), a beer mixed with lemonade (known throughout the countries as Radler) and a toasted, malty lager highlighted with notes of caramel (Grieskirchner Dunkles).
Despite rude waiters, biting mosquitoes, barking dogs and fainting patrons (a woman a few tables down had to be carried out by a pair of waiters), it's a relatively peaceful place to worship.
You may want to acclimate to big beer gardens as if you were climbing Everest. A good base camp of sorts is Vienna's Siebenstern Brau Haus, or 7 Stern Brau Haus, behind Museum Quarter at Siebensterngasse 19.
The small garden fits about 100 people, with one giant umbrella basically covering every table. The few flowerpots fail to create a garden feel as the cement walls -- standard in European beer gardens -- prevail. What doesn't fail is 7 Stern's selection of daring concoctions. A must is the spicy Stern Chili. I needed to wash this one down with the brewery's best beer, Wiener Helles, a hoppy, unfiltered blonde. For a sweet-flavored beer, try the hemp-infused Stern Hanf.
It's time to head west to Salzburg, Austria, where the Salzach River, hilltop fortresses and oxidized church domes pull you back to an age when monks ran the breweries.
About a mile out of town is Augustiner Braustubl Mulln, a brewery started by monks in 1621. You'll be filled with doubt upon entering the building's empty lobby. Have faith. Follow the hallway, walk through doors, down the stairs and past the indoor food market. Upon reaching the second set of stairs, the 1,400-person courtyard will seduce you like the snake and apple from that other garden.
Grab a table, head to the cashier and choose between the liter ($7) and half-liter stein. After paying, take your mug off a long wooden shelf, rinse it under the copper spigots, and hand your receipt to the man pouring the Marzen that flows from a wooden keg. The unfiltered brew tastes almost like a wheat beer infused with oranges, with strong wafts of yeast.
For a simple snack try the pozna: two sausages stuffed into a toasted roll along with onions, mustard, and a few dashes of curry powder. If you have a bigger appetite, the rotisserie chicken is a sure bet, as the burly Austrian woman sweating over the birds confirmed with her repetition of the word "good" as she poked at the flesh.
Well done so far, beer-fearing traveler. Now it's time to bring the pilgrimage home: Munich.
When Bavarians agreed to join the rest of Germany, it was under one condition: they would be allowed to maintain their beer purity laws. Whether you visit the city's beer garden complexes or niche boites, the beer will always be as pure as holy water.
My first stop was the Augustiner Brau Haus, another brewery started by monks, this one in 1328. Walk two blocks from the Hackerbrucke stop to Landsbergerstrasse 19 and you'll see a green fence and orange tables and blue banners, proving that the grounds' designer was constantly inebriated. But you won't mind the clashing colors as you fill up an $8 liter of the smooth golden brew, Augustiner Edelstoff, at the self-service station.
There's no point straying from Edelstoff; not only is it delectable, but it's hard to convince the bartenders to serve you anything else. When I inquired about the bottled wheat beer, the bartender smirked, shook his head, and with his long index finger called me over to the wooden keg of Edelstoff as though he were offering his dog a treat.
"Best beer in Munich," he proclaimed and poured me another cold one.
You've now worked your way up to Hirschgarten, the largest beer garden in Bavaria. Capacity: 8,000. It's a short No. 17 tram ride toward Amalienburgstrasse. Get off at Romanplatz, wobble down Gunthestrasse, and enter under the green sign. It's nothing new: self-service fare, more good beer and more trees. But it's a nice escape from the city, and you might even spot some of the deer (hirsch) that gave Hirschgarten its name.
Your journey should end with the most beautiful beer garden of the bunch. Enter Munich's Englischer Gartens, a sprawling expanse that dwarfs New York City's Central Park. Nestled within the lush park -- beyond the surfers who ride the standing river wave at the south end and the nude sunbathers who bear all on the great lawn -- is the beer garden at Chinesischer Turm.
You'll find locals sporting lederhosen, knee-high socks and clogs. The food court is packed with options and -- miracle of miracles -- they accept credit cards. They serve the pale lager, Helles, as well as a cloudy wheat beer and Urbock Starkbier, an amber brew with an alcohol content nearing 10 percent.
A few things to keep in mind as you sojourn: Beer gardens typically are open from mid-March through October, from about 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., give or take an hour. And they usually flagellate credit card users.
Since beer drinking is now an official religion, I have a confession. I couldn't bring myself to drink the Radler. Having half my beer replaced with lemonade felt akin to binge eating during a fast.
And remember disciples, you are beer drinkers. You don't need to walk this pilgrimage. Take the trains.
Noah Lederman is a New York-based free-lance writer.
Photo: Christof Stache, Getty Images / Maria Newrzella as "Munchner Kindl" (the symbol of the city of Munich) presents the official beer mug for this year's Oktoberfest.; Photo: Joe Klamar, Getty Images / Beer disciples give a hearty Prost! to celebrate the holy half-month of Oktoberfest -- the Christmas/Rosh Hashana/Ramadan of suds drinking. The festival, held in the Bavarian city of Munich, will take place from Sept. 18 to Oct. 4 this year, the 200th anniversary of the event.; Photo: Marissa Steinberg, For the Sun-Times / The accordion player at U Fleku's beer garden in Prague, Czech Republic, can bust out a rendition of "Oh My Darlin' Clementine."; Photo: Marissa Steinberg, For the Sun-Times / Marzen beer gets poured from wooden kegs at Augustiner Braustubl Mulln in Salzburg, Austria.; Photo: Marissa Steinberg, For the Sun-Times / A fitting end to your pilgrimage is Munich's Chinesischer Turm (Chinese Tower) beer garden, which can hold thousands of revelers.
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