DTW ➡ MUC

An autumn festival featuring the drinking of lots of beer.

For SEEN Magazine, I wrote about the best spots to raise steins of German beer in Metro Detroit for Oktoberfest—one of my favorite beer-centric holidays.

I worked at a brewery downtown for a number of years. I took the job, or rather begged for it, after a short stint in non-profit work, about a month or so after Ian and I declared ourselves regulars there. We were sitting at one of the large communal tables with some friends, sharing work woes over their dry stout, and I happened to be scrolling Facebook between a conversation lull. I don’t remember what the post was: an image with big text over it, or maybe just a shot of the brewery itself with a caption that read, “Now hiring experienced bartenders!” I turned my phone to Ian, and he immediately pointed me in the direction of the bar. I downed the rest of my beer, picked up his empy mason jar (lol to this era of glassware), and mustered up the courage to verbally apply for the position.

The next day, I walked into the brewery for my interview and was met with a baby carrier hung from the rafters by tow straps. I only noticed the baby when he began fussing, and from behind the tanks, a brewer shouted, “Push the baby if you don’t mind!” One gentle push, and he was back in dreamland.

That marked the beginning of my journey in Detroit’s hospitality industry. Back then, I was the new kid on the block, completely clueless about Oktoberfest. Our first celebration was a whirlwind of beer-filled steins, with the weekend speeding by in a blur of "Ein Prosit" on repeat, and by the end, I couldn’t decide if my arms or legs ached more. Years following, the Oktoberfest prep got more involved, and the live music became more currated. One year, I drove north to a friend’s hop farm the morning of the festivities, and tried not to go one decimal over the speedlimit since the back of my hatchback was filled with fresh hop vines. The hop plant and weed plant are sisters, for those wondering why my brain was a little panicked (it could also be attributed to sleep deprivation and over caffeination).

Earlier this year, the family and I made it to Munich—not during Oktoberfest, but in the quieter months leading up to it. Stormy weather hit the two days we were there, so Ian and I posted up at Augustiner-Keller, enjoying pints of crisp märzen and the refreshing bite of kölsch. We were there the morning after a night of steins from Hofbräuhaus, followed by Aperol spritzes and group shots, so the rest of the group was moving rather sluggishly, giving us time to really appreciate the way the bartenders rolled and tapped the wooden kegs, filling stein after stein. They were then stacked in a way that allowed a server to grab anywhere from eight to twelve steins (and here I was thinking I was so cool for carrying three to a table once). It was a methodical process, and though we arrived at 10 a.m., the beer never stopped flowing. Timeless and almost ceremonial. Unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Detroit’s breweries have a pretty good reputation for crafting German-style beers, especially in September as they prepare for Oktoberfest celebrations. However, nothing will ever come close to the käsespätzle at Augustiner, and don’t get me started on the döners that Ian, my brother, and I became obsessed with finding between pints and the most incredible glass of German Reisling I snagged from a wine bar just steps from the breweries.

When we first landed, Ian and I made a beeline to a döner shop. We got soaked to the bone, even being tucked under the hotel umbrellas, and made it to the shop where we hid out under a patio awning, devouring the warmth of the softest bread, a slightly spicy mayo-yogurt sauce, shredded lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and marinated meat sliced directly from the spit. Thank goodness some breweries are serving up their rendition of this this weekend, or I would be contemplating plane tickets.

Then, there were the croissants and coffee that resided down the street from our hotel. My compliments to German fare, since I now crave and miss it daily, and someone help cure my broken heart since we just used the last of the beans we brought home with us.

The countdown is officially on, and while I reminisce about those perfect mornings in Munich, I can’t help but shift my focus to the fun that awaits. It’s time for some to break out the dirndls and lederhosen, though I’ll settle for the flower crown or big hat instead. And let’s be honest—we’ll either be sweating in the sunshine or embracing crisp fall weather, there’s no in-between.