by I am sitting in Atschel, a comfortable thing, if I am crowded Apfelweinwirtschaft (cider pub) in Sachsenhausen, south of the Main River from Römerberg square in central Frankfurt. Germany’s financial capital is one of the host cities for Euro 2024, and such pubs, with their leafy gardens, will be popping up during the tournament.
England play Denmark here on June 20, while Germany face Switzerland three days later. This is a nation known for its beer quality, of course, but those visiting Frankfurt for the football will find that there are other drink rules here: Apfelwein.
This traditional Hessisch cider – the a drink of the state of Hessen – it is dry, still, unfiltered and made from sour apples, giving it a tart taste. Many locals add sparkling water, diluting the taste, reducing the alcohol by 5-7% and making the drink especially refreshing on hot days. Sachsenhauseners hardcore drink Apfelwein pure
Atschel is bustling with locals, young and old, huddled together on community benches. Soon a large gray jug, decorated with blue floral artwork, is placed on the table in front of me. It is called a Bembel and is an icon of Frankfurt, used exclusively to serve Apfelwein – or Failed as it is called in the local dialect. Bemeil line the shelves and hang over the bar. this Bembel is the Actors (eight n-er), meaning there is enough cider to fill eight Geriptn; the 0.3-litre glasses, with a diamond pattern in which the drink is served. The ribbed design makes the liquid glisten in the light (making it easier to bite after eating a greasy sausage).
I came to Atschel to meet Apfelwein historian Stefan Krämer, a large friendly man with a full white beard and an encyclopedic knowledge of local history. After pouring a drink, Krämer covers his glass with his Barns – a wooden cover to protect it from insects (and sloppy speakers).
Frankfurt is obsessed with Apfelwein. Although the Gherkin is in London, das Gerippte is the city’s news skyscraper – a glass of apple wine 110 meters high (360 feet) above the Main. On my way to Atschel I see pottery shops stacked floor to ceiling with them Bembellen and pass his shrine to Adam and Eve with an apple and Geriptn on hand. Spruce wreaths hang over the cobblestone streets and the doors of the half-timbered houses, identifying Apfelweinwirtschaft for those in the know.
While the Gherkin is in London, Frankfurt’s novel skyscraper is das Gerippte – a glass of apple wine 109 meters high above the river Main.
Krämer wears a sweater saying “Apfelwein is my favorite beer”. One of his friends, Jens, comes in to join us on a scooter decorated like a Bembelwith a Geript embroidered on the seat.
“In most cities you get the same drinks; same beer, same glasses,” says Krämer. “That’s why I preserve these traditions. I don’t know exactly how much Bemil I have. Maybe 300.”
Grape wine ruled in Frankfurt until the end of the 15th century, when the little ice age and phylloxera made grape production unviable. Producers who were doing Apfelwein for personal consumption, especially in the orchard-rich Sachsenhausen, he stepped in to fill the void. By the 16th century, locals were serving cider in their front rooms and, by 1641, the wreaths that still hang over many pubs today were compulsory, so tax collectors could take their cut to take part.
“It was a working class wine,” says Krämer. By 1750, he tells me, 1m liters of it Apfelwein attending Sachsenhausen only each year. During the 1800s, these pubs became inns and gardens that you can visit today.
Apfelwein Production was banned during both world wars as apples were replanted, and much of Frankfurt was destroyed in the second world war. Many old pubs have been rebuilt, but most locals now buy their cider from industrial suppliers rather than making it themselves. Most, but not all.
I visit Zur Buchscheer, the Apfelweinwirtschaft which has been in operation since 1876. The pub is located on the edge of the huge city forest in outer Sachsenhausen, and is a popular watering hole before Eintracht Frankfurt football matches – with the nearby stadium.
Robert Theobald is the fifth generation owner of the pub and produces around 60,000 liters Apfelwein every year. You can see the belt line as you walk in. “This is homemade cider,” he says, handing me a rimmed glass. “I’m a little proud of it. It’s really local. It’s a tradition you can drink.” Theobald’s Failed is light and refreshing, even without water.
Back in the center of Sachsenhausen, I find another home cider at Daheim im Lorsbacher Thal, where Frank Winkler is bringing an elegant touch to the traditional cider pub. Bembels, geripptes and pictures of vintners remain; but on a dark polished wooden floor.
Daheim serves more than 300 ciders. His cellar is part museum, part laboratory. Wooden casks are punctuated with experimental fermentations, which are sold upstairs. “We use different apple blends, different yeasts and we have ways to move the acidity higher or lower,” he says.
Winkler places an equal emphasis on local food – from a traditional green sauce (a blend of seven local herbs) with hard-boiled eggs to Hands up with Music: sour cheese topped with onions.
Like most Apfelwein joints, Daheim has community tables. “After Covid, the younger generation found these old traditional places where you can meet and have fun. It is a social thing; replicating the cool digital lifestyle.”
Just around the corner from Lorsbacher Thal, I meet Jens Becker in Apfelweinhandlung JB. This was the first specialty cider shop in Germany when it opened in 2008. “My grandfather produced it Apfelwein in this area,” he says. “And my wife comes from a family that produces cider.” Becker noted a decrease in Apfelwein consumption – “fewer trees, fewer producers, smaller target market” – and opened his shop to give artisan producers somewhere in the city to sell.
“Before I opened, no one in Frankfurt would dream of making a purchase Apfelwein as a gift to someone,” he says. “This is a revival; resume.”
Becker shows me a poster from 1912 for Apfelwein Champagne, and says “tradition is also storytelling”. Becker has a small museum of it Geripten but he serves me his own Apfelwein in a glass of wine. “This is love for everyone,” he says. “A cuvée.” I love; reeking of honey.
Hosted by Becker Apfelwein tasting, and across the road at ApfelweinKontor – in Frankfurt’s oldest half-timbered house – 36-year-old Josef Grunenberg has made it his business to do the same.
Grunenberg shares the building with Dayanna Moya (ArtBembel), who paints intricate bembels on site. When I arrive, a group of 30 are in the middle of a tasting. Grunenberg, who wears a silver bembel necklace, runs up and down the wooden stairs, imparting wisdom.
On my last day in Frankfurt, I want to see an orchard for myself. I go to MainÄppelHaus Lohrberg, a community-run orchard on Frankfurt’s local wine hill. It’s a 90 minute, steep uphill walk from my hotel in the heart of the city. On arrival, I order ein Ebbelwoi, bitte and forgot to pop my Barns as a fly falls quickly into my glass. Families stroll around the vines and flower beds. I get grilled sausages, sit in the greenery and look out at the skyline.
“Frankfurt is a city of love at second sight,” my tour guide, Tommy Jepp, told me. It may not be a place of immediate beauty; but scratch the surface and you’ll find green havens and eclectic cultures waiting to welcome you in, often under spruce wreaths, with rimmed glasses.
Flemings Selection Hotel Frankfurt-City provided accommodation; double from €118 (£100) night
