Passing the Bar: Washington Commons

If the tragedy of the Commons represents the antithesis of community, then there is nothing tragic happening at these commons. “We’re looking to create an old-fashioned communal hang out,” explains Jacob Rabinowitz, part owner of the newly opened Prospect Heights beer joint Washington Commons. In its infant stages, a vibrant familiarity already seems to be sprouting among its patrons, with packs of thirsty locals rubbing shoulders and chatting loudly around the sociable horseshoe-shaped bar.

The method behind the owners’ site selection on Washington Avenue, just a few blocks north of The Brooklyn Museum, was anything but scientific. They simply walked the streets, got a good vibe from the area and settled on a long vacant corner space whose bland, gray exterior lacks any identifying marks. In fact, Rabinowitz—who along with Kevin Mulvaney and Kirk Schrubel also owns Park Slope’s Fourth Avenue Pub— couldn’t even name the neighborhood where he’d set up shop. It seems that he and his partners have been concentrating on something more important than local geography: the quality of the beer.

Sixteen tasty tap selections range from local standouts like Six Point’s Righteous Rye ($5) to international favorites like Belgium’s Pauwel Kwak Strong Ale ($8).The latter, which goes down smoother than an 8 percent brew should, is served in a wooden contraption that looks as silly as the Flemish language sounds. If after one or two of those satisfyingly sweet treats you’re having trouble reading the rest of the menu—exceedingly darkened lighting doesn’t help—just ask the bartender for a hand. He’ll gladly walk you through the options and serve up samples in mini 1.5 oz mugs. I’d recommend a follow up from the other end of the flavor spectrum, like the Victory Prima Pils ($5), a pilsner that, uncharacteristically for its kind, gets more interesting as it goes.

Though salty snacks were missing when I visited, free popcorn a la Fourth Avenue Pub is on the way, a necessary component to any $2-off happy hour, which runs until 8 nightly. So too are bar top TVs, which will be showing classic movies on repeat.

For now, imbibers will have to be content with their own reflections staring back at them in the oversized mirror that sits above the bar’s antique cash register. Next to the money machine reside the requisite bottles of hard stuff, but ordering anything without a frothy head leaves the bartenders disappointed. The only thing worse than demanding a gin and tonic is perusing the draft offerings and then asking for a Corona, as I recently witnessed two women do.

Perhaps the most comforting thing here—once you get past the obnoxiously loud indie rock—is the casual diversity of the crowd. Turbans and dreadlocks mingle with buzz cuts and berets, and even dogs are welcome. Fido will love the open-air garden out back, and if only I can escape the rain on my next trip, so too will I.