Beer-Drinking Is a Respected Tradition in Prague : Sampling brew in local halls offers glimpse of the lives of Czechs at all levels of society.

Trying to avoid the swaying Czech woman next to me, who was involved in a hushed argument with her boyfriend, I took a peek at the Branicka Formanka beer hall’s small counter, just to reassure myself that there were more freshly poured beers than people ahead of me in line.

I was thus duly surprised when it was my turn to say “ pivo “--the Czech word for beer--not to find any left. But, happily, a new batch was being meticulously but swiftly poured by the tall, concentrating, mustachioed server. Once the creamy head had been leveled off with a yardstick, he gestured that I could grab my cold pint from the counter. I handed over my 7 crowns (roughly 25 cents) and moved on to find a table in the din of the crowded hall.

Drinking large amounts of beer is a respected tradition at all levels of society here (the Czechs are second only to Germans in per capita beer consumption) and many people visit Czechoslovakia for no more esoteric reason than to drink its beer, which is generally agreed to be among the best, if not the best in the world. However, many an American visitor has not been able to keep up.

According to John Allison, an American adviser in the Czechoslovak Presidential Offices, writing recently in the English-language newspaper Prognosis, “ . . . living in Prague is like participating in some he-man’s alcohol endurance contest: I have not felt such encouragement to push the limits of my drinking ability since my freshman year of college. What social controls there are seem to be concentrated on one’s behavior--i.e., it’s bad form to get sloppy drunk. Yet it’s even worse form not to drink enough.”

This love of beer goes as far back as the year 1118 when the first documented brewery opened in the town of Cerhenice. Beer may even have been brewed as early as the late 9th Century. In the 16th Century, the beer from Budweis (now the town of Ceske Budejovice) constituted the official supply to the royal court of Bohemia, and became known as “the beer of kings,” hence the American beer Budweiser’s slightly altered slogan: “the king of beers.”

Then, 150 years ago, on Oct. 5--a double anniversary day in Czech history as it is also the birth date of former President Vaclav Havel---- modern beer came into being with the creation of the pilsener process, a fermentation and filtration method that converts traditionally dark beer to a golden color. All the golden lagers of the world today owe their existence to this revolutionary process, which was developed in Pilsen (Plzen), where the waters are especially alkaline-rich. The original pilsener brewery is in Pilsen, today an old and very polluted industrial city, with belching smokestacks dotting the skyline, about 52 miles southwest of Prague.

The dry but spicy original Pil sener lager (known inside Czechoslovakia as Plzensky Prazdroj and in the rest of the world as Pilsener Urquell, along with the bitter-sweet original Budvar golden lager, are the most famous of the hundred-plus Czech beers. Today, most Czech beers have the same golden color, though some breweries produce a darker version (varying in color from dark red to dark brown to butterscotch), which, oddly enough, used to be chauvinistically looked down upon as “only good for women.”

Some travelers stop in Pilsen, which lies on the route from Germany to Prague--the undisputed new tourist and youth culture mecca of Eastern Europe--but most, trying to cough the city’s noxious gases out of their system, speed on to their final destination.

Once in Prague, having found their way through the crowds in the Wenceslas and Old Town squares, many people have worked up a good thirst. This may be the perfect time to try out one of the dozens of beer halls or pivnice (pronounced piv-NYET-say). Most of these centers of Czech life open between 10 a.m. and noon and may close as early as 9 p.m. or stay open until 11 or midnight, depending on the crowds. Locals generally select their beer hall by the beer it serves and the clientele it caters to.

Some serve their beers at bars and counters with standing room only, no tables and chairs; others have food and comfortable seating, and are similar to British-style pubs. Some are small, dark, smoke-filled places, others well-lit and spacious. Drinking styles vary depending on the place. At Branicka Formanka, an animated clientele, mostly workers and a smattering of tourists, gulp down their brews at a record-setting pace, while the artists and writers at U Zlateho Tygra may be as interested in discussion as in drinking. At Krusovicka Pivnice, families are likely to be enjoying a quiet afternoon chat with a hot meal and some cold pivo .

