Actually, May 7, 1982 should have only been the prelude. Preliminary program for the biggest day of all: the wedding. Well, you can already guess: the radiance of that May 8th would fade over the years, while what happened the evening before still breathes a meaningful air of life today. And so to Peter Hermann.
On the day that Joachim Fest accepted the Thomas Mann Prize in the presence of Golo Mann and Falco’s “The Commissioner” was number one in the radio charts, the then 25-year-old was celebrating a bachelor party with friends at the White Bräuhaus in the Tal, his local bar. Like quite a few bachelor parties – Hollywood material for a Hangover trilogy – the whole thing was not only wet, but also very happy, so that everyone agreed: “We could do it more often.”
So they did and founded the regulars’ table “Aventinus-Buam”, after the strong beer from the Schneider brewery. Peter Hermann became president of the Zechbrüder and still is today. He hasn’t been married for a long time, at least not to his wife, but to the regulars’ table, because he hasn’t missed a single one in 42 years.
The first Friday of the month is sacred to him and the 13 other Aventinus Buam. “I almost couldn’t have done it once,” says Hermann, “but then we postponed it for a week.” The 67-year-old Giesinger is what you call an apparition, a parade Bavarian from a picture book: the whole boy in traditional costume, with a twisted beard on the bottom and a chamois beard on top, little eyes flashing happily and always ready with a insult: “We don’t just drink to Aff.” Well, we’re making fools of ourselves too.”
Anyone who orders Affen at the Weißen Bräuhaus will receive an Aventinus, a dark strong beer, 8.2 percent alcohol, 18.5 percent original wort. The name of the world’s oldest wheat Doppelbock goes back to the court teacher Johannes Aventinus, who is considered the father of Bavarian historiography. Mathilde Schneider, the great-grandmother of current brewery boss Georg Schneider, invented the drink in 1907 and used it to lead the company through inflation and wars.
Today Aventinus is exported to more than 30 countries and wins prizes in international beer competitions. The brewery praises the export hit as follows: “Its strong body in combination with its malty-aromatic sweetness offers real deep enjoyment – an ingenious combination, perfectly drinkable. Also goes perfectly with hearty dishes, dark roasts and sweet desserts.” That’s right, says Peter Hermann: “Without a foundation, you can’t take the nonsense.”
It’s a nice nonsense that the Buam have been eating at table three for years and days, and what’s being said at the beer table sometimes falls into this category, which only helps the mood. Instead of politicizing, it is better to let the flax bloom, even after the first glass. When they arrive, each member of the regulars hangs up their badge on a kind of mini maypole; Only when everyone has “hanged out” again is the regulars’ table over.
You can’t miss the troupe dressed in traditional costumes, just because of the Aventinus flag on the wall, which almost reaches up to the president’s chamois beard, which everyone just calls Bräse or Bäda and who of course sits at the head of the chair, keeping an eye on everything and everyone to have. Once he chased a drunkard all the way to Marienplatz to serve him. You can’t miss the booms either: When the waitress brings a fresh round of monkeys, a little later you hear a loud, jagged “1, 2, 3 – cheers!” that is so loud that many people sitting next to you wince.
The so-called photo pig on the table eats euros that tourists pay for a photo with the decorative strong beer boys, or for an “Oarschplattler” demonstration, in which two boys spank each other’s bottoms. Also always worth a photo: the huge three-liter glass that everyone usually treats themselves to after dinner as a roll glass.
One utensil is still missing: “Where did you hide our pennant?” the braser barks after a pinch of snuff towards the innkeeper, who immediately trots up with the piece of jewelry. 17 names are immortalized on it, three of them in black letters: the deceased. Of the seven founding members, only Bäda remains, who gradually looked for new brothers. Of the now 14 members, around nine usually come, today there are seven.
You can only become a member by invitation and if you haven’t missed a regular meeting for a year. Acceptance must be unanimous. When Scotty from Michigan, the first non-Bavarian, was admitted, there were almost tears because the US boy was so moved. He’s late today, but he has an excuse: he still had to lead a Nockherberg tour. “Professional Guide & Certified Beer Sommelier” is written on his business card, and when he raves about the regulars’ table at the Cedar Springs Brewery in Michigan, you know exactly who gave his colleagues across the pond this idea.
Regular table brother Herwig also has a US connection: He now lives in Florida half the year – and doesn’t have to go without his beloved Aventinus there either: “It’s available in a can, six dollars for 0.3 liters.” It’s logical that he also has a regular meeting in Florida, but he tries to miss as few Aventinus meetings as possible in his old homeland: “I base my flight plan accordingly.”
No liquor at the table – so off to the bar
Despite all the uniformity – everyone wears a white traditional shirt with the Aventinus Buam inscription – what is also striking is how little the big age difference bothers the men. For example, there are more than 40 years between Bäda and Alex, the youngest at the table in his mid-20s. This in turn is connected to a parallel regulars’ table a few meters away: Three years ago, her friend Lara started regular meetings of the “Landbier-Madln”. Eight mothers and daughters, different beer, different rules, such as the one with the strap on the beer glass: you can only refill once it is taken off. Bräse Bäda says: “Oh, the pile of chickens!”
There is also a drinking rule at the Aventinus table, decreed by the boss himself: no schnapps! Which in turn led to the toilet schnapps phenomenon: Some boys ordered schnapps at the counter after using the toilet, so that sometimes half the team meets there as soon as someone has to.
One thing is good for everyone involved: the brewery closes at half past ten. Which doesn’t mean that everyone goes to bed well. “Afterwards, a shot of dark beer at the Hofbräuhaus tastes like water,” reports Herwig, the man from Florida who later has to take the S-Bahn. “Once I actually fell asleep on the train after ten Aventinus – and was woken up by the ticket inspector. But I had a ticket from wherever!” Yes, he can really take your shoes off, the Aventinus. Peter Hermann says: “It takes three weeks to recover.” Of course he doesn’t take a break for that long, after all there’s a white beer regulars’ table at the Weißer Bräuhaus every Sunday…