New Paradigm is an excellent testament to the importance of a solid location to the success of any establishment. It sits in downtown Elkhart, which isn’t exactly a tourist mecca. In fact, let me list some reasons why you might find yourself on that particular sidewalk that is adjacent to the post office and train station:
- You are going to a show at the Lerner–This seems like the best reason. I know they have David Allan Coe coming up, and I love me some shitty old school Country, so I will most likely be hitting up New Paradigm to pre-funk.
- Your level of alcoholism is so ridiculously high that a trip to the post office cannot be made without a pre or post libation.
- While waiting for a train at the rail crossing, your car stalls, and you decide to walk away from it and pretend like it is someone else’s car.
- While waiting to catch a train at the depot, you decide to have a beer.
- While waiting for your dope dealer at the depot, you decide to have a beer.
That’s really about it.
The joint itself, is actually pretty good. I swung in on purpose on a Friday after work. I had to go out of my way to do it, which unless I worked for the post office or Amtrak, I would have to do regardless. I stopped because it says “New Paradigm Brewing” in the window and I like craft beer. I hope this place survives.
I entered and sat at the bar. There were three people sitting at the bar dead smack in the middle, no stools between them. They were eating burgers that looked good and not conversing with each other. They didn’t look mad at each other, and they obviously weren’t strangers. The person in the middle was the wife to one of the fellas on either side. I’m not sure which one.
Maybe it was both. It wasn’t my business.
The bartender brought me a beer list, and was pleasant about it. By the way he carried himself, I feel as though “proprietor” might have been a better word than “bartender”. They had four of their own beers on tap, then a bunch of other local beers from the Michiana neighborhood.
And Miller Lite.
I ordered one of theirs. The Big Hopbowski they called it. It was fine. Not special, not offensive. I generally get uncomfortable when I go into a place and they are carrying other people’s beers. It seems to me like having a supermodel girl friend and spanking it to fat girl porn. Mill Creek Brewing in Walla Walla really pissed me off for that reason. They had a wide variety of their own, but always had Coor’s Light on special. The difference in this case, was that the Mill Creek was right downtown in a perfect location that adjoined the trendy Walla Walla shops and downtown scene to Whitman College. The Mill Creek was the place to go.
The New Paradigm was in a situation where they just needed to get people in the door. I could not begrudge them.
I was disappointed that there were not more people in there. It was four o’clock on a Friday, and the Cubs and White Sox were only five minutes away from a first pitch in an interleague game. The game was on, but there was a lot of atmospheric potential that never materialized.
They had hard liquor and a pool table for fuck’s sake!
And then just as I was thinking about it, three hipster girls came walking in. They sat at the other end of the bar. I couldn’t tell what was ordered, but two of them had beers, and the other one had white wine. At least they talked to each other, which was far ahead of the odd little ménage-a-trois to my immediate left.
I found myself not feeling it as I sat there and drank. We have all been there. That moment when you are in a spot, and for whatever reason, you just don’t feel like being there.
The final straw came when a fat-bellied hipster dude with dandruff and a tie came and sat down next to me. He was greeted by the proprietor and ordered a beer by some other brewery. I was offered the opportunity to keep drinking from with a light finger point and a “Doin’ awright?”
“Nah, I’m good, but thanks,” I said. Then I left.
I felt guilty for not buying three more beers and a case to go, just so they could keep their doors open, but fuck. Unlike those hipsters, I can’t go around saving the world.
Buy Me a Beer Ass Hole 