Six weeks in the tank, no shortcuts. A beer hall, biergarten and scratch kitchen on the Cincinnati riverfront — two blocks from home plate.
On Tap Today Plan Your VisitBrewed in the copper you can see from your table. Sixteen taps in all — these four never leave the wall.
Soft, bready and clean — the beer we sell more of than everything else combined. Our brewers drink it after shift, which tells you something.
Dark bread crust and cocoa without the heaviness. Named for the street, which was named for a better man than any of us.
Crisp, dry, properly bitter. Hopped with Hallertau Mittelfrüh and lagered a full six weeks — we've been told to hurry it up. We won't.
Banana and clove off the yeast, nothing else added. Served in the proper half-liter vase whether you like it or not.
Christian Moerlein arrived in Cincinnati from Bavaria in 1841 as a blacksmith and died the owner of one of America's largest breweries. For fifty years his name meant beer in this town. Prohibition killed the brewery; the name outlived it.
When we fired up our copper kettles on the riverfront in 2012, taking that name meant signing up for a standard. We brew to the Reinheitsgebot — malt, hops, water, yeast — not because a 1516 Bavarian decree binds anyone in Ohio, but because it keeps us honest.
The brewhouse sits behind glass in the middle of the dining room. Brew days are Tuesdays and Thursdays; come early and you can smell the mash from the sidewalk.
Tour the Brewery
Best patio in the city, full stop. You're looking at the river and the bridge, there's a Helles in your hand, and the ballpark crowd rolls past after the last out. Nothing in Cincinnati beats it.
Half-pound pretzels with beer cheese made from our own dunkel. Bratwurst from Avril-Bleh, the butcher shop that's been grinding sausage downtown since 1894. Schnitzel pounded thin to hang off the plate, and a Friday fish fry that runs all year, not just Lent.
It's not fancy and it's not supposed to be. It's the food this city grew up on, cooked from scratch, priced so you can order a second round.
See the Full Menu
One firkin, tapped by hand at 4 o'clock sharp. When it's gone, it's gone — usually by 7.
Full liter, arm straight, elbow locked. Winner goes to the city final at Oktoberfest Zinzinnati. Reigning champ held 11 minutes 40 seconds — good luck.
Our Märzen arrives by horse-drawn wagon from the old brewery district, same route every year. First keg tapped with a wooden mallet by whoever we can talk into it.