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Yankee Magazine: Shaun Hill and the Price of Perfection

Shaun Hill and the Price of Perfection

What do you do after you’ve made the best beer in the world?

Wednesdays are supposed to be the slow day at Hill Farmstead, the cult brewery in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, but on a steamy summer day at 11 a.m.—an hour before it opened—30 cars were parked along the dirt road in front of the brewery, and a line of people stood before the taproom door. Families showed up in matching Hill Farmstead T-shirts and lolled on blankets on the lawn. There were 50 cars at noon, and 75 at 1:15. The plates covered every state in the Northeast down to New Jersey and Pennsylvania, plus Florida, Illinois, and Quebec. Inside the taproom, a modern-rustic affair with poured concrete floors and a curving wooden bar, the wait to fill growlers stretched an hour.

No one seemed to mind. Tunes thumped on the speaker system, beer flowed, and the din in the room slowly mounted with the roar of happy people drinking and anticipating. Many Hill Farmstead beers are available only at the brewery, and making the pilgrimage to Greensboro is on the life list of every beer geek.

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