My first visit to Baltimore, Maryland in March of 1996 didn’t slot handily into the “40 Years in Beer” narrative, and so it has been declared to be a “sidebar.” The chronological link is here:
A few months after this quick Baltimore excursion, I wrote about it in the F.O.S.S.I.L.S. club “Travel Dog” compilation. The article is reprinted here. Unsurprisingly, three decades later much of the information is dated, and so there is a partial update in the form of a postscript. (1)
Yes, like most American cities at the time, Baltimore had its share of pressing issues. We only experienced a small bit of “tourist” downtown in 1996, and honestly, I neither foresaw The Wire nor watched any of the episodes. I’ve returned to Baltimore three times since, twice incorporating baseball games at Camden Yards, and invariably have found the city enjoyable.
As it pertained to better beer in 1996, Baltimore seemed to be well ahead of Louisville; then again, so were a great many American cities. In 2025, Louisville has closed the gap considerably and might even have taken the lead.
Admittedly, given the chaotic state of my private life in 1996, you might say this first Baltimore trip (of several) was pregnant with a surreal aura of melancholy. As was my habit, I drank my way straight through it.
In the years to follow, Kevin became a close friend (he died far too young in 2026), although not so much Eric. So it goes. Here’s the essay.
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Baltimore, Maryland: A Few Wee Drams in Spring (1996)
How did it all begin? What happened once we got there? Were any lessons learned?
To be perfectly honest, many of the exact details elude me when I think back to my brief visit to Baltimore, Maryland in March, 1996. Notes were kept for the duration of about three pints; after that, all is vague and fleeting.
However, it is possible to piece together a broad recollection of the journey, which I heartily recommend to any reader who seeks to get away from it all for a few days and doesn’t have the time or the money to travel abroad. Baltimore is different, yet familiar, and there is good beer aplenty.
As you may have guessed, it was a trip devoted almost solely to Alcohol Tourism. Thus, I barely recall being dropped off at Louisville’s Standiford Field in the company of Eric Summers. Together, we made up two-thirds of the Baltimore excursion troika.
We gathered our funky Southwest Airlines boarding passes, made the short hop to Chicago, and managed the change of planes there at Midway with enough time to spare for a sloppy dressed Polish sausage and a glance at the local newspaper.
Soon we were greeting Kevin Richards at the gate in Baltimore-Washington International Airport (south of Baltimore), and Kevin was leading us through the strange corridors and concourses to the special airport bar where Wild Goose beers are sold.
The Wild Goose microbrewery is located in Cambridge, Maryland, and specializes in English-style ales. Kevin was familiar with the setting by virtue of having spent many weeks commuting to Baltimore for a work gig. We each had a beer, with my choice being a Wild Goose Amber, and we discussed our strategy for the remainder of the first day.
From BWI, the privately-run Super Shuttle fleet of mini-buses are an economical alternative to taxis. The buses will take travelers to almost any place in downtown Baltimore for $10 one way, or $15 round-trip.
We purchased our tickets and were immediately loaded onto a waiting mini-bus. Twenty minutes later, we were deposited at the door of our chosen hotel, the Days Inn Inner Harbor (100 Hopkins Place).
The Wharf Rat.
The Days Inn Inner Harbor differs not one iota from any other chain hotel, but in our case, it was in an ideal location, with Camden Yards, the site of the gorgeous retro ballpark where the Orioles play, lying just a couple of blocks to the west, and the Inner Harbor area the same distance to the southeast. (2)
Better yet, the Days Inn is less than a short outfield relay throw from the Wharf Rat (206 W. Pratt Street) brewpub, which is known alternately as Oliver’s Brewing, and which is arguably Baltimore’s finest of three (and soon to be more) downtown brewpubs.
Sunday afternoon and evening was spent watching NCAA basketball tournament games at the handsome bar of the Wharf Rat, which is in an ancient brick building that is the last on a block of new concrete and steel structures, and exudes old-time pub ambiance.
An assortment of fine ales were sampled, including a hand-pulled Brown Ale, an ESB, a chocolate-accented Porter (also hand-pumped), and two ales coming from a Guinness tap system: Stout and something called Northern Bitter. All were excellent. The Wharf Rat carries a few “guest” beers in addition to its own house-brewed ales, including Guinness and one or two Maryland-brewed choices. Owing to its proximity to our hotel, we came back to the Wharf Rat several times, and were never disappointed with the house ales.
Eric retired early. After drinking our fill, Kevin and I strolled to the waterfront for a breath of Chesapeake Bay air before heading back to the room. It was a cool but temperate evening, and there was a large British navy ship inexplicably docked in the harbor, reminding me that Fort McHenry is only a few miles away.
Since Kevin was flying to Florida on Tuesday morning, Monday was to be the only full day that our threesome would spend together. It was a long one.
