Back in 2010, if you wanted a decent beer in Brooklyn, you mostly found yourself in a bar that happened to stock something local. The idea of spending a whole afternoon wandering between breweries, sipping wild ales in a converted warehouse, or arguing about the merits of a decocted pilsner? That was a fantasy. Brooklyn Brewery was the old guard, a trailblazer since 1988, but the borough’s identity was still more about where you drank than where the beer was born. Fast forward to now, and you can barely toss a bottle cap without hitting a new taproom. The change isn’t just about numbers—it’s a whole new rhythm, a shift in taste, and, honestly, a bit of a personality change for the scene.
The 2010 Landscape: A Handful of Pioneers
Let’s set the stage. Brooklyn Brewery was the undisputed heavyweight, though by then it had already started shifting a lot of production upstate. Sixpoint was the cool kid, slinging Resin and Sweet Action in those sleek, slender cans that felt like a secret handshake among beer geeks. You couldn’t visit their taproom because there wasn’t one—they were a cannery, pure and simple. Then you had Kelso, a quiet workhorse in Clinton Hill, and Greenpoint Beer & Ale Co., which was still just a twinkle in the eye of a restaurant. The map was sparse. You chased the beer, not the experience.
What lit the fuse? A piece of legislation. The 2013 Farm Brewery license in New York State was aimed at upstate farms, but it cracked open a door for direct-to-consumer sales. All of a sudden, a brewery could sell pints and bottles on-site without running a full restaurant. That single tweak turned the taproom from a novelty into the entire business model. The floodgates didn’t just open—they blew off their hinges.
The Taproom Explosion and the Gowanus Corridor
If you want to see the physical footprint of Brooklyn beer, go to the Gowanus Canal. Yes, the canal smells… distinctive. But that industrial stretch became the borough’s brewing backbone. Threes Brewing landed on Douglass Street in 2014, turning a former warehouse into a sun-drenched, minimalist hangout where you could nurse a Vliet Pilsner and play ping-pong. A few blocks over, Strong Rope Brewery opened in 2015 with a quiet, stubborn focus on New York State ingredients—a middle finger to the West Coast hop bombs that still ruled the conversation. Then came Wild East Brewing in 2020, bringing a patient, mixed-culture ethos to a neighborhood already swimming in fermentation. Throw in Finback (a Queens transplant) and the now-closed Folksbier, and you had a walkable circuit that felt like a beer lover’s choose-your-own-adventure novel.
But the taproom model did more than cluster breweries. It rewired the social contract. Before 2010, a brewery was a factory you might tour. After 2013, it became a third place—a community living room. You’d bring a laptop, a first date, or a board game. Threes’ sprawling backyard, Strong Rope’s cozy neighborhood nook, and Wild East’s industrial-chic tasting room all reflect this. The beer had to adapt, too. Breweries started keeping lower-ABV, sessionable options on tap because people were sticking around for two or three, not just sprinting through a flight.
The Lager Revival and the Hazy Takeover
If you’d told me in 2010 that Brooklyn’s hottest beer in 2024 would be a Czech-style pale lager, I’d have choked on my 90 IBU double IPA. But here we are. The early 2010s were an arms race of bitterness and booze—Sixpoint’s Resin, Brooklyn’s Blast, a parade of palate-wrecking hop bombs. Then, around 2016, the haze rolled in. Other Half Brewing, technically in Carroll Gardens but spiritually a Brooklyn institution, led the charge with soft, juicy, turbid IPAs. Lines snaked down the block for can releases of All Citra Everything and Broccoli. It was a frenzy, and it rewired expectations: beer could be sweet, low-bitterness, and look like orange juice.
But the real surprise has been the quiet, steady rise of lager. Threes’ Vliet and Brooklyn Brewery’s Bel Air Sour (a kettle sour, but still a sign of the times) aside, the past five years have seen a deep dive into tradition. Wild East’s meticulously crafted Czech and German styles, Strong Rope’s dedication to local malt in their lagers, and newcomers like Talea Beer Co. (founded in 2021) offering crisp, approachable pilsners alongside their fruit-forward sours. This isn’t a rejection of hops—it’s a maturation. Brewers are realizing that a flawless, delicate lager is harder to make and more rewarding to drink than another hazy IPA with a punny name. The critical drinker in me celebrates this; a well-made lager separates the technicians from the trend-chasers.
The Sour and Wild Frontier
No discussion of Brooklyn’s evolution is complete without acknowledging the funk. In 2010, “sour beer” meant a dusty bottle of Rodenbach at a specialty bar. Today, it’s a cornerstone. Grimm Artisanal Ales, founded in 2013 by a husband-and-wife team, started as nomadic brewers before opening their East Williamsburg taproom in 2018. Their oak-aged, fruit-laden sour ales are now some of the most sought-after bottles in the city. Wild East’s coolship program—a shallow, open vessel for capturing wild yeast—is a direct nod to Belgian lambic tradition, but executed with Brooklyn’s microbial terroir. Even Brooklyn Brewery’s Bel Air Sour, a mass-market gateway, has introduced a generation to tartness.
This embrace of mixed fermentation and barrel aging speaks to a deeper shift: patience. In a city that runs on speed and turnover, these brewers are aging beer for months or years, blending across vintages, and building programs that won’t pay off until long after the lease is signed. It’s a risky, beautiful commitment to flavor over profit, and it’s produced some of the most complex, memorable beers I’ve ever tasted.
