Brewery: Spaten-Franziskaner-Brau
Beer: Franziskaner – Heffe Weissbier
Category: Wheat beer
ABV: 5.0%
I interrupt Wolfy and Mr Miaow-miaows from their busy work schedules and ask if they’d be interested in joining me in a beer tasting and general appraisal, with the possibility of some munchies. Both stare back at me blankly, expressing zero interest. Ah well, ‘suit yerselves’, I say, as I head below deck to the basement.
Mr Miaow – Miaows and Wolfy thrilled to see me and ma beer1
Following an intensive day of shopping with Mrs J, I carefully pick up my new £1.59 pilsner glass from The Range. It was in fact the only thing we bought after 6 hours of shop hunting for stuff we didn’t need like, new very expensive garden furniture. Honestly, to think William and I’s home-built pallet sofa no longer cuts the mustard! Bah, I say!
Ha! Wolfy has had a change of mind and rushes down the stairs. I think she can smell the mini-cheddars. She joins me on the carpet and proudly protects my beer. Worried that Mr Miaow-Miaows might join the party, she displays a cool aloofness. Then, as I pick up my shapely glass, she expresses concern that there is only one packet of mini-cheddars, and she knows how greedy I am. By way of retaliation, she crouches down like a dog and guards my beer like an err guard dog guarding beer. She’s thinking ‘you’re no’ having that beer if ahm no’ getting any munchies!’. Except, of course, this is not entirely accurate and you’d be mad to think she said that – as she speaks with a Portuguese accent.
Wolfy has her mind on other matters2; Defender of the beer3
When Wolfy isn’t looking I quickly grab it from under her paws, and quick as a flash the lid is off, my glass is tilted, and I give it a pour. Professional hazy yellow. Hmm, maybe I should have washed the glass as the head is a bit big. Probably just other customers’ fingerprints affecting the liquid air surface energy, but no-one likes a big head. Must do better – more practice required. Or as a last resort, maybe get someone to clean the glass before using it. The hound is distracted again, so I’d best fire in.
Fingers influence dynamic surface tension & beer head height4;keep yer paws aff ma beer5
Doing it for Scotland, I take a deep breath and do what a man must do on a Saturday evening in his basement. Why oh why can’t I have a restful weekend for once? All this beer drinking is seriously a thankless task. I guess someone’s got to do it. Here goes! Hmmmm. Four gulps down for starters and immediately a dirty big burp. Hurrah!!!! Decent effort. Tastes of a field of burnt shredded wheat and is quite gassy, yet very much a lip smacker. Hmmm. Quite nice. Credit where credit is due- it takes something special to produce a decent burp these days. See my Vattanac review for low burping beer reference.
Wolfchild actually looks a bit peed off with me now. I’m not sure why.
Ahm ah ever getting any snacks roond here?!6
The monk on the label (or more correctly, Franciscan friar) has been getting well lagered since 1363. Fair play to him and respect to vintage Munchen goodness. He holds his bloated stomach, as I feel I might do likewise in a min. It probs is a bit too gassy for my liking. I vaguely recognise him from the Canterbury Dynamoes over 70s footy team I play for, although he does look a bit more athletic.
It’s going down well but not as nice as my fave Weihenstephaner, which is also a hefe Weissbier. Exciting fact or wot? Drat, I’ve slightly made a boo-boo as my newly procured pilsner glass only holds a half pint. This is a 500ml bottle, so there’s like err, more than 17ml left after one fill. Maybe I should have bought two. Ah well, guess I’d best scoop it up and refill. Must get a stein glass sometime. Maybe for the Euros.
Ach, it’s no’ too bad. Coming up for fresh air and a burpous release, I relent to Wolfy. She has been a good wee duggy, especially considering her recent traumatic visit to the vets to get an ingrown nail trimmed. I give her a mini-cheddar. These she does like, ignoring the beeero completely and skillfully managing not to knock it over! Within a second, she’s grabbed the bag and sconed the lot, presumably still worried Mr Miaows might come down and have a share. And also, because she is a canine she has an appetite like a dog. That’s my theory anyway. She pauses briefly to look at the beer, almost tempted to have a slog of it.
I’ll just have one mini-cheddar7; ah bollocks to it I’m horsing the packet8
I decide to go upstairs and check on Mr Miaows, Wolfy rushing behind me in case there’s more munchies to be had. I ask Mr Miaows if he’d like a sniff of the beer. Smiling widely, like a moggy from Cheshire, he said ‘aye, all right then big man’, in his Australian accent. It nearly knocks him out and so he tells me to sod off and get him something decent. I guess he’s more used to Fosters. Fortunately, we don’t have any. Nae luck Mr Miaow Miaows!
Mr Miaow-Miaows stares me down for a can of four XXXX9
Wolfers has spotted the packet of beef hula hoops in my back pocket, but seems quite sad. Maybe ‘cos they’re not mini-cheddars. For the sake of clarity I say, ‘no Wolfy, these are ma crusps. Get down dog.’ Sadly, she wanders back down the stairs, tail between her legs, and crashes on the basement rug with a humpppph. Hairy lips and tongue lolling all over the place, like Mick Jagger without makeup.
Poor duggy isn’t herself after all those vet drugs, but she’s no getting any more crisps in case she heaves….or worse.
Ha, I know what she wants – it’s the ball! How stooopid of me not to pick that up sooner. Sure enough, this brings a sparkle to her eye and a bout of rapid tail wagging. Maybe that’s her equivalent of a few scoops on a Saturday night.
Hero status for me: new half-eaten ball makes for a happy duggy10
Ok, Franziskaner is very decent, just not brilliant. I’ve had it many times before, not least of all the one I stole from brother-in-law’s fridge to have alone in the darkness of his garden to get a breather from an in-law party…sorry, Martin, but it was a medical emergency!
I’ve also had quite a few in a Bierkelker in Parramatta during a sneaky lunch break with a very bad boy colleague….that’s another story. This guy made Begbie seem gentile. We’re talking proper nutta. We got on like a pub on fire.
Sooooo, to be Frank (iskaner), I’ll give it a 3/10 on the gashometer. It’s a very tasty wheat beer but could be less cloy -y, less shredded wheaty, and not so much gassy. Feel totally bloated now. Burp! Guess I’d best grab another. Prost!
Sources
- Ally Grant photos, May 2024.
Hi Dad