By the time we trundled into Ministry of Beer, North Goa edition, it was just past 10 pm and we were already one bad decision down — a tragic attempt to locate a place called Bar Outrigger, which we’re now convinced exists only in the imagination of a cartographer with a flair for mystery. After driving in loops, potentially disturbing a few cows and locals with our confused Google Maps tantrums, we gave up the ghost and headed to the more reliable, air-conditioned arms of the Ministry of Beer — a name that makes it sound like you’ll need a passport and clearance from the government to enter, but thankfully, no such paperwork was required.
And, thank heavens for valet parking, because trying to reverse on a North Goa street past 10 p.m. with a dozen scooters zipping past is no one’s idea of a relaxing evening.
With two buzzing levels, the place felt like a stylish split-personality — upstairs for the party animals, downstairs for the craft beer philosophers— dark wood, green lights, swirling humans on the top floor and mugs of beer being whisked past. Families, couples on questionable third dates, and groups of lads doing what lads do best — wearing Hawaiian shirts unironically and pretending to understand craft beer — were scattered like confetti.
We parked ourselves on the opposite end of the thumping DJ setup, hoping our eardrums would last the night without lodging formal complaints. The music was unapologetically Bollywood — think Ranveer Singh’s energy level distilled into sound — and while normally this would make me internally sigh with a “Why God, why?”, something about the vibe made it tolerable. Dare I say… enjoyable? Perhaps it was the sheer infectious energy of a group breaking into a spontaneous dance, or perhaps the mango beer had started working its sweet tropical magic.
Ah yes, the beer. Let us talk about the beer. A server arrived with a flight of mini mugs — each adorably tiny, as though brewed by Smurfs — featuring an eclectic mix: mango, guava, espresso, three “regular” beers which I promptly renamed “The Reliable Triplets,” and one dark, broody type that whispered I’ll ruin your Sunday morning. The mango was like a beach holiday in a glass; the guava, weirdly nostalgic like the fruit you’d sneak out of someone’s garden; the espresso? A beer and a shot of coffee had a lovechild. We finally settled on the classic and the strong — a bit like dating: one’s dependable, the other’s thrilling but could land you in trouble.
For food, we ordered falafel and chicken dimsums. Now, the falafel was good, crispy on the outside and herbaceous inside, and frankly, I didn’t expect such Middle Eastern realness in a brewery.
The chicken dimsums arrived with that glorious shimmer of being freshly steamed, accompanied by chilli oil that was so deliciously fiery, I briefly considered bottling it and selling it on Etsy. We devoured both dishes while casually watching pool games that no one seemed to be winning, which only added to the charm.
The staff was pleasant, the kind who smile even when you’re pointing at the menu like a toddler unsure of their ice cream choice. The place had a sort of quiet confidence — not trying too hard, yet delivering the goods. The vibe was fun, the beer was excellent, and the food didn’t feel like a drunken afterthought.
In a world where too many bars try to be edgy and end up being tragic, Ministry of Beer manages to be that elusive creature: genuinely fun. Would I go back? Absolutely. Would I attempt to find Bar Outrigger again? Only if I’ve got a treasure map and a backup plan. Until then, I’ll raise a tiny mango beer to the good times, the bad directions, and an unexpectedly super Saturday night.
Honest Reviews 