I remember walking into a Williamsburg bar in the spring of 2010 and seeing exactly three local beers on tap. One was a passable pale ale, one was a too-sweet amber, and the third was a Belgian-style tripel that tasted like someone had dropped a fruit basket into the fermenter. The bartender, a guy with a waxed mustache and a vest that looked borrowed from a barbershop quartet, told me this was the future of Brooklyn beer. I nodded politely and ordered a Sierra Nevada.
Fast forward to today, and that same bar—if it even survived the pandemic—probably has twelve lines pouring nothing but beer made within five miles of the building. The shift has been staggering. But as someone who has been drinking, judging, and occasionally yelling about beer in this borough for over a decade, I can tell you the change isn’t just about volume. It’s about ambition, identity, and a whole lot of questionable business decisions.
The 2010 Landscape: Small Rooms, Big Dreams
In 2010, Brooklyn’s brewing scene was a handful of scrappy operations. Brooklyn Brewery was already a legacy act, having opened in 1988, but it was still seen as the big kid on a very small block. Sixpoint was canning out of Red Hook and distributing to a few dozen accounts. Kelso was quietly making solid lagers in Clinton Hill. And then there were the homebrewers-turned-nano-brewery owners, operating out of literal closets and hoping someone would pay $8 for a pint of their aggressively hopped, hazy experiment.
The vibe was DIY and slightly defensive. Brewers had to explain what an IPA was to half their customers. Sours were a novelty that scared people. And if you mentioned the phrase “barrel-aged stout,” you were either a visionary or a lunatic. The equipment was often repurposed dairy tanks, the taprooms were folding tables in industrial corners, and the marketing was a handwritten sign taped to a lamp post.
But there was an energy. A sense that something was being built. The early adopters weren’t chasing trends; they were chasing flavor. They were the kind of people who would argue about mash temperatures at 2 a.m. and then wake up at 6 a.m. to scrub fermenters. I respected that. I still do.
The Boom Years: 2013–2017
Then came the gold rush. Between 2013 and 2017, the number of breweries in Brooklyn exploded. Threes Brewing opened in Gowanus with a beautiful space and a smart, restrained beer list. Other Half launched in Carroll Gardens and immediately started a cult with its hazy, double-dry-hopped IPAs. Grimm Artisanal Ales, after years of gypsy brewing, finally got its own brick-and-mortar in East Williamsburg. Interboro Spirits and Ales blurred the line between brewery and distillery. Greenpoint Beer & Ale, Strong Rope, Five Boroughs, Kings County Brewers Collective (KCBC)—the list grew faster than a kveik fermentation.
This was the era of the taproom as destination. Breweries weren’t just making beer; they were selling an experience. Exposed brick, reclaimed wood, Edison bulbs, and a playlist heavy on early-aughts indie rock. The beer itself became more extreme: hazier, juicier, boozier, sourer. Lactose, fruit purée, and vanilla beans were dumped into tanks with abandon. Pastry stouts that tasted like liquefied donuts. Sour IPAs that defied categorization and sometimes good sense.
I’ll admit, I got swept up in it. Waiting in line for a can release at Other Half on a Saturday morning felt like being part of something. Trading cans with strangers on Instagram was a weird but thrilling subculture. But even then, I had a nagging feeling: how many $24 four-packs of triple IPA can this market actually absorb?
The Hazy IPA Arms Race
Let’s talk about the haze. The New England-style IPA, with its opaque, orange-juice appearance and low bitterness, became the defining beer of Brooklyn’s boom. Other Half perfected it. Grimm made it weird and wonderful. Finback, technically in Queens but spiritually part of the Brooklyn scene, pushed it even further. And soon, every brewery had to have one. If you didn’t have a hazy IPA on your menu, you were irrelevant. If you didn’t have a double hazy IPA, you were behind. If you didn’t have a triple-dry-hopped, lactose-infused, oat-cream double hazy IPA with a name referencing a 90s hip-hop lyric, did you even exist?
This arms race had consequences. Quality became inconsistent. Some breweries were so focused on the next can drop that they neglected their core beers. I’ve had hazy IPAs that tasted like hop burn and regret. I’ve had others that were transcendent. The problem is, when everything is a limited release, you never know which one you’re getting. And the hype cycle punishes subtlety. A beautifully balanced pilsner doesn’t get Instagram posts. A triple-dry-hopped, double-mashed, oat-cream DIPA with a cartoon label does.
