The German city of Cologne was the starting point for the Rhine river cruise I’d booked. I arrived early, because I wanted to meet a friend.

"Meet me in the Malzmühle," said Mike.

It was, he went on, at No 6, Heumarkt, on the left bank of the Rhine, near the Deutzer Brücke and was one of the most famous beer halls in Cologne. The name means "malt-mill," and was originally a malt-house, where barley was malted for the brewing trade. In 1858, they started to brew beer in the Malzmühle, and they still do.

But, they don’t only sell beer, but serve food -- the real stuff! This is "hearty peasant fare," and you’d be well advised to do some fasting in advance and maybe wear pants with an elasticized waist.

Kölsch can describe a native of Cologne, the dialect he or she might speak -- or the light but highly fermented and hoppy beer peculiar to the area.

Mühlen Kölsch, brewed on the premises, comes in slim, cylindrical 0.2 litre glasses called Stangen (rods). There’s no bar at the Malzmühle. If you came to drink rather than eat, you must still sit at one of the long, scrubbed wooden tables.

The beer comes from a wooden keg, and is poured into the Stangen by the tap-man, or Zappes. The traditionally uniformed waiter or Köbes (a diminutive of "Jakob") carries the Stangen around the tables in a Kranz, or crown, a circular tray with a central handle, with holes into which the glasses fit.

He keeps a tally in the traditional way. He makes a mark with his pen on your Bierdeckel, or coaster, and you pay your reckoning at the end.

What's on the menu at Malzmuhle

Most of the names are deceptive; for instance, you can have a Halve Hahn or Kölsche Kaviar. The "half-chicken" is actually a sandwich of Dutch cheese on rye; "Cologne caviar" has nothing to do with sturgeon, but is blood sausage on rye.

But, we wanted something more substantial, and consulted the Foodekaat.

Foodekaat??

If your German phrase-book says to ask for a Speisekarte (menu), it’s quite correct. This isn’t German, though, it’s Kölsch! That’s closer to Dutch than German, so much so that it’s thought necessary to provide a German translation. And, if you don’t read either of these languages, the Köbes will bring you the bill of fare in English, French and Italian. This is the better option, because it describes exactly what you’re getting.

You can’t, in my opinion, get a better description than "Substantial joint roasted on a sprit (sic) with fried onions, coleslaw and fried potatoes." But, maybe you could do without knowing that Himmel un Äd consists of fried blood sausage, mashed potatoes and stewed apples?

I played it safe, and stuck to what I knew. Some goulash soup to start with; the smiling Köbes proffered a knife and fork to eat it with, which wasn’t far off the actuality. When the main course, a gigantic Jägerschnitzel, arrived, I could only greet it with a reverent "Oh, my God!" I canceled the fried potatoes, and requested potato salad instead, and I swear there was a good half-pound of it … and an equal quantity of sauerkraut. The schnitzel itself was in proportion, with a mushroom sauce to kill for.

The big surprise is the bill for this indulgence. For all the Malzmühle’s international reputation -- former President Bill Clinton once stopped by for a brew during the G8 conference -- it’s not going to break the bank. This belt-bustin’ repast came to, not counting the beer, less than $15 -- an amazingly affordable meal in Cologne.

There wasn’t a great variety of sweets on the menu. I’d guess only the most gluttonous would want them. We admitted defeat. We declined the ice cream, had a couple more beers, paid the bill, and left. We walked about a mile along the riverside promenade, the Frankenwerft, back to my hotel … and if I’d had a sweet course after that Jägerschnitzel, I’d never have made it; I’d have had to call a taxi!