The beer hall was known to be an important source of creativity for the late Czech writer, great drinker and gastronome Jaroslav Hasek (author of “The Good Soldier Svejk”). So, reportedly, is a pint of Pilsener, the clinking of glass tankards and the noise of beer hall conversations the preferred muse for popular 77-year-old writer, Bohumil Hrabal, author of “A Close Watch on the Trains” and “Too Loud a Solitude.” Another famous Prague writer, Franz Kafka, on the other hand, frequented the coffeehouses.

“There is a polarization between the Prague coffeehouse and the Prague beer hall,” explains Vladimir Vodicka, 68, the chain-smoking former director of the Theater of the Balustrade, where Havel began as a stagehand in 1962. According to Vodicka, one part of the Czech soul is embodied by the coffeehouses and Kafka (with all his angst and darkness) and the other part is symbolized by the beer hall and Hasek (with all his good humor and indulgent conversation).

For some of the latter, try the classic workers’ beer hall Branicka Formanka, located right off Wenceslas Square, actually a gently sloping boulevard with huge pedestrian area that was the site of huge demonstrations against the Communist regime during the heady days of the November, 1989, “Velvet Revolution.” (The Communist regime capitulated after a week of demonstrations, without a shot fired, bringing the first democratic government in 40 years under playwright-president Vaclav Havel to power.) The beer hall isn’t hard to find; it’s off the square directly across the street from the reigning symbol of the recent capitalist invasion of Czechoslovakia, McDonald’s.

Branicka Formanka is a small, dark place filled with Czech workers, who may appraise you with amused eyes as you scout around for a free table. Since most of the seats are usually taken, customers often take their beer outside on the wide sidewalk where they stand to drink and talk. You can also stay inside and people-watch, as I and a friend did one night this summer, for there are many interesting characters milling about Branicka Formanka. We saw a fairly tipsy worker, leaning against the wall, quietly muttering and wondering why he wasn’t being served another pivo while a small child darted to the front of the line and ordered another beer for his parents who were sitting at a table.

On the menu posted below the counter we noticed “10” or “12” listed next to the names of beers. Don’t worry. This doesn’t mean you’re in for a serious hangover in the morning. The numbers represent the lightness or heaviness of the beer and not the percentage of alcohol, with a 12-degree beer being heavier than 10. The alcohol content of Czech beer generally ranges from 3% to 5%.

The house pivo in this pub is called Branike, with the choice of Branike Tmave (a dark lager) or my favorite Branike Svelte (a smooth golden lager with a tangy punch). Branike still sells at pre-capitalism rates of 7 to 10 Crowns (25-40 cents) a pint. Most beers in Prague sell for around 20 cents to $1.20. The standard serving is a half-liter, basically a pint, most often filled to the top of a glass stein.

Another advantage of the Branicka Formanka is that it’s next door to the U Purkmistra restaurant. Prague undoubtedly has the best and most varied food in Czechslovakia, and a simple beer hall usually offers the best value for the money. U Purkmistra’s special pork dish ( purkmistrova misa )--thick slices of tender, roast pork ( veprova ), oval-shaped dumplings ( knedliky ) and sauerkraut (zeli) topped with a sweet wine sauce--is the best version in town of this very typical dish. The purkmistrova misa , the house pivo gambrinus (a delicately sour golden lager) and some ice cream ( zmrzlina ) for dessert, costs about $6.15.

Next to the popular Old Town Square, a five- to 10-minute walk from Wenceslas, is the beer hall U Radnice, formerly a government-run tavern for workers (before it was sold to private owners after the fall of communism). The simple, large room with wooden tables lined on both sides against the dark, bare walls makes for a relaxed, open atmosphere, with ample room to sit. It was about half full the night we were there.

