The Rathskeller

132 Years In and Still Cooking German

The Story

The Rathskeller opened in 1894 in the basement of what was then Das Deutsche Haus, and it has been serving continuously ever since, which makes it the oldest restaurant in Indianapolis. The building above it is the Athenaeum, a German Renaissance Revival pile of brick, sandstone, turrets and slate designed by the firm belonging to Bernard Vonnegut, grandfather of Kurt. It was built as a German cultural center for a city with a large German immigrant population, and the restaurant in the cellar was part of that from the first day.

Places this old usually go one of two ways. Either the kitchen coasts on the address, or it keeps cooking. I went in wanting to find out which, so I ordered German across the board and let the rest of the table order however they wanted.

The Vibe

You come in through a heavy wooden door on the corner with the hours hand-painted on a sign beside it. The event dining area is to the right. The Rathskeller Dining Room is to the left with the Keller Room (21+) and Biergarten (21+) straight ahead. The long brick corridor that was an open-air biergarten before somebody enclosed it is hung now with German state coats of arms, brewery banners, and a moose head the size of a sofa. Elk and deer mounts flank it. The dining room is dark wood beams, plaster ceilings, leaded and stained glass, iron light fixtures, and a shelf of antique steins running the length of the wall.

Above the steins, painted in blackletter, are two lines that have been there longer than anyone in the room. One is Schiller: Ernst ist das Leben, heiter ist die Kunst. Life is serious, art is cheerful. The other is the house philosophy on its own subject: Die Mäßigkeit ist gut und fein, doch darf sie nicht unmäßig sein. Moderation is good and fine, but it must not be immoderate. That's a 130-year-old beer-hall joke and it still lands. Below it, a small brass plaque reads Stammtisch, marking the regulars' table, which in a German pub is a real institution and not a decoration.

It's the kind of room that does the work for you and can keep your eyes slowly surveying and your mouth saying, “you see that?” It’s the type of vibe you’re only going to get in a place like this.

One knock, and it's the only one I have. There were gnats floating around. In a 132-year-old cellar with a biergarten outside and doors open in late August, that may just be the price of the building, but I'm not going to pretend I didn't notice.

The Food

We started with the Hot Wurst Platte, four sausages scored and griddled, bratwurst, bockwurst, kielbasse and knockwurst, with house sauerkraut and braised red cabbage and two mustards on the side. The house sauerkraut and red cabbage: Hat’s off to the kitchen. The spicy mustard is loaded with horseradish. It tastes great going down and then it climbs up into your sinuses about four seconds later, so pace yourself. A soft Bavarian pretzel came alongside, deep brown and properly salted, not the bite-size stuff.

Stuffed Mushrooms are billed as a house favorite and they earn it. Six caps under provolone and parmesan, browned hard enough that the cheese crept out and crisped on the plate. That crisped ring is the part you fight over. If you’re thinking typical American stuffed mushrooms, think again.

The soups are dynamite. The Ochsenschwanz Suppe is oxtail with onions, mushrooms and port, and it comes out dark and nearly thick enough to coat the spoon. Deep flavor, perfect mushrooms. My wife and daughter went with the velvet chicken soup. Silky smooth with nice flavor and real vegetables. I’m a nut for seasoning, so I thought it could use a little more flavor, but the girls loved it. Take that for what it is.

The Rouladen is the dish I came for. Beef rolled around bacon, onion, mustard and pickle, braised and sauced in brown gravy, plated with mashed potatoes and gravy and a German potato salad. Here is the honest note: it is not fall-apart tender, and I don't think it should be. A rouladen has to hold together when you cut it or the filling stops reading as separate things. It has substance to it. That's the authentic version, and if you're expecting pot roast you'll misread it. The mashed potatoes and gravy were spot on and the German potato salad was my favorite thing on the plate.

The rest of the table went old reliable and got competent plates. The filet mignon was cooked exactly to order and melted, though I'd have liked a heavier crust on it, which is my own standing preference and not something I asked for at the table. The baked orange roughy came out fork tender with wild rice and steak fries, and it disappeared. If you like steak and fish, great, but in my view, this is not a steakhouse and it doesn't need to be. Order German.

To drink there's a real German import list, plus local beer. While I like a dark heavy beer as much as the next guy, not when I have a pile of food on the agenda. I had a Sun King Sunlight cream ale, brewed in Indianapolis, and the non-alcoholic option on the table was a fire-brewed Sprecher cream soda out of Milwaukee. Even the soda has a German-Midwest accent.

Dessert was a German chocolate cheesecake on a dark cookie crust with ganache and real whipped cream. Thick and rich without tipping into too rich, which is harder than it sounds.

Our server was Layla. Nice, always there, and so quiet you almost didn't notice her working. In a room where the building is the show, that's the right instinct.

The Bottom Line

Worth the Drive.

The German side of this menu is where the kitchen is actually cooking. The soups, the sausage, the potatoes, the rouladen with its structure intact. The American side is competent and will take care of anyone at your table who doesn't want schnitzel, but it isn't the reason you point the car at Indianapolis. Come for the building, sit in the room a while, and order German. A hundred and thirty-two years in, they still know exactly what they are.