Like a cross between a micro-brewery and the back-woods still your great grand-daddy set up down by the river to entertain friends—that’s my best description of “Bardo.”

You really have to search this place out: No roofs, no buildings, no doors—just a ramshackle plank signpost announcing “Bardo” and a path leading down by some Job Johnny’s beside the bridge.

“Can this be right?” you think as you approach, but then looking down the path, you see an overturned car mounted on top of a fence  with the word “BEER” painted crookedly on it (I’m not making this up), and behold, you have received the sign from above you needed.

Keep on going, and the path opens up into an dirt lot the size of a little league ball park, set up with some booths extracted from the rubble of some restaurant.

Hipster-hillbilly bluegrass is blaring on the speakers. There’s a make-shift bar, pizza oven, hipsters playing corn hole, and more tables down by a little grove of trees along the banks of the Anacostia.

The only thing that’s new and slick here is the brewery equipment–silver towers rising sparkling in the air.  To make it just perfect—there’s Nationals Stadium in the background, the smell of an All Star game in the air.