{"id":184915,"date":"2025-04-14T21:45:28","date_gmt":"2025-04-14T21:45:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/peraltafinancing.com\/recipes\/category-a-b\/beer\/the-story-of-indys-brewing-legacy\/"},"modified":"2025-04-14T21:45:28","modified_gmt":"2025-04-14T21:45:28","slug":"the-story-of-indys-brewing-legacy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=184915","title":{"rendered":"The Story of Indy’s Brewing Legacy"},"content":{"rendered":"


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John Hill, distinguishable with his bald head and gray beard, sits at the bar, an imperial pint of cask-drawn bitter before him, watching his beloved Liverpool play Paris Saint-Germain in Champions League football on the flatscreen above. A fireplace in a nearby corner warms the dark wood-paneled walls and flickers off the decorative tin ceiling on this dark and damp afternoon. The fire seems to draw patrons to this corner of the pub to enjoy their fish and chips and shepherd\u2019s pie. The gathering crowd doesn\u2019t deter Hill from periodically muttering \u201coffsides\u201d or \u201cfoul\u201d in his Yorkshire accent. He orders a second drink, the porter.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a scene directly out of an English country pub\u2014precisely as Hill intended it to be when the North Yorkshire-born engineer and carpenter built Broad Ripple Brewpub<\/a> in the namesake bohemian neighborhood of Indianapolis in 1990. What was unintended was Hill essentially creating Indiana\u2019s craft beer culture from the studs up. He just knew that it wouldn\u2019t be a pub without the maltier, lower-carbonated English ales that were hard to come by in Central Indiana.<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew nothing about brewing, didn\u2019t even homebrew,\u201d Hill says. \u201cI knew Gil Alberding, who went on to become a muckety muck at MillerCoors. He knew how to brew, and I knew what it should taste like. I didn\u2019t want to taste them all, but I had to.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a tap list built on full-bodied English-style ales like the Monon Porter and the epic-if-simply-named ESB\u2014but that also branched out into fruitier wheat beers, pale ales, and IPAs\u2014and a hearty menu of classic UK comfort food and ahead-of-their-time vegan dishes, Hill introduced Hoosiers (as the state\u2019s natives proudly refer to themselves) to the brewpub culture that was only just starting to bubble up on the coasts. Bangers and brown ales aside, the emphasis was on a warm and welcoming atmosphere with roots in the insular Broad Ripple community. \u201cIt was a big hit at the beginning,\u201d he says. \u201cThere was nobody else around doing it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, that changed as the 1990s progressed, with corporate brewpubs such as Rock Bottom, RAM, and Alcatraz coming to town, and a few local mom-and-pops popping up like Barley Island, Oaken Barrel, and Circle V. Even though Hill was the unwitting godfather of Indy craft beer, he didn\u2019t shirk that responsibility. He supported all competitors, even when they started sprouting up in Broad Ripple just a few blocks away. Hill founded the Indiana Brewers Guild in 2000 and has since watched it grow to more than 200 members.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Along the way, distributors, would-be investors, and even patrons have all tried to tempt Hill into opening satellite locations, franchising, and packaging. But he wouldn\u2019t budge. \u201cI said, no, you can\u2019t. You can\u2019t recreate this. It\u2019s just a feeling,\u201d he says. \u201cPlus, I was too lazy to do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Dawn of Sun King<\/h2>\n
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Hill\u2019s devotion to the neighborhood model left something of a void in Indy\u2019s burgeoning craft beer scene. Brewpubs continued to flourish throughout the metro, but most of them stayed small. While 3 Floyds Brewing<\/a> (Munster) and Upland Brewing<\/a> (Bloomington) built national reputations in other parts of the state, the capital city still didn\u2019t have a signature label.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe looked around and said, \u2018Major cities have a production brewery, and there isn\u2019t one here,’\u201d says Dave Colt, who spent the late 1990s and early 2000s with one foot in craft brewing at Circle V and the other at the corporate RAM. \u201cMaybe we could be those guys.\u201d<\/p>\n

The other half of \u201cwe\u201d was Clay Robinson, whom Colt knew as a brewer at Rock Bottom<\/a>. By 2009, the two seasoned (and slightly embittered) corporate brewpub veterans wanted to go independent\u2014and they didn\u2019t want to mess with food. After cashing in their savings and 401(k)s, with the help of some thirsty investors they launched Sun King Brewery<\/a>, the city\u2019s first production brewery since Indianapolis Brewing Company<\/a> kicked in 1948\u2014its lager only recently reborn as a Sun King year-round release. They started pumping out kegs of their flagship Osiris Pale Ale<\/a> and two malt-forward flavors that seemed geared toward the local palates cultivated by Hill: Bitter Druid ESB and Wee Mac Scottish Ale.<\/p>\n

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\"sunking<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

Sun King\u2019s breakout star, however, was a bit of a surprise\u2014at least to its creators. Their first summer seasonal was Sunlight Cream Ale<\/a>, a crisp and refreshing hot-weather crusher that served as a true gateway for Indy\u2019s craft curious. \u201cIt was not intended to be our flagship, but we don\u2019t always get to decide,\u201d says Colt. \u201cIt\u2019s what people wanted. It sold out; we made another batch. It sold out.\u201d<\/p>\n

