Berlin, day 1 9/17/2025

After nine hours on a plane, I landed in Frankfurt at 8:55. After making my way through customs, I caught my 10:41 ICE train around 11:00. This caused me to miss my connection in Hanover. I fumbled with my Deutsch Bahn app and figured out a plan B. I managed to get on a slow-ass IC train. I got settled at my hotel at 17:10, grabbed a shower, and headed out for dinner.

I had pre-scoped a spot for my first night’s meal. I went to a place called Bilakiss. I grabbed a Berliner Pilsner, set it on the counter, and read the script from my phone to order. I had the German words from ChatGPT in my notes. The man had some trouble understanding me, but we mostly managed. I got all the veggies, though I wanted three sauces and only got one. At least it was the important one: “Extra Scharf” (that’s how you order it extra spicy). This was more of a Berlin Döner than a Turkish one, so even extra scharf wasn’t like the spicy salsas I’m used to.

After dinner, I took my Berliner Pilsner for a walk. Berliner Pilsner is dry, with a pronounced firm bitterness. I suspect I’ll be drinking more of it. I made my way to a craft beer spot called Protokoll, only a couple blocks from my hotel. There was a small bar top with six or seven stools. I looked over the beer list, but I already knew what I wanted: number eight, Ayinger Lager Hell. The lady behind the bar spoke to me, and I said, “Acht, bitte.” She replied, “What size would you like?” I asked for a half-liter. Depending on the beer, they’re sold in 0.3 L, 0.4 L, and 0.5 L sizes. The Ayinger Helles was delicious. The hops were a bit more pronounced than I remembered, but not at pilsner level. For the record, I’ve got three favorite Munich-area breweries: Ayinger, Augustiner, and Weihenstephan.

I should take a moment to talk about the bartender. She was cute AF. Long dark hair, a pierced septum, tattoos on pale skin. (Ladies like this are my crack.) Fit, wearing a black tank top that held up her lovely little boobs enough that she didn’t need a bra. The top left a three-inch gap above her pants, showing off her curves. She had a nice, plump-enough butt. I enjoyed looking at her, no doubt. I tried to banter with her about my awkward German. She didn’t get the banter, and I felt more awkward. She spoke with an accent that reminded me of a former coworker’s Brazilian accent. I decided she was definitely South American. So, she’s probably actually from Romania.

When I arrived, I was the only one at the bar top. I figured I’d be “one and done.” I settled my tab after every beer I ordered. Ended up having five. My second beer was a 0.3 L of Ritterguts Original Gose. Big lactic twang, good complexity, bone dry with a slight astringency.

There was also a young Russian guy behind the bar, wearing a T-shirt that said “Fuck War, Fuck Putin.” He spoke mostly English, but also Russian, German, and some French. Apparently, a lot of Russians are moving to Berlin because of the war. I learned this bar used to be tied to a Russian-owned craft brewery, but they’ve since cut ties.

Eventually, another guy joined me at the bar. Born in Hawaii, grew up in the northern Midwest just on the U.S. side of the Canadian border. He used to have dual U.S. and Canadian citizenship but had renounced his U.S. passport. I enjoyed chatting with him. He’d heard of Bellevue Brewing and knew the Northwest craft beer scene. He helped me understand Berlin culture and the local craft beer scene. He was an IPA drinker. I remember telling him, “I didn’t come here to drink IPA.”

For my third round, I ordered the House Beer, a pilsner brewed under contract for Protokoll. Not that great — had notes of acetaldehyde. After that disappointment, I needed a solid pilsner, so I ordered a Rothaus Badische Staatsbrauerei Pilsner. Tasty, with notes that reminded me of the old Kulshan Pilsner, back when Tom Eastwood brewed it with Spalter hops.

I figured four beers was enough, but then I spotted Schneider Weisse on the menu. Couldn’t resist. It was bready, clovey, and delicious.

I made my way home and passed the fuck out.