Asylum Brewing

That alley behind 180 W Elm St in Anaheim gets loud right when Asylum Brewing opens up its roll-up door on a Friday night. You are walking right past industrial auto shops and empty lots before you hit the light bleeding out from the taproom. The door guy barely looks at your ID before waving you through past a wall stacked high with stainless steel fermentation tanks. It's loud, concrete, and smells intensely of boiling wort and floor cleaner.

You can't hear yourself think over the noise bouncing off the corrugated metal walls, so you just point at the tap list and hand over your card. The crowd is mostly local industry folks and skaters nursing heavy hazy IPAs that sit around seven percent. There isn't any stage to speak of, just a corner where a three-piece punk band has their cabs shoved right up against the cold storage unit.

The bass rattles your teeth while you stand shoulder to shoulder against the bar rail because every single wooden spool table is packed tight. Someone dropped a pint glass near the merch box and it shattered into a million pieces, and nobody even flinched. You are wiping spilled foam off your sleeve while the guitar player screams into a mic wrapped entirely in duct tape.