My first visit to Brooklyn began with bad news delivered over the phone—my grandmother had just passed away, the voice on the other end of the line said. I was staying with my best friend on the Upper East Side, and we'd planned a day full of drinking and debauchery on the counsel of GBH contributor and Brooklyn expat Cory Smith. After processing the call, and a cathartic cry, I realized I had to get out of the apartment. We decided to go full carpe diem, the way I'd originally planned.
Our first stop at Other Half was what I’d hoped for, but it was the second where I felt myself relax. When we arrived at Folksbier, sunlight silhouetted the script against the floor. The space around us was like some whimsical cottage in the countryside: Dutch door, gold pine, white walls, stools carved with Grecian boars either guarding or making love to a hop cone, though I couldn't tell which. My best friend, his significant other, and I drank deeply from our pints of Helles. The brewery felt about a hundred leagues from the busiest city in America, and even further from what was happening back home.
