I’ve been in this world a long time. Before Big Dog Craft Brewing, I ran a homebrew shop for 14 years (Lancaster Homebrew). That was a big chapter of my life, and in a lot of ways it helped shape everything I’m doing now. I opened that store in 2009, right around the beginning of a real upswing in craft brewing, and I got to watch that movement happen from close range. A lot of the brewers who eventually opened breweries in Lancaster County were customers, friends, or people I got to know through the shop. That made it feel like I was part of something bigger than just retail. I sold the store to one of my customers a couple of years ago, and now my energy is here.
What I’ve built with Big Dog is a restaurant model with beer brewed on site. I’m not trying to chase a broad distribution footprint or build another full-time sales operation on top of everything else. I have enough going on already. My focus is getting people through the doors, giving them a good experience, serving them high-quality pub food, and pouring beer that’s made right here. We’ve got the seats. We’ve got the atmosphere. My time is better spent building traffic here than sending kegs out and making thinner margins on distribution.
I do a little distribution, but very little. I have a couple of taps at a restaurant in Manheim and a couple at Grandview Winery in Mount Joy, and if something else comes up here and there, fine. But I’m not out chasing it. I know what this place is. It’s a brewery, yes, but it’s also a gathering place. We host birthday parties, baby showers, and private events. Sometimes it’s even something as memorable as a proposal party. I like that. I like being woven into people’s lives in a practical, local way.
That local connection matters to me. I grew up around dairy farming, and I still feel tied to that world. My brother still runs the family farm, and I still know people in agriculture. That’s part of why I’ve tried to commit to using Pennsylvania malt. It’s not just a purchasing decision for me. It’s about staying connected to the region and supporting a system that still makes sense to me. I try to work Pennsylvania-grown malt into my beers wherever I can, and for a while my goal was to get 15 to 20 percent of my base malt with local grain. Last time I really sat down and did the math, I felt like I was at least around 15 percent, maybe pushing toward 20.
That said, I’m also realistic. Running a brewery means managing inventory, cash flow, storage, and timing. I can’t just buy ideals. I have to make them work operationally. I don’t have endless storage space here, so I use an off-site storage unit and bring bags in as I need them. Sometimes that means changing my process around just to make it manageable. If I were closer to the maltster, I’d probably run down and pick up grain more often. But every decision has to fit the physical and financial reality of the business.
I don’t think enough people outside the business appreciate that tension. I absolutely believe in supporting local. I also understand why some brewers default to what’s cheapest, easiest, or most familiar. I’m not blind to that. I do the same thing in other parts of life sometimes. Convenience is real. Price matters. But I still think there’s value in making the effort where you can. For me, using local malt is part principle and part partnership. I want to keep some of that money circulating close to home. I want to do business in a way that reflects where I live.
Brewing-wise, I keep a practical mindset. I like consistency. I like systems that I understand. I use what works. I’ve been happy with the efficiency and consistency I get from the malts I’m using, especially Rustic and (Pennypack) Pilsner. I also tend to stick with yeast strains I know well. My Mexican lager has turned into one of my biggest sellers, which I didn’t expect. It was supposed to be a seasonal summer beer, but it sells so consistently that I keep making it year-round. In general, lagers do well here. Pilsners do well. IPAs are still popular because there’s always a craft crowd looking for them, but I also think fresh IPA is one of those things that really benefits from being sold at the brewery rather than sitting on a random tap line somewhere. That’s another reason I value the direct connection here. The beer is fresher. The food is tied to the place. The atmosphere is tied to the place. Everything makes more sense when it stays together.
Food is a big part of our identity too. The brewery and the kitchen are not separate ideas. They support each other.
More recently, I’ve been trying to build on that by doing more event-style experiences, especially around food and beer pairing. We did a beer-pairing ham dinner around New Year’s, and I want to keep exploring that kind of thing. It gives customers a step up in experience without changing who we are. It lets us lean into the sensory side of beer in a way that fits this place.
Physically, the brewery itself is small. The brewing area is only about 400 square feet, and we’ve had to improvise around storage and layout. But I don’t mind that. In some ways it fits the feel of the place. It feels like a working business. It feels lived in. It’s not overbuilt, and it’s not pretending to be something else. That honesty matters to me.
That may be the thread that ties everything together for me. I’m not chasing scale for its own sake. I’m trying to build something workable, local, honest, and durable. A place with good beer, good food, and a reason for people to come in and stay awhile. A place that reflects the work ethic I grew up with and the community I still care about. That’s what Big Dog is to me.