The severe restrictions on beer advertising adopted the other day by the Russian State Duma would probably have led to an immediate popular uprising in Germany. After all, if you travel through the towns and villages of the Federal Republic of Germany, you will find literally in every, even the smallest town, one or two breweries. Moreover, not just standard factories for producing the hoppy drink, but old, traditional enterprises, passed down by inheritance from generation to generation, each with its own history.
Any city is proud of "its own" beer, and any resident, even half asleep, can tell you in detail how "native" beer differs from all other varieties. That, by the way, is why there is an unimaginable variety of German beers. For the same reason, any restriction of "beer rights" automatically means job cuts and a sharp drop in the standard of living—what parliament or government would go for that?
Last week, all German news television channels devoted a large amount of airtime to an alarming piece of news: beer consumption in the country had fallen to a record low! The average German now consumes 117 liters of beer per year, whereas five years ago that figure was 153 liters. The best experts—economists, brewers, advertising specialists—are currently looking for the causes of such a tragic decline...
The bulk of German beer consumers are the Germans themselves; exports of the drink to other countries, although quite impressive in volume, have never exceeded 15% of total production. German brewers are therefore seriously worried—their incomes are falling. In early August, they launched an unprecedented promotional campaign: two huge barges were chartered, with attractive models of beer mugs and barrels installed on them (all several meters in size), after which both vessels set off on a cruise along the Rhine, decorated with slogans calling on people to "be real Germans—drink beer!".
The route was chosen not by chance: the Rhineland federal states are places of traditional wine production (and, accordingly, consumption). It cannot be said that beer is not welcomed here, but the Rhinelanders certainly cannot compete with the Bavarian passion for beer. The organizer of the campaign, the German Brewers' Union, announced that if this "pilot project" was successful, similar barges would sail down the Moselle. In addition, overland "beer road trains" would go on a run through Saarland, a federal state famous for its white wines.
Interestingly, the majority of Germans are convinced that only bad beer needs television advertising; everyone knows good beer anyway. Indeed, the bulk of commercials are for various types of pale lager—and Germans admit that pale lager made in Germany is inferior in many respects to the unsurpassed Czech beer. After all, it was in honor of Pilsner pale lager that the Germans (and after them everyone else) began to call any variety of this beer Pilsener (although, if you recall history, it turns out that the first brewery in Pilsen was built precisely by a Bavarian).
But if Czech pale lager is a recognized standard, the Germans make up for it in other types of beer: suffice it to recall the amazing Cologne dark beer Kölsch (by the way, the same word also denotes the Cologne dialect of the German language) and the wonderful Bavarian wheat beer Paulaner. When it comes to Cologne, the beer produced in that city has become part of the eternal rivalry between Cologne residents and Düsseldorf residents. In November, when the traditional carnival begins in the Rhineland, God forbid you order a traditional Düsseldorf Alt in some Cologne pub—this could have very unpleasant consequences. However, the same applies to the capital of North Rhine-Westphalia: in Düsseldorf they don't drink Kölsch!
There is even such a joke (or maybe it's true): on the 57th autobahn, halfway between Cologne and Düsseldorf, there is a parking lot with a restaurant. In the men's room of this restaurant there are two rows of urinals, with a sign "Kölsch" hung over one, and "Alt" over the other.
When it comes to carnivals, one cannot ignore the traditional Bavarian Oktoberfest—it is entirely built around beer, and not just any beer, but specifically wheat beer (not to be confused with pale lager!), which neither the Dutch nor the Australians managed to produce—and no one else even tried. During Oktoberfest, Bavarians and visiting tourists consume so much beer that statistics don't even count it, so as not to distort the final figures for the country.
And what is remarkable—with all that, the problem of beer alcoholism in Germany is completely irrelevant. To the extent that even some reputable private clinics prescribe certain varieties of beer to their patients as a treatment for certain kidney and stomach ailments.
German beer producers are very wealthy and generous people. They are the ones who spend the most money both on charity and on sponsorship activities—in Germany there is not a single football team at any level that is not somehow supported by German brewers. This is not surprising: in their own country they have almost no competition—foreign beer consumption in Germany is only 3-4% of the total, and as for foreign beer advertising on German television, you wouldn't find it even if you searched with a lantern—except that the Danish Tuborg and Carlsberg allow themselves to run commercials on German television channels; the rest simply give up.
In the border areas with Belgium, admittedly, many Germans gladly buy beer from their neighbors, but paradoxically they do not consider it beer – indeed, how can one take seriously all sorts of raspberry, banana, and other 'abnormal' varieties? Therefore, when it comes to beer, Germans are unlikely to recall anything Belgian. Rather... Russian: at least one type of beer, namely porter produced by Baltika, has already won the sympathies of many Germans. They have very few of their own porters, so this niche of the beer market turned out to be unfilled. This is what Russian brewers took advantage of, having long ago learned to successfully overcome any difficulties.