I think most of all I remember the garbage.
In a mostly vacant lot in one of Washington, D.C.’s worst neighborhoods, I was poking at chunks of macerated fruit in my beer and wondering what people saw in this place. Scattered around me were picnic benches, various pieces of brewing equipment, an aluminum skull with beer cans for teeth, and a wooden armoire, all of which were either meant to be used or had been left to rot. It was difficult to assess which.
That was my one and only visit to Bardo, which around this same time in 2015 earned a spot on Time Out’s 22 Best Beer Gardens in America. Even today the appeal is difficult to parse, but maybe it’s worth doing so in light of beer’s tanking market share and today’s mass closure of craft breweries. As Americans turn a colder and colder shoulder to their once beloved craft beer, there’s a great deal of wisdom to be gained by considering a brewery that truly pushed the boundaries of weirdness — and got away with it.
Arts & Crafts
In 1995 Jonathan Reeves took a pay cut to chase a dream and became the fourth person ever to work in Bardo’s brewhouse.
“I met [the owner],” Reeves says, “and he said, ‘Well, the best way to learn about running a brewery is to come work for one.’”
Bardo’s original location was a repurposed car dealership in the Washington, D.C., suburbs. The sign out front said “Brewery”
