Jacksonville is massive. Its beer scene surprised the heck out of me.

I went to Jacksonville, Florida, for an inspectors general conference.

I know. Try to contain your excitement.

There is nothing quite like a hotel ballroom filled with auditors, compliance officers, and oversight professionals swapping stories about internal controls and procurement nightmares. And I mean that sincerely. It was a room full of nerds in the best possible way. People who care deeply about process, accountability, documentation. My kind of weird.

But when the sessions ended and the lanyards came off, I did what I always do in a new city: I went looking for beer.

I’ll be honest. My expectations for Jacksonville were subterranean. I had always pictured it as sprawling and indistinct — highways, strip malls, chain restaurants, humid air pressing down on everything. A place you pass through, not a place you go to. And from a beer standpoint? I assumed “fine.” Maybe a couple decent spots. Nothing that would stick with me.

I am really, really excited that I was so wrong.

Photo: A pour of a Ruby Beach Brewing beer in downtown Jacksonville.

Not “this is the next Asheville” wrong. But wrong enough that I left impressed, and more than a little annoyed at myself for not giving the city more credit.

Jacksonville is massive. Not metaphorically massive. Actually massive. (And it’s not massive in a way where it’s about the friends we made a long the way.) It consolidated with most of Duval County decades ago and grew through a series of annexations — San Marco, for instance, was annexed in 1932 — so what you’re dealing with is this enormous geographic footprint that feels more like a region than a city. I barely scratched the surface. I stayed downtown and spent most of my free time in San Marco, just south of downtown across the St. Johns River, because it was walkable and charming and manageable.

Next time, I’m renting a car. Public transit would have helped, but the truth is, the sprawl wins if you don’t plan ahead.

My first night in town? Pure class.

Domino’s and Miller High Life in my hotel room, courtesy of Uber Eats.

The Champagne of Beers. A cardboard pizza box. A long day of conference sessions ahead. It was perfect. There is something grounding about starting a trip with a High Life. No pretension. No taplist anxiety. Just cold, fizzy competence. (I even enjoyed it in a 32-ounce can, which I haven’t encountered before.)

The next morning, I deployed my secret weapon.

Whenever I travel somewhere new, I text my friend Chris O’Leary — a world-class brewery traveler who chronicles his exploits under the Brew York moniker. Chris does exhaustive research before he goes anywhere. He will have spreadsheets (I assume). He will have backup options. He will know which brewery moved, which one changed ownership, which one fell off.

Texting Chris is cheating. But it’s good cheating. It compresses years of trial and error into one iMessage thread.

Armed with his recommendations, I headed first to Tepeyolot Cervecería — better known as Tepey’s.

Photo: I still dream of these tacos from Tepey’s.

This place alone would have made the trip worth it.

Tepey’s sits in San Marco and feels like the kind of neighborhood spot you wish you had at home. It’s warm without trying too hard. Comfortable without being sloppy. The bar staff makes you feel like a regular even if you’re obviously an out-of-town beer nerd asking too many questions.

I ordered chorizo tacos and a Mexican dark lager.

The tacos were — and I don’t say this lightly — probably the best chorizo tacos I’ve ever had. Deep, savory spice. Perfectly cooked. Balanced by bright toppings. The kind of dish that makes you stop mid-conversation and just nod.

The dark lager was the perfect pairing. Clean, toasty, just enough richness without getting sweet. It didn’t try to reinvent the style. It just executed it beautifully. Crisp finish. Food-friendly. Exactly what you want in Florida heat.

If Tepey’s were in Rochester, I would be there constantly. It’s that kind of place. The kind that becomes part of your routine.

From there, I made my way along the railroad tracks in San Marco to Aardwolf Brewing Company.

Aardwolf opened in 2013 and operates out of a 1920s icehouse. You feel that history the second you walk in. Brick. Wood. Character. It doesn’t feel manufactured; it feels earned. Like the building and the brewery grew into each other.

I ordered their Belgian pale ale — a GABF medal winner — because when a brewery has hardware for a classic style, you start there. It was elegant and balanced. Subtle fruit esters. Firm but not aggressive bitterness. It reminded me that Belgian-influenced beers, when done well, are some of the most satisfying beers in the world.

But Aardwolf isn’t stuck in 2013. There were plenty of newer-school styles on the board. Hazy IPAs. Fruited sours. A broad range. I sampled across the spectrum and what stood out wasn’t flash — it was competence. You could spend a long afternoon there without getting bored.

