Ghost Town Brewing

Huge taproom with a view of brewing equipment at the back of the room. Arched, wood beam ceiling with several large skylights. Street side windows on two sides. Gray and dark scarlet painted brick walls, and a concrete floor. Longer bar is used for the ordering and fulfillment station. Seating at low tables and community tables. Gothic decor, with appropriate music selections. Thirty two tap selections, plus bottles for glass pours. Large coolers offer cans and bottles to go. Lots of IPAs but other styles under 'LIGHT' and 'MALT/SOUR' groupings. Staff fits the Gothic theme but are cordial and helpful. Wonderful brewing smell upon entering. Pinball machines for entertainment. Plays up to its dark themes.

After ordering literally hundreds of gallons of beer from this brewery in the past five years, I finally visited.

Quieter side of West Oakland. Huge public area with the proper morbid decor. All of their current lineup is offered on tap.

Oakland—a mile from BART, but you may as well be crossing the River Styx. You don’t just walk into Ghost Town Brewing; you descend. A cavernous, industrial beast of a taproom where the air hangs thick and heavy, the kind of heat that makes men confess their sins just to get it over with. If you come on a hot day, bring a will and a cold rag for your neck—because you’re going to boil in here.

But what a glorious inferno it is. The place looks like a funeral parlor for degenerates and hop fiends. Coffin-shaped decor, gothic church aesthetics, no bar seating—you take a pew and you drink. No communion wine here, just pints of the good stuff—West Coast IPAs sharp enough to cut glass, porters darker than a midnight grave, crisp lagers built for survival.

I ordered a flight because I am, at my core, a responsible man—but that went sideways fast. The lager was a cold slap of reality, the porter a deep, roasted sermon in sin, and the IPAs? Blistering, resinous, and meaner than a junkyard dog. Ghost Town isn’t here to hold your hand—they’re throwing you headfirst into the fire and expecting you to crawl out a better drinker.

The sours? Didn’t get to them. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was already questioning my choices by the time I hit the second IPA. Next time. If I make it out alive.

Service? Efficient, like a well-trained gang of outlaws. No wasted movement, no false pleasantries—just beer, in your hands, fast. Outside, a food truck loomed like a last chance at salvation. I took it. It barely helped.

Bottom line—Ghost Town is brewing some of the best West Coast IPAs in existence right now. They’ve embraced the darkness, and you should too. Come thirsty, come reckless, and for the love of God, bring a fan.

 

Spacious production-brewery/warehouse feel with a somewhat surprising family-friendly feel—changing tables, communal seating, outdoor nooks, and what seems like a regular food vendor all add to the relaxed vibe. Lots—lots!—of hoppy options, which scratched my itch. No bar seating for solo visitors, so make friends fast if this applies to you.