Best of the Fest
Grab your stein and fill it high with a hearty Oktoberfest brew

In this holiday of abundance, of overflowing steins and bars and dirndls, let's pause to consider the fuel of this debaucherous blaze: the beer. The time is Oktoberfest and the style is Märzen. Named for the month in which it's brewed (March), this caramel lager spends its summer fermenting cool and slow—before refrigeration, the beer was stored in Bavarian caves—emerging dark, rich and autumnally mature in color and taste in the fall.

Märzen is easy to like and to drink, and that accessibility helps explain the thirsty crowds that wash over Munich in the last two weeks of September.

While the festival itself is not exactly known as a study in balance, the beer surely is. Not too sweet, not too spicy, not too strong, Märzen is easy to like and to drink, and that accessibility helps explain the thirsty crowds that wash over Munich in the last two weeks of September. Oktoberfest, which comes to its dizzy end on Monday, began as an 1810 wedding party for Prince Ludwig, and has included horse races, dances, agricultural fairs and the occasional cholera epidemic. (Now you know why steins have lids.) Although, to be technical, the foaming mugs are known in Germany by their Bavarian name, Maß, pronounced "mahss." It literally means "measure," but, per Teutonic priorities, is now shorthand for a liter of beer.

In America, bolder ales and subtler (or simply lighter) pilsners get more attention, but not deservedly so. Stateside Märzens often shine. Samuel Adams, brewer, patriot, publicist, shilled for "our own October Beer" the way today's politicians tout domestic oil. Drink local, he said, "so that we may no longer be beholden to foreigners for a credible liquor."

Two centuries later, some American Märzens still fight to prove their worth. Many brewers simply ratchet up the hops with citrusy, local varieties, tugging the style too far from its balanced, softly spicy German roots. But cleverer takes, like those gathered below, play with malt and yeast, toying with the beer's warm, fruit-basket flavors, adding a cherry note here, turning down the blackberry there.

Above all, local means fresh, and that beats a more authentic German beer that has turned cardboard-y due to the temperature swings it had to endure while crossing the Atlantic. When stocking your biergarten, always check the expiration date. (Yes, beers have them.) This Oktoberfest, stale beer can be avoided; old pretzels, however, are inevitable.

Narragansett Fest (5.5% ABV): Sweeter and slightly spiced, this is liquid autumn: crisp fall leaves, raisins and currants, a bit of clove and the creamy, sourish glow of roasted squash. The can, while not as festive as stoneware, is easier on the biceps.