Taproom Dream Sequence

Over the next few posts we want to dive into our vision for the main taproom, the upstairs framily room, and the outside beer garden. Let’s start with the taproom.

Entry to the taproom.

Entry to the taproom.

But before you walk in, twist the waxen tips of your petit handlebar mustache and push up the sleeves of your Cosby sweater. Ah, yes, this could be a hipster bar -- this could be your hipster bar, hipster-friend -- and they must know that you are nothing if not a well-groomed gentleman-scholar, or an artfully inked and certainly woke woman with heirloom vegetables in full-color on your full-sleeve. You live for first impressions, but you’re never impressed. And you won’t be: the first thing you notice upon entering are Edison bulbs casting a familiar, forgiving glow on your often furrowed brow.

And what do you spy under-Chukka? A concrete floor with a stain that suggests manufacturing. Of course. You look up to the ceiling through thick-rimmed, statement glasses and see, yes, the bones of an industrial past: exposed ducting and steal transverse beams, as if that chimera they call work happens or once happened here.

Ducts and exposed ceilings. Smells like ideology.

Ducts and exposed ceilings. Smells like ideology.

Yes hipster-friend, you have heard of this “work,” and you suspect that some simulacrum of it is responsible for the distressed wood on the bar and tabletops. Is that “reclaimed” barnwood? Or should you say Reclaimed Barnwood? Or maybe even “Reclaimed” “Barn” “Wood”? You could go on.

LEFT: Dog and her hipster in Cosby/Coogi/Biggie sweater. UPPER RIGHT: Hipster Ariel will sacrifice everything for her macro lager. LOWER RIGHT: Artful avo sleeve pairs well with $6 toast.

LEFT: Dog and her hipster in Cosby/Coogi/Biggie sweater. UPPER RIGHT: Hipster Ariel will sacrifice everything for her macro lager. LOWER RIGHT: Artful avo sleeve pairs well with $6 toast.

But we’ll cut you off right there because this isn’t a hipster bar. To the horror of hipsters everywhere, we won’t be serving craft cocktails with house-made bitters; we won't even have PBR. And kids are totally welcome here -- kids! Can you imagine!? Even worse: there’s not a hint of irony to be found. Yes, that’s right. You’ll have to deal with our naive (borderline sentimental!) authenticity at every turn.

See, we lack millennial nihilism; not only do we cling to the archaic and woefully uncool idea that values are worth having, but we also believe that we can articulate those values through mundane decisions. The filament bulbs are all LED, which makes us feel good (Feelings! Take that, hipsters!) about making a more sustainable choice (Hope for a better future! Hi-YA!).

[Ahhnold voice] "It's not a Chukka."

[Ahhnold voice] "It's not a Chukka."

The stained concrete came with the place, as did the ducts and beams, and since they (unlike us) ain’t broke, we ain’t fixing them. We believe (More beliefs! Roundhouse kick!) our taproom should speak to our sense of place. So we’re working with our neighbor, who happens to be one of the best green architects in California, to source local, sustainable hardwoods that have already been felled or slated for removal. You can call us tree-huggers, but we prefer Charismatic-Megaflora Enthusiasts.

The bar-top will be made from California live oak milled lengthwise with rustic, uneven edges because, you know, that’s less work for us. Most of the seating will be at large community tables built from lengthwise cuts of cedar and redwood. That’s right: community tables that encourage conversation among neighbors and strangers alike. If you’re really committed to performing your tortured isolation, we won’t take that away from you, but you might find yourself surprised by someone new. But you’re never surprised, hipster-friend. Now shield your eyes, lest they be wetted by impending pathos:

The #actualbarn whence we derived #actualbarnwood. Note the authentically janky cooler that we used as our chiller reservoir during our homebrewing days.

The #actualbarn whence we derived #actualbarnwood. Note the authentically janky cooler that we used as our chiller reservoir during our homebrewing days.

The Reclaimed Barnwood is the real deal, though we probably shouldn’t even call it that. It’s really Barnwood That Didn’t Get Dumped. Barnwood That Didn’t Get Dumped is so hot right now. See, when we moved back home to take care of our mom, we started to brew in the family barn. It was an upgrade from the crowded counter-tops of Gregory’s studio apartment, and over the course of that (frankly, really difficult) year, the barn became very special to us. It was a place to escape from the stresses of care-taking, to process our grief, and to reconnect over our shared hobby. After Mom passed, the barn was torn down, but we were able to salvage the wood and we can’t wait to bring a little bit of our family and brewing roots into the taproom. #sorrynotsorry for the #authentic #feelings, hipster-friend.

If you're vehemently anti-sports-ball and we happen to be watching the game, you can always hangout upstairs in the Framily Room or outside in the beer garden. We'll discuss our vision for those in future blog posts.

If you're vehemently anti-sports-ball and we happen to be watching the game, you can always hangout upstairs in the Framily Room or outside in the beer garden. We'll discuss our vision for those in future blog posts.

Unfortunately, hipster-friend, we actually enjoy the occasional sports game. Yes, we are suckers for camaraderie -- produced and commodified though it may be. We know there are a lot of problems with professional sports, but we still love the idea of excellence and sports is still a great place to see excellence on display. So while we won’t be running a sports bar, you can bet that we’ll have the local games on, and even the occasional Tottenham match. Don't worry, hipster-friend, we love you. We really love you. We even see a little of ourselves in you. A little. So you are most welcome here, but so is everybody else. Except for Arsenal fans. Just kidding. #COYS

NB: this blog post was not written on a typewriter