Jellyfish Brewing

Seattle, that gray, overpriced fever dream, has pushed me out to the hinterlands near SeaTac. Lodging in the city proper? Forget it—unless you’re ready to sign away your soul and mortgage your liver. The downside is constant jet engine noise; the upside is that the aviation-obsessed part of me revels in watching each plane roar by overhead. Double the joy with a pint in hand and the sky as your TV. Almost makes you forget the suburban hellscape that masquerades as civilization out here.

Tucked away somewhere in this industrial wasteland is Jellyfish Brewing, hiding like a secret for those with dubious intentions—or just a good nose for beer. It's a place you could easily pass without a second thought, just another anonymous warehouse in a city full of them. But the smell, oh the smell—that glorious scent of brewing barley that grabs you by the nostrils and yanks you in, Homer Simpson-style, floating toward the bar like a cartoon character drawn by your thirst.

Class is what we’re dealing with here. Not the pretentious kind, though. This is the type of place that puts charcuterie on the menu, which momentarily makes you wonder if you’ve wandered into a gentrified nightmare. But no, this is Seattle; the charcuterie is more survivalist than gourmet—a tin of sardines, half a can of olives, and crackers that could double as masonry. Pinkies up, but only as far as they need to go. The crisis of feeling too classy in a joint like this is promptly averted.

The beer line-up? A respectable Helles, Saison, and IPA, with enough sours and obligatory IPAs to keep even the trendiest of palates engaged. I went with the classics—lined 'em up, knocked 'em down. One after another, a tribute to good taste and questionable life choices. The food only fueled my drive, turning this into a mission, a personal conquest. Three beers deep, I felt like I could take on the world—or at least the immediate surroundings of this forgotten suburb.

Jellyfish manages to float above the sea of mediocrity you'd expect from a brewery hidden in the flight path of SeaTac. It offers an experience that’s just a bit classier than you might expect, but not enough to make you question why you're there. It’s a dive into something better than the everyday, pinkies up just the right amount—not too high, not too low.

 

I stopped by Jellyfish a couple of weeks ago to finally check them out, and was not disappointed. They had 14 beers on tap, with a wide variety of styles represented. I had a flight with saison, porter, schwarzbier, and Scotch ale. All were quite good, although the porter and schwarzbier were stand-outs to me.

They have a good sized taproom with lots of big tables, and outdoor seating available as well. The build-out is industrial but welcoming with high ceilings and Texas lights strewn above. There's local Georgetown art on the walls, much of it for sale — an awesome neighborhood gallery deal. Service was friendly and knowledgeable enough -- in these covid times there is no bar seating, you just order up front and take a seat at a table, so I didn't really get to talk to the bartender.

Overall I am impressed with Jellyfish and definitely plan to return.