Once you’re inside and installed at a free table, the etiquette goes something like this: Grab a coaster from the pile in the middle of the table and place it in front of you to show that you want a beer, though one of the jovial waiters passing between the tables will usually ask you anyway. As at most places, the waiter will mark your order on a piece of paper that’s left at the table and updated as the evening may progress. Afterward, you either pay the waiter, or at the cash register on the way out. Most beer hall patrons are frugal tippers, either leaving nothing, or something in the neighborhood of 3% to 4%. American tourists usually tip as they do at home, a fact that is not lost on the waiters but which does not noticeably translate into better service for tourists.

The clientele at U Radnice consists of tourists, spotted easily as they attempt to decipher the Czech menu, as well as Czech families. We tried out the original pilsener plzensky prazdroj and sampled the popular sweet golden lager smichov, both of which ran around $1 a stein.

Most beer halls in Prague serve hot food, popular choices being dumplings, roast pork and goulash dishes. If you feel a bit hungry, I recommend U Radnice’s tasty goulash ( hovenzi gulas ) for about $1.60, or go around the corner to my favorite hot dog stand.

Hot dogs are known as parek in Czech but this stand on the Old Town Square has a yellow canopy on which the succinct label “Hot Dog” appears. The hot dogs are served up from a steam table, dipped in the buyer’s choice of ketchup or a tasty hot mustard sauce and stuffed into a warm piece of French bread. You can find parek in many beer halls as well.

Near the Old Jewish Cemetery, where legendary Rabbi Judah Loew is buried, you will find the relatively new beer hall Krusovicka Pivnice, that serves only one beer, Krusovice, a malty, sweet golden lager. It features a large, well-lit room, with wide, wooden tables and does not have the dark, smoky atmosphere of many other Prague beer halls. On the walls, there are huge quasi-impressionist paintings of what else . . . beer. In good weather take your Krusovice pivo and sit at an outside table facing Maiselova street in the old Jewish quarter.

Just a few blocks from the Charles Bridge--the newly inaugurated hangout for art vendors, musicians and tourists located under the majestic gaze of the Prague Castle--is one of the most famous of Prague’s beer halls, U Zlateho Tygra (The Golden Tiger). Behind an unassuming facade, U Zlateho Tygra is a dimly-lit, very wooden beer hall, crowded with Czechs and a smattering of foreign visitors, that is known for the exceptional quality of its spicy Pilsener (Plzensky Prazdroj) and its literary and artistic clientele.

Theater director Vodicka frequents The Golden Tiger with his good friend Czech writer Bohumil Hrabal. However, when asked if he would take two American visitors there, Vodicka shied away from the question, perhaps in deference to the widely held sentiment that, in the midst of the commercialization of so many Prague landmarks, The Golden Tiger must remain a sanctuary for Czech artists and writers. Failing at getting a chaperon, we went on our own and found that the Golden Tiger did, indeed, seem to have fewer tourists. So take a peek, have a pivo or two, and be on your very best behavior.

As a result of the economic change taking place in Prague, many beer halls are being privatized and renovated. Thus a common occurrence for beer and conversation-loving citizens is to suddenly find, in place of their favorite beer hall, an empty room with piles of two-by-fours on the floor and fresh paint on the walls. A good way to keep up-to-date on the latest happenings in the city is to buy a copy of the English-language weekly The Prague Post, read their beer hall column (“Sarah’s Sanctuaries” by Sarah Shaw) and go forth to enjoy the good humor and lazy relaxation of Prague’s beer halls.

GUIDEBOOK

Where to Raise a Stein

The following beer halls and eateries are all in central Prague:

Branicka Formanka, Vodickova 26; telephone locally 26-00-05

U Radnice, Male namesti 2; 26-82-22

Krusovicka Pivnice, Siroka 20

U Zlateho Tygra, Husova 17; 26-52-19

U Purkmistra restaurant, Vodickova 26

Hot dog stand, Staromestske namesti 29