The day began very early, as all of us had crashed by 11:00 p.m. the previous evening. In fact, it was too early; almost nothing in downtown Baltimore was open at 8:00 a.m. We passed the time by walking through the Inner Harbor area, and then continuing south to Federal Hill, which affords a fine view of the harbor and the entire city — all very eastern seaboard in appearance and pleasingly different from the typical Midwestern scenic tableau.
We located the nicely paved and marked pathway that skirts the harbor for several miles, then veered on toward the east and the locale known as Little Italy. Next to it, in the shadow of ominous, decrepit, and soon-to-be-demolished housing projects, is the location of Baltimore Brewing Company.
However, it is closed on Monday.
We navigated a southeasterly course, through Little Italy and a conveniently located espresso and pastry shop for a quick (and long overdue) breakfast, then entered the neighborhood known as Fell’s Point.
Fell’s Point.
Fell’s Point was a village during the Revolutionary War. It grew into an important industrial area during the nineteenth century, catering primarily to all aspects of maritime commerce, legitimate as well as illicit.
Amid its shops and businesses were stylish homes of sea captains, grand churches and public market halls. In later years, Fell’s Point gained a somewhat unsavory reputation as a purveyor of pleasures and perversities to stir-crazy sailors and land-lubbing thrill-seekers, and then went into a long period of decline that has been spectacularly reversed in recent years.
Now, the quaint brick buildings and row houses of Fell’s Point form an entertainment district of decidedly gentrified status, complete with bars, coffee houses, book stores and the like. It was there, on Broadway, that we found an open bar and had our first beer of the day. I’ve forgotten what it was, and this set the tone for the remainder of the day.
As early afternoon arrived, the bars threw open their doors, and we ventured inside several. First, Bertha’s (734 S. Broadway), whose familiar bumper stickers advise onlookers “Eat Bertha’s Mussels” (we did). A long row of beer taps signaled the availability of far more imported and craft beers than we’re accustomed to seeing in Louisville, where Killian’s is still regarded as an import.
Emerging from Bertha’s, we spotted Max’s on Broadway (737 S. Broadway) — roomier and newer than Bertha’s, and with 60-odd beers on draft, including local micros and even two Belgians (Rodenbach and Kriek Boon), and a couple hundred more bottles.
Gaping with the child-like joy that otherwise hardened beer enthusiasts experience when facing the possibilities offered by diverse and previously untasted ales, we set about to sampling the many local and regional beers. Once again, I don’t remember what we had. The bartender was cordial, and answered my questions. How could all these beers be fresh? Well, the distributors keep track, and they move pretty quickly, but yes, is does happen that some of the beers get aged beyond their intent. It was an honest answer, and I don’t remember any of my pints tasting old.
At some point after Max’s, we found the Cat’s Eye Pub (1730 Thames Street), a Fell’s Point staple that boasts “the only thing we overlook is the harbor.” This establishment exudes venerable charm, but it is a pleasingly blue-collar atmosphere, much used and rough around the edges in spite of the up-scale area around it and the trendsetting taps in its bar.
The only real problem with Fell’s Point is that its natural historical ambiance tends to be overly buffed and polished to make it palatable for tourists. The Cat’s Eye Pub (and, for that matter, Bertha’s) is a bit more of a throwback, and there are plenty of beers to aid such idle reflections.
Sisson’s.
I suppose we ate at some point during the afternoon, which turned out to be a glorious spring day. After several pints in Fell’s Point, we turned back in the direction of downtown Baltimore and followed the harborside promenade all the way back to the Inner Harbor, continuing due south on Light Street until we reached the South Cross Market, another of the seven public markets still vending food to shoppers in the city.
Unfortunately, our aim of devouring oysters was thwarted owing to the time; it was late afternoon, and the fishmongers were closing up shop. However, the second of our aims was just across the street: Sisson’s, (36 E. Cross Street — Federal Hill, at Cross Street Market), Baltimore’s first brewpub, which is sometimes known as South Baltimore Brewing Company.
It was Happy Hour at Sisson’s, and we were pleased to discover that big, breaded chicken wings were available for the taking as part of the deal, which included pints for only $1.50 or thereabouts.
Unfortunately, owing to the length of the day and the rate of consumption, I can offer little testimony about the beers, which are said to be English-style ales and are brewed in a brewhouse that has more the appearance of a dairy than a brewery. Perhaps I drank the pub’s Edgar Allen Porter; I’m sure there was no amontillado involved.
The day ended at the Wharf Rat. This time it was Eric who lingered at the bar while Kevin and I visited a nearby lottery office for a quart of Bailey’s Irish Cream and a six-pack of Wild Goose Porter, which we took to the room and consumed for a well-deserved dessert.
A Menckenesque Interlude.
With Kevin up and gone early Tuesday morning, there was little to be done on that day except spend most of it drinking, which Eric and I proceeded to do, but not without some recreation of a more conventional variety.
