Finally, A Beer For The Wee Ones
Up close and personal with the Berliner Weiße
Unfortunately, the Michael Jackson referred to in this article is not the King Of Pop, but rather a [British] King Of Beers. Because his note on the Berliner Weiße, the notorious beer-sicle of our city, would go a long way towards clarifying the origin of "Jesus juice."
Are you looking to stock a Kindergarten happy hour? Do you wish Haribo went into the brewing business? If so, look no further than the Berliner Weiße, a candied beer foisted on unsuspecting newcomers to Berlin. Mmm, like me. Despite repeated warnings, I indulged in the local speciality this past weekend. "You're supposed to be a man," they told me. "I'll think less of you if you go through with this," they menaced. But it was too late: the glistening crystal of the schooner -- magnificently, Germans have a different glass for every drink -- had, lantern-like, led me forth to the ubiquitously mysterious barmaid, and captured my imagination.
A gustatory preface: straight Berliner beer beats the pants off of any regional American brew, but nontheless has an ax-like edge that is not completely subdued in the Weiße. Dropping some industrial syrup in it is, as far as I can tell, a metaphor for the many beautification projects Berlin neighborhoods have endured: word, Kreuzberg! Where you at, Wedding? It's a coat of day-glo paint for your tenement. "A reader" declares, "It is not any stranger than adding lime to a bottle of Corona." To what circle of Hell should God condemn the man who said this?
It comes with a straw. Does that tell you anything? And in both its incarnations, it tastes like a torqued-out Sprite, manufactured for some summer promotion to be advertised on MTV. (Is there a German Jackass?) It comes in raspberry and "woodruff," which I think is British for poison sumac. Actually, I preferred green to red -- even more stratospherically artifical, which is what you're going for. As a curiosity, I liked it, but we must also consider the prevailing conditions -- me being a journalist, at a bar, past 1:00 am on a Saturday night. Like spicy English crisps or a chili omelette, the Berliner Weiße may be at its best when you're already well on your way to meeting Bacchus.