But here’s the thing: the haze craze brought people into breweries. It funded expansion. It put Brooklyn on the national beer map in a way that hadn’t happened since Brooklyn Brewery’s early days. So I can’t dismiss it entirely. I just wish we’d also celebrated the brewers who were quietly making perfect Czech-style lagers and English bitters.
The Lager Renaissance (Yes, It’s Happening)
Thankfully, the pendulum has started to swing. Around 2018, I noticed a shift. Brewers who had cut their teeth on hazy IPAs began talking about decoction mashing and horizontal lagering tanks. Threes Brewing had always championed lagers, but now others joined in. Wild East Brewing opened in Gowanus with a focus on mixed fermentation and traditional lagers. Strong Rope doubled down on classic styles. Even Other Half, the haze kings, started putting out a crisp, clean pilsner that I genuinely enjoy.
This lager renaissance is, in my view, a sign of maturity. It takes more skill to brew a flawless pilsner than to hide flaws under a mountain of hops. A well-made lager is transparent—any off-flavor shines through. The fact that Brooklyn brewers are now confident enough to put out these beers tells me the scene has grown up. It’s no longer about shocking the palate; it’s about respecting it.
And the drinkers have grown up too. The same people who stood in line for pastry stouts five years ago are now ordering a Tmavé Pivo or a Franconian Kellerbier. They’re learning. They’re asking about malt bills and water profiles. It’s a beautiful thing to witness.
The Pandemic Wreckage and What Survived
Then came 2020. I don’t need to rehash the nightmare, but for Brooklyn breweries, it was brutal. Taprooms closed. Distribution chains broke. Cans became the only lifeline, and breweries that had built their business model on in-house pints suddenly had to become packaging operations overnight. Some adapted brilliantly. Others didn’t.
We lost a few. Greenpoint Beer & Ale closed its original location. Five Boroughs shut down entirely. Smaller nano-breweries that were barely scraping by before the pandemic simply vanished. The ones that survived did so through a combination of loyal local support, smart pivots to delivery and shipping, and—let’s be honest—sheer luck.
But the pandemic also accelerated a necessary correction. The market was oversaturated. Too many breweries were making too many similar beers for too small an audience. The shakeout was painful, but it left behind a stronger, more focused scene. The breweries that remain are, for the most part, the ones that deserve to be here.
Who’s Doing It Right Now
So who’s making the best beer in Brooklyn right now? My list is personal and probably controversial, but here goes.
Threes Brewing remains my gold standard for consistency and atmosphere. Their Vliet Pilsner is a benchmark. Their taproom in Gowanus is a place where you can actually have a conversation. They’ve never chased trends, and their restraint has paid off.
Other Half is still the 800-pound gorilla, but they’ve diversified. Their Domino Park location is stunning. Their lager program is legit. And while I still think some of their IPAs are overpriced, the quality is undeniable. They’ve also become a national brand, with locations in DC, Philly, and beyond. That’s a Brooklyn success story, even if it means they’re no longer just ours.
Grimm Artisanal Ales continues to be the most interesting brewery in the borough. Their mixed-fermentation beers are world-class. Their IPAs are weird in the best way. And their space in East Williamsburg feels like an art gallery that happens to serve beer. If you haven’t tried their Ales for ALS series, you’re missing out on both flavor and philanthropy.
Wild East Brewing is the newcomer I’m most excited about. Their focus on lagers and mixed-culture beers fills a gap that Brooklyn desperately needed. Their Tmavé Pivo is a revelation. They’re small, they’re focused, and they’re not trying to be everything to everyone. That’s the future.
KCBC (Kings County Brewers Collective) in Bushwick deserves a mention for sheer fun. Their taproom is a riot of color and energy, and their beers range from solid West Coast IPAs to ridiculous sour smoothie concoctions. They know their audience and they deliver.
And then there are the smaller players: Strong Rope with their farmhouse-inspired beers, Endless Life with their community-focused model, Transmitter Brewing with their farmhouse and mixed-fermentation focus. The depth of talent in this borough is remarkable.
