Beer

Somewhere along the way, I stopped saying, "I'm just not a beer girl." Owning a restaurant has a funny way of changing you. You start by learning enough to get by, and before long, you're fascinated by things you never imagined you'd care about. You learn that draft beer is part agriculture, part chemistry, part engineering, and part hospitality. You learn that CO₂ isn't just carbon dioxide; it's pressure, balance, and carbonation. You learn that nitrogen tanks are black; you discover that pouring a Guinness is less about pulling a handle than about respecting a process perfected over generations. I confess, I still get my nose out of joint when someone says, "You should get..." as though choosing beers is as simple as filling empty taps. Every handle has a story. Every brewery has earned its place. Our lineup spans centuries of brewing tradition alongside young breweries finding their voice. Today, it's eleven craft beers, one from the world's oldest brewery, one Irish classic, and one American standard, a collection built slowly, thoughtfully, and with purpose. One of the greatest joys of the past two years has been getting to know Ben from Murder Hill. There's something deeply satisfying about working alongside another small business owner who obsesses over the details the way we do. Those relationships are invaluable. They remind you that success isn't built in isolation. It's built through people who care enough to keep asking, "How can this be even better?" Ben doesn't simply bring us beer. He brings knowledge, perspective, and an extra set of eyes. Recently, he advised us on realigning our entire draft system, explaining how to fine-tune every line so each beer pours as its brewer intended: clean, balanced, lively, and smooth. Simple steps that have a huge impact. It's the sort of work most guests will never see, but they'll taste it in every pint. About Generation Beer from Murder Hill. In a remarkably short time, it has climbed to become our best-selling beer. I don't think that's just because it's a good beer, though it certainly is. I think it's because people recognize care when they experience it. They may not know why one pint tastes just a little fresher, a little brighter, a little more alive than another, but they know when something has been done well. Running a small business has taught me that the best partnerships aren't transactional. They're collaborative. They're built on shared pride, mutual respect, and a commitment to doing things the right way, even when no one is watching. Those are the businesses that leave an imprint on a community. They raise the bar for one another. And in the end, the real winners are the people gathered around the table, raising a glass. Cheers!