A Former Beer Girl’s Return to the Stein

Let’s get one thing straight—I’m not the type to walk up to a bar and declare, “Beer me!”
More specifically, not, “Coors Light, good sir.”

I had my beer moment, thank you very much. Back in the late ’90s, when it was peak cool to order a New Glarus Spotted Cow (Sconnie pride!) or say “I’ll have a Fat Tire,” which in hindsight was foreshadowing the belly bloat that came with it. The real crown jewel of beer chic? “A Blue Moon with a slice of orange, please.” Belgian white in one hand, Steve Madden platforms on my feet, baby doll dress fluttering—I thought I was it.

But alas, my beer days were fleeting. All that wheat, the puffiness, the salt cravings, the unflattering waistband expansion… I retired from the beer aisle before Y2K could judge me. And then, like a gift from the fashion gods, Sex and the City ushered in the age of the Cosmopolitan. Thank you, Carrie Bradshaw. You were my skinny, vodka-soaked savior.

That said, when one finds herself in Germany—more specifically, Munich—you simply must surrender to the beer gods. Resistance is futile. A non-negotiable stop: Hofbräuhaus am Platzl, the iconic three-story beer hall founded in 1589 as a royal brewery. It’s enormous, loud, and wildly fun. Between the oompah brass band and locals in lederhosen, it’s Bavarian energy turned up to eleven. Order a Brezn (a pretzel roughly the size of your face, or a wearable bracelet if you're bold), a sausage or three, and of course, a frothy stein of something local.

Waddle, I mean wander, down to Marienplatz in time for the Glockenspiel show (daily at noon and 5pm—it’s delightfully quirky and yes, the figurines spin). And since you’ve already carb-loaded, it’s only fair to climb to the top of St. Peter’s Church for panoramic views that stretch all the way to the Alps on a clear day. Worth every stair.

We also wandered through the English Garden, which is bigger than Central Park and home to actual river surfers riding man-made waves (because Munich said, “Let’s surf a creek!”). Stroll beneath the chestnut trees until you hit the Chinese Tower beer garden, where—you guessed it—more beer awaits.

Even this former beer girl had to admit: when in Munich, raise your stein and prost like a local. Just maybe pack your stretchy pants.