The Problem with “Local”
But let’s get critical for a moment. The word “local” has been stretched to meaninglessness. A brewery that sources all its malt from Germany, its hops from the Pacific Northwest, and its yeast from a lab in California is not truly local. It’s assembled locally. That’s not a sin—I’m not asking everyone to grow their own barley in a community garden—but let’s be honest about what we’re celebrating.
There’s also the issue of price. A pint at a Brooklyn brewery now routinely costs $9 or $10. A four-pack of IPA can run $24. That’s not a casual purchase; that’s a commitment. And while I understand the economics—rent, ingredients, labor, the absurd cost of a canning line—it does create a barrier. Craft beer in Brooklyn is increasingly a luxury good. That’s a problem for accessibility and for the long-term health of the scene.
And then there’s the homogeneity of the customer base. Walk into most Brooklyn taprooms on a Saturday afternoon and you’ll see a lot of the same demographic: white, 25–40, with disposable income and a knowledge of beer that ranges from “I know what I like” to “I can name the specific hop varietals in this beer.” The scene has not done enough to reach beyond that core audience. There are exceptions—KCBC and Interboro have more diverse crowds—but the overall picture is narrow.
What the Next Decade Needs
So where do we go from here? I have a few hopes, and a few fears.
First, I hope the lager trend deepens. Not just pilsners, but tmavés, kellerbiers, Vienna lagers, Baltic porters. Beers that require patience and precision. Beers that pair with food. Beers that you can drink three of without needing a nap.
Second, I hope we see more breweries embracing mixed fermentation and barrel aging. Grimm and Wild East are leading the way, but there’s room for more. Brooklyn has a rich history of wild yeast and sour beer experimentation—let’s lean into that.
Third, I hope the scene becomes more inclusive. That means more women and people of color in ownership and brewing roles. It means taprooms that welcome families, older drinkers, and people who don’t know what a diacetyl rest is. Beer is for everyone, and our spaces should reflect that.
My fear is that the economic pressures will continue to squeeze out the small and the weird. Rising rents, ingredient costs, and competition from hard seltzer and canned cocktails are real threats. If we lose the nano-breweries and the experimental projects, we lose the soul of the scene. The big players will survive, but they’ll become more corporate, more risk-averse. And that’s not why I fell in love with Brooklyn beer.
FAQ: Brooklyn’s Brewing Evolution
What was the biggest change in Brooklyn brewing from 2010 to 2020?
The sheer number of breweries exploded, from a handful to over 30 at the peak. The focus shifted from traditional styles to hazy IPAs and experimental beers, and taprooms became destinations rather than just production spaces. The pandemic then forced a contraction, leaving a more mature but smaller scene.
Why did hazy IPAs become so dominant in Brooklyn?
Hazy IPAs offered intense, fruit-forward flavors that appealed to a broad audience, and their cloudy appearance made them instantly recognizable on social media. Breweries like Other Half built cult followings around limited releases, creating a hype cycle that other breweries rushed to join. The style also masked flaws that might be exposed in cleaner beers, making it easier for new breweries to gain traction.
Is Brooklyn’s beer scene still worth exploring today?
Absolutely. While the hype has cooled, the quality has never been higher. The best breweries are making world-class lagers, mixed-fermentation ales, and refined IPAs. The taprooms are more comfortable, the brewers are more experienced, and there’s a genuine diversity of styles if you know where to look. Just be prepared to pay a premium for the privilege.
What’s the most underrated brewery in Brooklyn right now?
I’d say Wild East Brewing. They’re small, they don’t chase trends, and their focus on traditional lagers and mixed-culture beers is exactly what the scene needs. Their attention to detail is exceptional, and they’re producing beers that can stand alongside the best in the world.
Brooklyn’s brewing scene has changed more in the last decade than in the previous two combined. It’s been messy, exciting, frustrating, and delicious. I’ve watched breweries rise and fall, styles come and go, and a community grow from a niche obsession into a defining part of the borough’s identity. The next decade will bring its own challenges, but if the brewers keep pushing, keep learning, and keep respecting the craft, I’ll be here with a glass in hand, ready to argue about it.