The Hunt for Oktoberfest

Boston promised Oktoberfest, so two (technically) German-Americans brought a voice recorder and low expectations to the nearest function. By 2 a.m. last Friday—why so early, Boston?—we had yet to keep any steins, but we did get enough audio to stitch together an eight-tier beer flight, with a ranking translated into nicotine profiles. What follows is the cleanest retelling we can do without lying.

We opened at Lamplighter’s Cambridge Crossing taproom. Refillable steins, immaculate glassware, absolutely no vibe. We didn’t stay long enough for a beer, and we always stay long enough for a beer.

Beer 1: Guinness, aka ZYN Coffee 3 mg found in your coat pocket (8/8)

Detour to Phoenix Landing: crowded bar, free Guinness, and a foam printer etching faces onto foam like temporary tattoos. One friend printed the Harvard Independent logo because subtlety is for wine bars. Weiner lost her Guinness virginity to a pint that tasted like dirt. For people who don’t rip nic, the ZYN comparison is not a compliment. Think chalky coffee breath, instant lip-tingle, maybe a little vomiting. We finished our portrait-pints (and our friends’), because we are scholars of sunk cost. This unfortunately gets last place on our ranking, but the selfie-head was art.

Beer 2: Weihenstephaner (Festbier), aka Marlboro Gold (5/8)

Red Line, light public urination (Schnitzel, the bushes forgive you), Bavarian hats acquired. At the import stand of Samuel Adams Brewery, a classic: crisp, bready, built to be hoisted. The kind of beer that says, “I pay my taxes and wear a cardigan.” Everyone on the voice memo kept nodding and saying, “solid.” Solid is fifth.

Beer 3: Pumpernickel Dunkel, aka American Spirit Black, the Perique one (7/8)

We hoped for lots of pumper and a whisper of nickel. We ended up with a mouthful of Dunkel. Rich, dark, and determined to make us confront our limits. We offered a sip to a friend who said, “smelling it is enough.” We believe her. Seventh.

Beer 4: Jack O’ Lantern Ale, aka Elf Bar BC5000 Peach Ice (1/8)

This beer is why we turned pretty at Oktoberfest. Least beer-y, most sippable; the cinnamon-sugar caramel rim arrives like a seasonal candle and somehow we didn’t hate it. The girliest drinks are once again the best drinks, a scientific finding at this point. This one carried the bench through three rounds of Prost and a poorly informed debate about “The Summer I Turned Pretty” (nobody watched the show). No. one. 

Beer 5: Passion Fruit Citrus Gose, aka Lost Mary OS5000 Passionfruit Orange Guava (4/8)

Very light, citrusy, with tangerine notes. Nothing negative to say, but nothing phenomenal, either. It had the energy of a situationship you aren’t really that into, but you still text. You’re not each other’s favorite on the roster, but you wouldn’t mind seeing them if nobody else is free for the night. Fourth feels right.

Beer 6: New England IPA, aka ZYN Citrus 6 mg (6/8)

“Light, pretty citrusy… a little too acidic,” says the tape, which then coughs. Imagine chewing grapefruit pith for the team. We decided to take our hats off for a second to see if it affected morale. It did, so we put them back on. Sixth.

Detour to Parking Lot to Smoke:

As we began to cross over from our sixth to seventh beers, we marked a crucial intermission: the smoke break. Schnitzel looked to Weiner with the infamous “Is it time for a cigarette yet?” glance. We journeyed outside to discover a group of local post-grads who agreed to aid our search for the true meaning of Oktoberfest.

Rule #1: “Nothing brings people together more than a cigarette in a parking lot.” Rule #2: “Never leave a good time in search of another.” We applied Rule #1 immediately to make up for violating Rule #2 when we left Lamplighter.

Beer 7: Flannel Fest, aka Double Happiness (Chinese cigarette) (3/8)

Darker, coffee-esque notes. We’ll fuck with it. It’s grown-up in the way corduroy is grown-up—warm, scratchy, performatively academic. It’s Chinese in a way we have yet to fathom. We picked up a certain “contraband pack you smuggled in your suitcase from study-abroad” vibe. Faintly bureaucratic.

Beer 8: Jamaicaway IPA, aka American Spirit Yellow (2/8)

Fruitier, lighter, cleaner finish. Not too plain, not too complicated, just right. With Jamaicaway’s help, we got to the point in the night when we briefly considered committing to new personalities. Jamaicaway was our last runner in the relay, waiting for the baton to be passed for the last stretch of the night. Silver medal.

After a few unprintable conversations and the kind of parking-lot diplomacy that only nicotine can broker, we pointed our feathered hats toward home (Tasty Burger). By the time we hit Harvard Square, Boston’s 2 a.m. bedtime had already tucked the city in. We took our new friends’ advice and didn’t chase another good time. 

Final Leaderboard:

1. Jack O’ Lantern Ale
2. Jamaicaway IPA
3. Flannel Fest
4. Passion Fruit Citrus Gose
5. Weihenstephaner (Festbier)
6. New England IPA
7. Pumpernickel Dunkel
8. Guinness

Maybe Boston’s Oktoberfest is the beers you meet along the way. And by that, we mean just get drunk enough to forget you’re in Boston and not Munich. On that metric, eight beers and 12 toasts say we crushed it. See you again next Friday, this time with Dirndls?

Weiner and Schnitzel drink in the Independent’s honor.