That's All, Folksbier — BK Beer Review

By James Reddicliffe

There are a lot of breweries in New York City. Some are big, some are small, some have multiple locations around the five boroughs and beyond. Many of them make outstanding beers, have designed beautiful spaces and do good in the community. None of them felt like they belonged to us the way Folksbier did. It was a little weird--off the beaten path between Carroll Gardens and Red Hook, on a street with a strange name (Luquer) that most people would walk right by, in a building that used to store surplus supplies for neighborhood institution Frankie’s 457.

Despite the fact that it was within walking distance of some of the world’s most famous breweries, it never attracted the IPA-crazed hordes and maybe the beauty of the place was the cause of its demise.

Yes, Folksbier made wonderful beer that wasn’t just Citra, Mosaic, Citra. They made technically excellent lagers, balanced Berliner Weisse with fruit, and, yes, even some excellent IPA. It was more than the beer, though. Folksbier felt like ours. It was a place I spent nights with a book and a beer by myself, the dim light making it just difficult enough to read that you’d surrender to your beer and people-watching. Walking down the street felt like walking to the end of the world and happening upon your own private beer hall. The bartenders were weird, and funny, and interested. I’d say, “Can I do an OBL and a Spectral Hare” and get a response of, “Buddy, where I’m from ‘do’ means one of two things and you can do neither to these beers.”

It was a place where I celebrated multiple birthdays, tucked in the back around a big table of friends with pizza from Sal’s and a cake from Monteleone’s. It’s where after too many of their delicious beers, I stuck my whole face in that cake. It was familiar, it was comfortable but it wasn’t dull. It felt like a place people were just happy to be, out of the bustle of the city, cool in all the ways it didn’t try to be, always the bridesmaid but the one who it turns out was perfect all along.

Now it’s gone, like so many bars, restaurants and breweries around the world.

When you spend so many pivotal moments at a place it becomes part of the fabric of your story, and when it closes you feel like a chapter has ended for you too. Folksbier is irreplaceable, and it’s ending leaves everyone wanting. So I’ll just say thank you.