Bagging the biggest beer in Chicago
byKeir Graff
"Bigger is better" is a way of life in the United States, and nowhere is that more true than in Chicago. From plate-sized steaks to Styrofoam buckets of pop to civic projects that shame the Tower of Babel, we want more and lots of it.
But, curiously, there's one thing the postage stamp-sized lands of our European forbears still do a hell of a lot bigger: drinking. The list of leaders in per capita beer consumption reads like a Who's Who of the European Union, while the United States'the world's biggest beer producer by volume'doesn't seem to have as much taste for the stuff. And with Oktoberfest celebrations beginning to swirl around Chicagoland, it's a perfect time to plunge head first into the quantity issue. Oktoberfest'from September 18 to October 3 this year'ostensibly commemorates historic royal German nuptials, but in reality provides a great excuse to immerse oneself in ale. It is in this spirit that I decide to track down the biggest beer in Chicago.
Though the standard American serving size for beer seems to be gravitating toward the pint (16 ounces), let's bear in mind that the English knock back Imperial pints (20 ounces), and the Germans, when celebrating, are likely to load up on liters (34 ounces). If you've ever tried to go belly to belly with a foreign-born boozer, likely you know the difference in our relative constitutions. Finding this capacious chug is a matter of national pride.
First, a look at the Chicago municipal code, just to know what to expect. Section 4-60-150 states: "It shall be unlawful for any licensee (other than a hotel or club)... to sell, give away or permit to be sold, served or given away for consumption on the licensed premises any distilled spirits, except by the glass, or any malt or vinous beverage except in individual servings not exceeding 13 fluid ounces."
Given that you can buy a pint almost anywhere they've got beer on tap, this seems rather odd. I ask Mike Boyce, the executive assistant of the Mayor's License Commission, what's going on. "When you drive on the expressway," he says drolly, "is everybody driving the speed limit?" You'd have to figure that stationary saloons would be an easier target than speeding sedans, but I'm happy to accept his rationale.
And, according to Jack Stanton, chief legal counsel for the State Liquor Commission, state law doesn't override the Chicago ordinance on size. Though there are prohibitions against all-you-can-drink specials and stipulations that doubles must cost proportionately more than singles, there's nothing that says you can or can't pour a big beer for a customer. Of course, the "dram shop act" means a server could find themselves in hot water if their client becomes drunk and injurious via oversized beers.
Eschewing my usual research method of stumbling from tavern to tavern, I pick up the phone and start dialing. The Berghoff, shockingly, informs me that their biggest beer during Oktoberfest is a measly 14 ounces, almost city code compliant but not even a full pint. A number of local brewhouses offer weiss beer in the proper glass, which is a significantly hefty 22 ounces at Hopcats, 24 at Goose Island. That's equal to two cans of a domestic, so we're getting warmer. What about those huge steins I've seen lederhosen-clad suds suckers hoisting in photos of German revelry? I start calling German establishments and find that, indeed, a whole liter can be had with a handle attached. The Chicago Brauhaus sells liters, as do the Great Beer Palace, Resi's Bierstube and Zum Deutschen Eck. Still, we've got to do better than this. Surely there's at least one place where a thirsty Chicagoan can send a salvo back to the homeland by quaffing a beer of gigantic proportion.
Indeed there is. At the U.S. Beer Company, bartender Ted Walsh initially answers my query about beer size by saying that a pint is their biggest guzzle. Perhaps sensing the disappointment in my voice, however, he quickly adds, "But if you want a bigger beer, I can accommodate you." A glass Warsteiner boot, he says, holds a capacious two liters. I promptly make an appointment to drink this massive beer.
Ted is off duty when I arrive, enjoying an average-sized beer in front of the bar. Nighttime bartender Jimmy Fout fills the crystalline clodhopper with Warsteiner and slides it across the bar. It's heavy. While I glug and gurgle, Ted informs me that they don't get much call for the boot; in fact, they had to empty the matchbooks out of it before I came in.
I've learned from my mother's boyfriend, Wolfgang Ametsbichler, a lapsed German, that boot-drinking is not common in his homeland, rather a gimmick used to sell beer to Americans. The irony of this doesn't taste nearly as sweet as the realization that I've just drunk the bigger beer.
U-S-A! U-S-A!
U.S. Beer Company,
1801 North Clybourn,
(773)871-7799
copyright 1999 New City Communications, Inc.