The Business of Beer: From Passion Project to Professionalism
In 2010, opening a brewery in Brooklyn was a scrappy, DIY affair. You found a cheap warehouse, bought used dairy tanks, and hoped the health department wouldn’t notice your tasting room was basically a folding table. Today, the barrier to entry is astronomical. Real estate costs have soared, and the licensing process is a bureaucratic labyrinth. The result? A more professional, but also more homogenous, landscape. New breweries are often well-capitalized from day one, with sleek branding, a full kitchen, and a PR strategy. Talea Beer Co., founded by two women with corporate backgrounds, is a prime example: their Williamsburg and Cobble Hill locations feel more like a lifestyle brand than a scrappy startup. The beer is solid, but the experience is curated to a fault.
This professionalism has its upsides. Quality control is vastly improved. The days of buttery diacetyl bombs and infected batches are largely behind us. Brewers are formally educated, often with degrees in fermentation science. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the rough edges—the experimental one-offs that might fail spectacularly, the brewer who’d pour you a sample straight from the tank. The scene has grown up, and with that comes a certain predictability. You can walk into almost any Brooklyn taproom now and find a hazy IPA, a fruited sour, a lager, and a stout. The template is set.
Diversity and Inclusion: A Slow, Necessary Pour
Let’s be honest: in 2010, the Brooklyn brewing scene was overwhelmingly white and male. The shift toward a more inclusive industry has been gradual, but it’s happening. Talea’s founding is a milestone—the first women-owned brewery in New York City. Their taprooms actively welcome families, with stroller parking and a non-intimidating vibe that’s a far cry from the dingy, beard-heavy bars of yore. BierWax, a Prospect Heights bar opened in 2017 by Chris Maestro, has become a vinyl-and-hops haven that draws a diverse crowd, though it’s a bar, not a brewery. The Brewers Association’s diversity grants and mentorship programs have nudged the industry forward, but Brooklyn still has a long way to go. The next decade needs to see more ownership and brewing talent from the communities that have always called this borough home.
The Pandemic Pivot and Its Lasting Scars
COVID-19 hit Brooklyn’s breweries like a keg to the gut. Taprooms closed overnight, and the model that had fueled a decade of growth—on-site consumption—vanished. The survivors adapted fast. Direct-to-consumer delivery, a legal gray area that became temporarily permitted, saved many. Other Half’s online ordering system became a lifeline; Threes launched a subscription service. But not everyone made it. Folksbier, a beloved Glou-Glou-style brewery in Carroll Gardens, closed in 2021. The pandemic accelerated a thinning of the herd, and the breweries that emerged were leaner, more digitally savvy, and more reliant on distribution.
The lasting impact is a hybrid model. Taprooms are back, but to-go sales—crowlers, four-packs, and bottles—are now a permanent, significant revenue stream. This has changed the packaging game. In 2010, a brewery’s canning line was a luxury. Now, it’s a necessity. The shift has also blurred the line between brewery and bottle shop, with many taprooms functioning as retail outlets for their own beer and guest taps. It’s convenient, but it chips away at the communal, third-place magic that made the 2010s so special.
What’s Lost, What’s Gained
So, where does that leave us? The Brooklyn brewing scene of 2024 is bigger, more polished, and more diverse in style than ever before. You can drink a world-class pilsner, a barrel-aged sour, and a hazy IPA all within a ten-minute walk. The quality floor has risen dramatically. But the ceiling? I’m not sure it’s any higher. The wild experimentation of the early 2010s has been replaced by a calculated, market-tested approach. The thrill of discovery—of stumbling into a bare-bones warehouse and tasting something truly new—is rarer. The scene has matured, and with maturity comes a certain restraint.
Yet, I’m optimistic. The current lager revival and the dedication to mixed-culture fermentation prove that Brooklyn brewers are still pushing, just in subtler ways. The next frontier might not be a new style, but a deeper connection to place: more New York-grown grain, more neighborhood-specific yeast strains, more breweries that feel inseparable from their block. The pioneers of 2010 built the foundation; the brewers of today are refining the craft. As a drinker, I’m grateful for both. Just don’t ask me to choose between a crisp, decocted pilsner and a funky, oak-aged saison. I’ll take both, preferably in a sunlit taproom with a view of the Gowanus.
Frequently Asked Questions
What was the first craft brewery in Brooklyn?
Brooklyn Brewery, founded in 1988 by Steve Hindy and Tom Potter, is widely considered the first modern craft brewery in the borough. It paved the way for the scene we know today, though it now brews much of its beer upstate.
Why did so many breweries open in Gowanus?
Gowanus offered large, affordable industrial spaces with high ceilings and strong floors—perfect for heavy brewing equipment. The 2013 Farm Brewery license also made taproom-focused businesses viable, and the neighborhood’s central location drew a steady crowd of locals and visitors.
How did the pandemic change Brooklyn’s brewery culture?
The pandemic forced breweries to pivot from on-site consumption to to-go sales and delivery. While taprooms have since reopened, the hybrid model of retail and drinking space is now permanent. It also accelerated a focus on packaged beer and online ordering, making the scene more accessible but less spontaneous.
Are there any women-owned breweries in Brooklyn?
Yes, Talea Beer Co., founded in 2021 by LeAnn Darland and Tara Hankinson, is the first women-owned brewery in New York City. They have locations in Williamsburg and Cobble Hill, with a focus on approachable, fruit-forward beers and a welcoming taproom environment.