Brauhaus Schmitz

German food isn't sexy, unless the thought of liver dumplings and pig knuckles gets you all in a bother to go for a hot polka. So I guess it's little wonder that Bavaria hasn't yet inspired contemporary American chefs quite in the same way France, Italy, Spain, and Asia have.

This is a tradition built for belly-filling schnitzel comfort, not foamy molecular fusion. But while the slow fade of German flavors on the national stage is no surprise as we go light, seasonal, and trendy, the near disappearance of it from Philadelphia is hard to grasp. After all, German culture has been hardwired into our DNA, from Baron von Steuben at Valley Forge to cookie man Godfrey Keebler, the numerous spätzle halls, and the great German brewers that thrived here for 150-plus years before abruptly fizzling off the landscape when Schmidt's shut down its kettles in 1987.

It is Philly's latest beer revolution, ironically, that seems to have reopened the taps for a satisfying German revival at Brauhaus Schmitz. And you can bet your Nürnberger brats (which are homemade here into meter-long coils vivid with caraway, marjoram, and mace) that owners Kelly Schmitz and Doug Hager have done it right.

In a town that's been happily swimming in exotically spiced Belgian tripels and hop-it-all craft IPAs for the last decade, this boisterous new South Street bier hall offers a welcome novel focus: 20 taps flowing with a rotating roster of Germany's best brews.

From five varieties of malty märzenbiers during Oktoberfest to crisp black Köstritzer schwarzbier, a tart goblet of Leipziger gose (sweetened with an optional shot of traditionally herbal woodruff syrup), and a powerfully dark, rich, and raisiny Aventinus eisbock from Schneider, Schmitz provides a glimpse of the remarkable variety that German brewers can produce. This despite the three-ingredient constraints (water, hops, and barley) dictated by the nearly 500-year-old German beer purity law, the Reinheitsgebot, which glows like gospel from a large canvas mounted on Brauhaus Schmitz's brick wall.

The bier hall mission comes naturally to Hager, who, though raised in Upper Darby, was born in Germany to a German mother. It was only after a stint at Ludwig's Garten, however, that he was truly bitten by the brauhaus bug. After nearly two years abroad as newlyweds near his mother in Cologne, Hager and Schmitz knew they were destined to bring a taste of Germany back home.