Uncommon Pair Brewing

Halfway down a gravel slope, underneath a D'Angelo's, with a low ceiling and a wide open front door inviting in whatever Rhode Island had going on meteorologically that morning. The kind of place where you walk in and feel the immediate neurological compulsion to kick a jukebox into life just to give the room a pulse. There is no jukebox. The room doesn't need one.

The Viking Juice IPA arrived carrying a fruit I have never encountered in any beer, in any country, on any continent I have visited, and I have visited several with this exact disease. Whatever it was, it tasted like something a Scandinavian shaman found growing on a north-facing rock in 1200 AD and thought, reasonably, that this should be fermented immediately. Tart. Faintly hostile. Completely at home in this beer. The owners will apparently put anything in a fermenter and the fermenter will apparently comply without complaint. This is their whole thesis and it mostly works.

The owner is disarmingly friendly for someone running a one-person insurgency against the entire concept of conventional brewing. The atmosphere sits at the precise intersection of dive bar, mad science, and neighborhood secret. The kind of place that's been open eight months and already has regulars who would be personally offended if it closed.
Not a destination. Not trying to be. But if you're in that zip code and the door is open, you'd be an idiot to drive past it.

 

It is Nano. Only five taps and small room as good crowd.