By the end of its first year, Sun King was all over the city and had spilled over into nearby college towns like Muncie, Lafayette, and even Upland\u2019s territory in Bloomington. Bars were quickly demanding kegs, which Colt and Robinson were still delivering personally. They produced 5,000 barrels their first full year of operation, 10,000 the following year as they started canning tallboys, and two years later, 20,000. Today, they\u2019re the second-largest brewer in Indiana (tops is 3 Floyds), and they\u2019ve opened a satellite location in Sarasota, Fla.<\/p>\n

Exponential growth aside, Sun King hasn\u2019t abandoned its hands-on, face-to-face approach. Robinson has moved to Sarasota to personally oversee that offshoot. Colt is still in Indiana, where he currently serves as president of the Indiana Brewers Guild. \u201cThe longer your tail gets, the more stuff gets lost,\u201d he says. \u201cThere\u2019s a diminishing return in full-on distribution. You don\u2019t have much control over the product, with less and less control the farther away the beer gets. If you have a model where you\u2019re hyper-local and can take care of your neighborhood, you\u2019re in a much better position.\u201d<\/p>\n

Call it Kismet<\/h2>\n

When Nicole Oesch, two beers in at Upland\u2019s South Broad Ripple satellite, declared \u201cF\u2013k it! We\u2019re going to open a brewery!\u201d her husband, Ryan, thought it was the alcohol talking. Then the permit applications from the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau showed up in the mail.<\/p>\n

Nicole forgives her husband for thinking Kismetic Beer Company<\/a> was a far-fetched idea. It was 2020, and even before pandemic shutdowns sent the beer industry (like all industries) into chaos, craft beer had already seen a dramatic slowdown in growth and a retraction in volume. Forces were afoot that would shutter dozens of Indiana taprooms and breweries in the coming years\u201415 in 2024 after 13 closures in 2023, including Indiana City Brewing, the brewery where Nicole cut her teeth in management and where she met and hired Ryan as a bartender.<\/p>\n

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Ryan was raised in Northeastern Indiana, but he was steeped in Central Indiana beer. His college landlord was head brewer at Upland, which was his introduction to local craft beer. He started homebrewing and moved to Indy, where Broad Ripple Brewpub introduced him to community brewpub culture and more full-bodied, malt-forward ales that weened him off macro lagers. By the time Sun King came around, Ryan was a fanboy in waiting. \u201cI followed them wherever they went,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019d travel for a Sun King beer. They had these limited releases, firkin pours, things you felt lucky to get a snifter of.\u201d<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, Nicole was living in California, where her beer horizons were broadened by Sierra Nevada. When she returned to Indiana, she left her corporate career to start a food pop-up called Broke Chicks Chili that would set up at area breweries and serve chili and walking tacos. \u201cI fell in love with taproom culture,\u201d she says. She picked up part-time work at local breweries to supplement the pop-up, but beer soon became her full-time occupation.<\/p>\n

By the time of Nicole\u2019s 2020 declaration of intent to open a brewery, both she and Ryan knew what they wanted to do\u2014and what they didn\u2019t want to do. They wanted to stay small in terms of production, with Ryan sticking to a 3.5-barrel system that allowed him to experiment and be nimble in rotating styles and flavors, while also giving them more control over the quality of product. And they wanted to be an old-school community taproom, so they invested in the long-neglected, formerly industrial Twin Aire neighborhood on the east side of Indy, near where they lived, that was starting to show signs of life.<\/p>\n

Most of all, Nicole wanted to emphasize the taproom. They wanted a place that was welcoming to women and people of color\u2014groups that hadn\u2019t necessarily felt included in the Hoosier beer scene. \u201cWe wanted to be the brewery for everybody else,\u201d says Nicole. \u201cWe thought that if you can make a high-quality experience for cocktails, why not beer?\u201d<\/p>\n

Kismetic is the embodiment of that sentiment, with throwback retro-futuristic d\u00e9cor; low, leather lounge booths; and a dominant centerpiece bar that wraps around, making it virtually impossible to avoid conversation with bartenders and fellow drinkers. Ryan has leaned into the cocktail theme with beers such as Martini Spruce Kolsch or Amaro Saison that miraculously balances a light licorice taste with other subtle spices. For purists, his Schwarzbier and Italian and French Pilsners are doggedly true to style. \u201cWe\u2019re just making what we like,\u201d says Ryan.<\/p>\n

In other words, one of Indy\u2019s newest breweries is embodying the ethos of its first modern brewery, opened by John Hill in 1990 because he wanted a place to drink cask ales and watch football on the telly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know if this approach will save craft beer,\u201d says Nicole. \u201cBut we\u2019re buying into the neighborhood pub atmosphere, that vibe that you have to go to the taproom to get.\u201d<\/p>\n

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\n\t\t\tTony Rehagen is a freelance writer based in St. Louis. He has written about crime, sports, politics, healthcare, and Taco Bell, but his passion is writing about beer and beer culture. He is also a staunch proponent of the Willi Becher pint.\ufeff\t\t<\/p>\n

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CraftBeer.com is fully dedicated to small and independent U.S. breweries. We are published by the Brewers Association, the not-for-profit trade group dedicated to promoting and protecting America\u2019s small and independent craft brewers. Stories and opinions shared on CraftBeer.com do not imply endorsement by or positions taken by the Brewers Association or its members.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n