Bamberg, Germany, Christmas Day, 1985.

I arrive at the operations center at 6 a.m. - in a-less-than-festive mood - and take over from Wally as he wraps up the night shift. He rubs his thumb and finger together, playing the world's tiniest violin in mock sympathy, as we trade places in the tiny office which reeks of burnt coffee, Marlboros and the overheated copy machine. With nothing but banks of radios, three phones and an ancient switchboard for company, and no sign of Russian tanks across the border, 12 hours of excruciating boredom stretched before me.

I eat my Snickers-and-Coke breakfast of champions (I was 19 and thought the food pyramid was a novel way to stack boxes of Slim Jims) as I gaze out the window, watching smarter soldiers slog through a foot of snow to the mess hall for a real breakfast.

Time passes. I'm starting to think about lunch (Snickers, Coke and Doritos) when what to my wondering eyes should appear but my boss, fumbling with the door lock while trying not to spill the full Christmas goose dinner cooked by his saintly German wife. We eat, we talk, we ignore the Russians and, when he leaves, I feel no envy, only peace, gratitude and a new appreciation for geese.

I was remembering all this as I stood in my usual pose of glassy-eyed contemplation at Roots Market, mesmerized by the familiar bottles of Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier. Original Schlenkerla smoke beer to you and me, this one was a Marzen style brewed in Bamberg, Germany, where I was stationed for two years and the reason for my deep reverie. I couldn't recall the actual flavor - a trip down memory lane requires an overnight bag these days. I bought a bottle to jog my memory.

Smoke beer gets it name from the process of drying malted grains over open fire, beechwood for this particular beer, where they absorb the smoke so apparent in the flavor. Before the advent of more modern kiln drying using indirect heat, brewing with smoked malt was common though not universal. Congratulations to Brauerei Heller Bamberg for producing a history lesson you can drink.

Normally, I conduct my beer research over the weekend. My weekday 3:30 a.m. wake-up makes me groggy enough in the evening, but extraordinary, even heroic measures are called for with the frenzied holiday schedule. That was my excuse Monday evening as I popped the cap, unleashing an olfactory wave of campfire I could smell two feet away. Pouring into a glass revealed a deep, coppery amber liquid with a thin foam head that quickly reduced to a ring of sticky Brussels lace. What you smell is what you taste - the smoke flavor overwhelms everything except the hops, at first. The slightly sweet, caramel-y malt slowly edges into the picture as the glass warms and your palate adjusts to the smokiness.

I doubt I'd drink this by itself, but I would recommend it as a fine accompaniment to your Christmas ham, smoked turkey or roast goose, where the smoke could be part of a flavor chorus rather than a solo act.

Prost and Merry Christmas to all!