I was wary before heading over to Taps House of Beer on Washington Avenue. I regularly mock people who wear Affliction and Ed Hardy gear, I’m in a relationship and thus not on the prowl for grubby bar-hoppers, and I prefer authentic places to pre-fab ones. The good news: Taps (on Twitter, @tapsofbeer) is a fantastic place to go if you’re a beer fan, with dozens of brews on tap and a few more in bottles. The bad news: It’s probably not your scene, unless you are white and think a dinner at Texas Roadhouse is slumming it.

I arrived and was impressed at the wall of taps — more than 50 — running the length of the bar. Truly, it’s a daunting thing.



I’m a simple drinker, too. If I’m in a whisky mood, I’m probably gonna go with Maker’s, or maybe Jameson’s if I feel like getting my McNulty on and making some bad decisions, like getting Taco Bell at 2 in the morning. Similarly, if I’m in a beer mood, I’m probably going to go with a Saint Arnold, Shiner or whatever I can dig out of whomever’s fridge I’m rooting through when I’m at a party. I wear my blue hoodie pretty much every day of winter and would eat the same sandwich every day if I wasn’t forced by my better half to eat vegetables. I am simple. That’s what makes the Taps selection so impressive: It will knock you back with how many types of beers you can choose.
Daniel Carlson photos
However, there’s a price to pay for having access to that selection, and that price is that you have to hang out with people who look like they subscribe to the Orvis catalog and know way more than you do about earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation and amortization. I’m sure that you’re probably judging me for judging them, especially if you’re the guy who sat near me and kept his Motorola cell in a totally bitchin’ belt holster. But let’s be honest and admit that most people do not look like they came from a Land’s End store. I hadn’t known what to expect when I popped into Taps for happy hour, and it certainly wasn’t an after-hours spot for people who make sure their PowerPoint uses “synergy” three times.

Then again, I think the décor and vibe have something to do with it. I referenced Texas Roadhouse at the top because that’s the first thing that came to mind when I entered Taps: superficially “Texan” and “gritty,” but really just a chance for someone to buy barstools with cow hide tops and a few leather chairs for the corner. Again, there’s nothing I guess inherently wrong with this, in a moral sense, but it’s the kind of bar you go to if you don’t want to go to a real bar. It’s a warm room with a lot of beer and zero character. Where’s the fun in that?

As I put away my evening’s helping of Saint Arnold’s Texas Wheat, I realized that I didn’t bear any real ill will toward Taps. Sure, it was slicker than I’d have liked and populated by people clearly more dedicated and responsible than I am, but it also was mercifully free of the Washington Ave. douchebags I’ve done my best to avoid. The place wasn’t terrible, just uninteresting, and that placed it in the category of boring, not annoying. A small blessing, but one worth noting.