We began the day with an overpriced buffet breakfast at the hotel, then hiked thirty minutes west of the center to visit the house of H.L. Mencken, famous writer, journalist and expert on English etymology. It was closed, in spite of tourist bureau propaganda to the contrary.
As Mencken, the “Sage of Baltimore,” once said:
Imagine hanging the stones of a man, where they are forever getting themselves knocked, pinched, and bruised. Any decent mechanic would have put them in the exact center of the body, protected by an envelope twice as thick as a Presbyterian’s skull. Moreover, consider certain parts of the female — always too large or too small. The elemental notion of standardization seems to have never presented itself to the celestial Edison.
It had nothing to do with our walk, but I like it. I also like this one:
All love affairs, in truth, are farcical – that is, to the spectators. When one hears that some old friend has succumbed to the blandishments of a sweet one, however virtuous and beautiful she may be, one does not gasp and roll one’s eyes; one simply laughs. When one hears, a year or two later, that they are quarreling, one laughs again. When one hears that the bride is seeking consolation from the curate of the parish, one laughs a third time. When one hears that the bridegroom, in revenge, is sneaking his stenographer to dinner at an Italian restaurant, one laughs a fourth time. And so on.
Say what you will, but that man could write.
Baltimore Brewing Company (DeGroen’s)
Around noon, we split up: Eric electing to visit the modernistic museum of science and technology to contemplate the meaning of life in the X-Files era, and me returning to the now open Baltimore Brewing Company (104 Albemarle Street) for a liquid lunch.
Baltimore’s BBC (whose beers are referred to as DeGroen’s, for the founder) is unusual in the sense that it specializes in lager styles, whereas the majority of brewpubs in the States brew ales. A tiny historical park adjacent to Baltimore Brewing Company was the site of an early 19th-century brewery; the foundation remains, and interpretive signs provide information on the history of brewing in the city, but the BBC of today occupies a large, new building.
There is one room that is not unlike a German beer hall. A bar runs across one end, and the brewhouse is behind it, sans the glass partition that is standard in other brewpubs I’ve visited. I had two good examples of craft-brewed lager (specifications courtesy of the brewery’s web page):
RAUCHBOCK
- Original Gravity:15.5° Plato
- Alcohol by volume: 6.7%
- Malt used: Two-row pale, German smoked malt, Caramunich and Munich malts
- Hops used: Hallertau Hersbrucker
- Availability: March-April
MARZEN
- Original Gravity: 13.0° Plato
- Alcohol by volume: 5.4%
- Malt used: Two-row pale, German Munich and Caramunich malts
- Hops used: Hallertau Hersbrucker and Tettnang
- Availability: Year Round
The remainder of the languid final day passed without incident. Eventually I met Eric at Max’s — or was it the Cat’s Eye? — and we had a few more in Fell’s Point before returning to the Wharf Rat. There we chatted with an amiable bartender who had been on duty Sunday night when we first arrived. We’d seen him again on Monday while walking through the Inner Harbor area, and now, on Tuesday night, he asked me what I thought of Baltimore.
As I extolled the beer-related virtues of the city from the perspective of a Midwesterner, he nodded gravely. Finally, when I had finished, he asked “Are you planning on coming back some day?” ”
“Yes,” I responded, and then the seemingly placid bartender was off to the races.
“Yeah, well, you really shouldn’t come back here,” he said. “Baltimore’s okay, but let me tell you about Boston — now, there’s a city for drinking … that’s where I was born … I want to go back … I don’t know why I ever came here … ”
I’m sure that lifelong Baltimore resident H.L. Mencken would disagree, but I’m game. Boston, anyone? (3)
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(1) A few updates, 1996 – 2025.
Wild Goose Brewing Co. – a year after our visit to Baltimore, the brewery was acquired by Frederick Brewing Co., and the brands subsequently have passed through several corporate hands, but survive in truncated form.
Wharf Rat (Pratt St. location) – closed since late 2008, it has since been the Pratt Street Ale House, apparently still serving Oliver Brewing Co. beers.
Bertha’s Mussels – closed as of 2023.
Max’s on Broadway – now Max’s Taphouse, and gloriously open (my last visit was in 2019).
Cat’s Eye Pub – open since 1975 and going strong.
Sisson’s – closed at some juncture between 2002 and 2005. Originator Hugh Sisson split in the late 1990s to found Clipper City Brewing Co., which has since rebranded to maximize the Heavy Seas lines of beer.
Baltimore Brewing Company – closed since 2005.
(2) In March, 1996, our arrival in Baltimore predated the home opener for the Baltimore Orioles. However, Orioles Park at Camden Yards was only four years old, and we wanted to at least have a look at the first of the “neotraditional” major league ballparks.
(3) In fact, I made it to Boston…in 2010, and fourteen years made a considerable difference in my life.
