Long before it opened, Black Star Co-op had everyone excited by the concept of a Commie brewpub. Its own ever-changing brews (which could be your brews for $150) range from extra-dry porter to citrusy amber to creamy rye ale, and there are few better craft-beer selections in town than what’s on the guest taps. They’re all served, encouragingly, in the correct glassware.

It’s an odd vibe for a neighborhood pub, though. The bright lights, big windows, and stainless-steel accents are almost trilling; more Iceland than Rhineland, like the resi-commercial plaza it’s in. Hearts palpitate at the menu (Roast chicken! Pot pie!), but consistency is currently a wild card; moreso on busy nights, where, by the way, your food will take one or even two beers to get to you (the upshot is that you save 20% on dinner because the owner-staff doesn’t accept tips). We’ve had burgers, although delicious, arrive at varying temperatures and on dry buns; the pleasantly bulghur-tasting veggie patty is unmanageably crumbly. House-pickled vegetables are great, and both carnivore and vegetarian versions of chili have a nice dried-chile burn. Fish tends to be overbattered, greasy, and off-tasting, its well-seasoned chips floppy. Perhaps these problems would plague any idealistic co-op: the best kitchens are, historically, run by dictatorship, not a collective ethos. But that ethos is promising, and the beer’s damn good.