Suarez fondly remembers the first time he visited Belgium, not to mention how it changed the way he thought breweries could be owned and operated. Hill took him there in 2012, and they visited a bunch of beer makers—De Dolle, Cantillon, Blaugies, Drie Fonteinen, Fantome—that, at the time, seemed “larger than life” to a guy who’d never visited the country. He’d been drinking their beers for a while, but experiencing them in person was revelatory.

“I was surprised upon visiting all of these places that they were all modest, family-run operations making relatively tiny amounts of beer,” Suarez says. “It made me realize how few American breweries have this old-world approach to running and operating breweries—and other businesses in general. The vibe of these breweries struck a chord with me.”

[A quick, semi-related tangent: While in Belgium, Hill and Suarez collaborated on a beer with Dany Prignon, the lively and eccentric mad-scientist-type who’s been running Fantome Brewery in Wallonia, Belgium, since 1988.

“We were, as far as I know, the first brewery to collaborate with Dany,” Hill says. “The beer we brewed had hibiscus, citrus, and wheat. When we returned home, we set to work brewing a more refined/focused version of that beer—which became Convivial Suarez. Dan had a penchant for catchy vocabulary words, and they would somehow work their way into the brewery vernacular. ‘Shaun, this beer is very soigné…’ ‘Convivial’ was yet another one of those Suarez words, and it seemed fitting to name the beer after him.”]

Aside from the Vermontian influence and the Belgian influence, the Suarezes also bought the building because of a familial influence—Dan’s parents live in Connecticut, Taylor’s in New Jersey. Meanwhile, Dan’s brother and wife opened a restaurant, Gaskins, about 10 minutes from the location. Suarez installed the draft system there himself—six lines total. (“We usually have half of them,” he says.) Plus, it’s a not-unreasonable drive to NYC. After moving to the area and driving around, they found themselves thinking about this old building on Route 9.

“It was built in the ‘30s, and this is its fourth life,” Suarez says. “It was a tractor dealership, and then, from the ‘70s-‘90s, it was a lamp factory that actually employed quite a good amount of people. Then there was that dark period where it was a storage space, and this is that fourth life. So there are still people who remember the lamp factory, and they’ll come and say, ‘Oh, wow, I can’t believe someone’s doing something with this building.’ They come in and have a couple beers, but they’re mostly so jazzed that the building’s being used. Then there’s the beer-drinking local, and then there’s the local who’s just very curious that something’s happening.”