Bright and clean, and the reason we bought a second tank. Four weeks in the cellar before it sees a glass.
Grapefruit and pine. The pint that pays the rent, and the one recipe we have never touched.
Hand pulled, cellar temperature, from a recipe we found in a drawer in the old yard office.
Bitter, dry and unfashionably clear. Dara's favorite, which is how it ended up with a whole tank.
Tart and pink, brewed with sour cherries from Hollis Farm, eleven miles up the road.
Coffee, cocoa and a finish that goes on. We brew it once, in October, and then it is gone.
Banana and clove, poured cloudy on purpose. Ask for a slice of lemon and we will pretend not to hear.
Peppery, dry and stubborn. Named for the table where we argued about it for the better part of a year.
Thirds and halves on everything, at the bar or at the table. Four of the fourteen lines are alcohol free, including a 0.5% pale we brew ourselves.
Full list, wine and no alcoholWhich is the right way round. Dara Whitlock spent six years brewing other people's recipes at a regional plant and never once watched anybody drink one. Rosa Tejada runs the room, the kitchen and the numbers, and picks every guest line on the wall.
We brew for this room first. A few kegs go out to four pubs we like and nothing else leaves the yard, so what you are handed here is four to six weeks old, not six months and a truck ride. The tanks are behind the glass at the back of the room. If a batch is not right we pour it away, and you will hear about it, because neither of us can keep quiet.

The kitchen closes an hour before the bar does. That is 10 on weeknights, midnight on Friday and Saturday, and 9 on Sunday.
Tell us what you cannot eat and we will tell you honestly what we can do about it. The fryer is shared, and we will never pretend otherwise.
Eight or more, call ahead on (555) 555-0168 and the kitchen will stagger the plates so you all eat together.
Six to a team, four rounds, one deliberately unfair picture round. Winners take a 60 kitchen tab and the trophy, which is a tap handle screwed to a lump of oak.
Five kilometres from the door and back. All paces, free, no sign up, and somebody always runs at the back so nobody finishes alone.
Two local acts, no cover, finished by eleven because the neighbours have been good to us and we would like that to continue.
Whatever came off the tanks this week goes on first. Dara pours the first one herself and tells you considerably more about it than you asked.
Forty-five minutes in the back among the tanks, 12 a head, twelve people maximum. Book by phone. It ends at the board, which is the point.
One roast until it runs out, the record player on the end of the bar, and you are welcome to bring your own vinyl. Kids and dogs everywhere.
Down three steps at the back, brick on every wall, and a door straight out onto the yard so your party can spill outside without going through ours.
Birthdays, leaving parties, five-a-side teams who lost, and one wedding reception that we are still talking about. Tell us the date and roughly how many, and Rosa will come back to you the same day.
Last orders twenty minutes before we close, and we mean it kindly. The kitchen shuts an hour before the bar.
38 Kiln Yard, Fallowmill. Open in Maps
Four minutes from Fallowmill station: east exit, left past the goods shed. The 27 and the 41 stop on Tanner Street. Twelve spaces in the yard and bike racks under the awning.
Yes, everywhere, including the Cellar Room. Water bowls by the door and a jar of biscuits behind the bar that gets refilled twice a week.
Welcome until 8pm. Two high chairs in the back, a shelf of battered board games, and the kitchen will do a plain burger with nothing on it for anyone who asks.
No bookings for tables. There is nearly always room at the bar, and if there is not, the yard is heated until it is properly cold.