Next up: Myrtle Avenue Brewing. This one opened in 2022 in the former home of Engine 15 Brewing.

Photo: The interior of Myrtle Avenue Brewing.

That afternoon was that I was served by the brewer himself, in a space that used to be a railyard depot in the Rail Yard District. There was something deeply satisfying about drinking beer in this building, one that once moved goods across the country. It added texture and added to the experience.

We talked shop. Ingredients. Styles. Trends. The beer was excellent across the board, but the standout for me was the black IPA. We do not see enough black IPA anymore.

It had that beautiful interplay of roasted malt character and assertive hop bitterness. Not ashy. Not muddy. Just sharp, piney, slightly chocolate-y depth wrapped around firm citrust-forward bitterness. It reminded me how good that style can be when someone cares about it. There’s a confidence in brewing a black IPA in 2026.

After that, I walked back toward downtown and stopped at Bold City Brewery.

Bold City is one of the originators in the Jacksonville craft scene, opening in 2008. Surviving that long matters. The downtown location is blocks from where I was staying, tucked into a quiet spot next to a much noisier bar.

Inside, it was unassuming in the best way. No gimmicks. No neon overload. Just beer.

The bartender was fantastic. Huge football fan. We talked football for a while. It was that kind of easy, unforced bar conversation that reminds you why you like sitting at bars in the first place.

I drank their Killer Whale Cream Ale and Duke’s Cold Nose Brown Ale.

Killer Whale was exactly what you want from a cream ale: light-bodied, clean, just enough sweetness to round the edges. That’s not a beer I expected to find in Florida.

Photo: Bold City Brewing’s unassuming taproom in downtown Jacksonville.

Duke’s Cold Nose — named after the owner’s boxer — was a proper brown ale. Nutty. Smooth. Comforting. A throwback to the era when brown ales were a core part of craft brewery lineups, not an afterthought. (Man, do I sure miss beers like Smuttynose Old Brown Dog and Avery Ellie’s Brown Ale.)

And here’s the thing that really hit me: pints of the flagships were $4. Four dollars. That feels almost rebellious.

The place was quiet. Calm. A counterpoint to the louder bar next door. It felt like a local’s refuge. The kind of place you pop into on a Tuesday without thinking about it.

Right around the corner from Bold City is Ruby Beach Brewing.

If Bold City felt like the steady veteran, Ruby Beach felt like the energetic younger sibling. Big taplist. Hype-adjacent styles. Lots of options.

The atmosphere was lively. Downtown energy. The beer skewed modern — hazies, pastry-adjacent experiments — but what I loved most was their hoppy red ale, which was really a red IPA in disguise.

Caramel backbone. Firm hop bite. Bright aromatics. It’s another style we don’t see enough of these days, overshadowed by opaque juice bombs. But when done right, a red IPA delivers structure and bitterness in a way that feels satisfying, not exhausting.

By the end of the trip, my expectations had been thoroughly reset.

Jacksonville’s beer scene isn’t about chasing national headlines. It’s not trying to be a destination in the way some smaller, denser cities are. It’s spread out — geographically and stylistically. You have to work a little harder. You have to plan.

But the quality? Better than expected. More consistent than I anticipated. Anchored by veterans like Bold City, elevated by thoughtful operations like Aardwolf, energized by places like Ruby Beach, and made genuinely special by neighborhood gems like Tepey’s.

I also visited my first Publix.

Let me say this delicately: I was not wildly impressed.

Photo: Aardwolf Brewing in Jacksonville.

Maybe I built it up too much in my head. Maybe it’s a regional loyalty thing. But as someone raised on Wegmans — and yes, even acknowledging that Wegmans has slipped in recent years and that Aldi has claimed more of our grocery budget — Publix felt… fine. Clean. Functional. But not transcendent.

Wegmans, even diminished, still clears.

And that’s probably a metaphor for the whole trip. I went in with assumptions. Some held. Some didn’t. The beer scene, especially, exceeded my very modest expectations.

Next time, I’m renting a car. I want to see the beaches. I want to hit the breweries farther afield. I want to understand the full sprawl, not just the San Marco and downtown slice I managed between conference panels on audit standards.

Jacksonville is huge. You can’t fake your way through it in a weekend.

But if you care about beer — if you like sitting at bars and talking to brewers and bartenders and fellow nerds about styles that maybe don’t trend on Instagram anymore — it’s worth your time.

Even if you start the trip with Domino’s and a High Life in a hotel room.