Although I know nothing about German beer, I grew up savoring my Austrian-born grandmother’s cooking. Her baking was second to none.

It’s surprising Philadelphia does not have more German restaurants. I suspect the public’s interest in beer helped prompt the Schmitz family to open Brauhaus Schmitz on South Street a few weeks ago.

The bi-level dining room and bar have looming ceilings, lots of wood, colorful artwork, several televisions and a noise level so loud it was almost impossible to hold a conversation.

The women were kitted out in colorful native dress while the men were in all black. I joked with Jessica, our knowledgeable and delightful server, the men should wear lederhosen.

Edward wanted a martini.

“Are you sure?” Jessica asked with a smile. “We are known for our beer.”

The beer list is almost as long as “War and Peace.” It took us a while to navigate through it, as we sipped fairly priced jumbo martinis ($10).

We began dinner with rollmops ($6) and schikenplatte ($13). Rollmops are homemade pickled herring. One bite took me back to my childhood. The jarred variety tastes nothing like the tangy, yet slightly sweet, version at Brauhaus Schmitz. Pickled onions are part of the ritual here, as is rich sour cream. The appetizer came with soft, brown rye.

The platte, a sampling of cured meats and cheeses, had thinly sliced proscuitto, ordinary pepperoni, some cheese and two small mounds of homemade liverwurst on a large, wooden board. The liverwurst had a dark color, but the flavor and slightly rough texture reminded me of liver mousse. Cornichons and pickled onions were included.

Jessica offered to help us select a beer.

“We went through training, sipping and learning about the beer,” she said.

She asked us which ones we enjoy, so she could act as our sommelier. I told her I like Belgian wheat and American microbrews, especially Blue Moon. She brought us two samplings. One was light, while the other was dark and rich. Neither Edward nor I cared for them. So Edward decided to sip a glass of Riesling ($8), while I ordered a glass of Paulaner Salvator ($5.50). The wine was too sweet, but I enjoyed my German beer. It was huge; in fact, the majority of beers at Brauhaus Schmitz are mighty-sized, indeed.

Wiener schnitzel ($18) was in order, as was schnitzel Holsteiner Art ($19) because they are classic fare. Weiner schnitzel is the German version of veal alla Milanese. It consisted of a pounded, thin piece of meat, coated in seasoned bread crumbs and fried. I thought the veal was slightly overcooked, but Edward disagreed. From the sides he chose braised red cabbage and spatzle. The cabbage had the right balance of sweet and sour. My grandmother made spatzle, which are tiny egg dumplings, and all they required was a sprinkling of salt.

My Holstein was made with a large slice of boneless pork, pounded and coated in the same crumbs as the wiener schnitzel. It was topped with a perfectly fried sunny-side-up egg. It’s easy to ruin an egg, but the cook here did it right. The white was slightly soft and the yolk oozed as I sliced into it. From the sides, I opted for potato pancakes and asparagus. The pancakes were crispy and golden on the outside and topped with sour cream. Each summer throughout Germany there is a Spargel Festival (“spargel” is German for “asparagus”) that honors the new crop of white asparagus, as well as its green cousin. The green vegetable, which came with my dinner, was a fine version. It was fresh and local.

Jessica told us the kitchen had run out of apple strudel, but she recommended the Black Forest cake ($6). I prefer chocolate cake and this one, with its slightly sweet cherries, was not too sweet.

Brauhaus Schmitz is very casual. On the night of our dinner, it was filled with locals, families and tourists. It is a beer-lovers’ heaven and I bet people will flock to it for a moderately priced meal and a lesson in German beer.

Two tips of the toque to Brauhaus Schmitz.

Brauhaus Schmitz
718 South St.
267-909-8814
www.brauhausschmitz.com