I’ve honestly forgotten how I first heard of Human Robot. It might’ve been one of those rare cases of Instagram, like the proverbial stopped clock, recommending something I genuinely was interested in. I love their whole vibe — the name,¹ the lager focus, the aesthetic — but didn’t actually remember they were in Philadelphia until I checked the map of where we’d be staying when we were visiting for the weekend,² and saw them right nearby. So within minutes of arriving in town, I was there with a heavy glass mug of Tmavy in hand and a big grin on my face.

The beer didn’t last long. It was chilly up there, and a lovely dark lager was the perfect treatment for that, and also for resetting my brain after a few hours on the motorway from D.C..³  Next, I got the NZ-hopped ‘Party Pils’ — a lurid green glitter beer that the folks on the table next to me were enjoying and which was brewed in collaboration with a local industry-based activist group⁴ for a beer and metal festival on in town that weekend. The resulting heavy playlist and front-bar vibe was a throwback to afternoons at The Bendigo, full of folks who liked their music loud but were semi-secretly just softspoken nerds and weirdos in the best way. The pilsner, if I closed my eyes, was deliciously reminiscent of home. And I love the extra spectacle of a beer like that, and had no time for the hate and scorn they got when they first appeared.⁵ None of that negativity was in the air that day, thankfully. Besides, if you can enjoy the aesthetics of a Lukr pour, or indeed the music selection or myriad other ways a place dresses up the drinking experience but are somehow categorically against this one thing, something odd is going on.

I spotted, with some surprise and even more delight, a mild on the menu under all those lagers. So with a pint of that, I sat and soaked in more of the surroundings where lots of little details — the glassware, pouring techniques, coasters, clever merch, and subtle elements of staff interactions — all gave a distinct sense of giving-a-damn that some places just lack. But then it was time to wander downtown, because I needed a cheesesteak — I’d eaten one basically every day I worked at The Catfish, and this was their home.⁶ (It did not disappoint.)

Saturday was for galleries and museums⁷ — but also included stops at a decent tavern, a charming dive bar, and a slick but comfortable cocktail joint. On Sunday morning we visited the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, as you do, and had weird historical whiplash from standing where complaints about burdensome tariffs and overseas renditions were signed 90,852 days ago.

Then, rather than look for one last place to visit before leaving town, we went back to Human Robot — the same one, in Kensington, bypassing their other locations and just going with the gravitational pull of that previous experience. On Friday, a Polotmavy had eluded me (bad timing with a keg change), so I went straight for that on my return and absolutely adored it. I also discovered that I could get another cheesesteak right there in the bar, and made no attempt to resist the temptation. The place was relaxed and suitably Sunday-ish; quieter, but still lively and lived-in. I didn’t add to my handwritten notes at the time, but for the record, once again: the beers were flawless; the vibes were immaculate. I look forward to my third visit, whenever that is.

Diary IV, entry#116: Human Robot 4/4/25 pretty much headed right here upon arrival in Philadelphia. Smaller bar than I thought; a proper little front bar. Busy on a Friday afternoon. Heavy music on, with the the genuine nice-guy vibes of actual heavy music practitioners. 1) Tmavy from the side pour in a big handle mug. 2) Party Pils Kiwi-hopped green glitter beer. Hell yes. Everything in here displays a high level of obvious give-a-shit. I absolutely love it. 3) Matley Mild. A mild! (They call it a mild!)

1. “Robot” is my nickname for my sister Rose, and (fun fact) the word basically just means “worker”, with connotations of drudgery and compulsion.
2. In the historic Brewerytown area, delightfully coincidentally.
3. I was in the passenger seat, thankfully, but a hundred miles of janky American road full of giant vehicles with what seemed like half their drivers glued to their phones still frayed my nerves.
4. Their Instagram post, timestamped 1 April but dead serious, has a video that captures the sparkles nicely — and the song they’re named after has a suitably-toned video and is, frankly, freakin’ sick.
5. Jeff Alworth’s 2018 post ‘Glitter Beer: the full report’ now makes for an excellent retrospective if it all passed you by or slipped your memory.
6. Alex Delaney’s guide was useful here; I went to Woodrow’s, partially for convenience to other things, but also for that in-house cheese sauce, which was spectacular.
7. In the tradition of my previous Half-Assed Guidebook: The Mütter Museum was more interesting for its meta-commentary on the complications of being a storehouse of human remains (which attracted a bit of a crass voyeuristic crowd that was sometimes hard to be around, like a too-rabid fan of “true crime”); the Barnes Foundation, by contrast, was an absolute delight and a charmingly weird collection in a stunning building; then (up the steps past two statues of Rocky Balboa) the Philadelphia Museum of Art was huge, grand, and capable of holding its own against more famous institutions in bigger cities — I spent a lot of time in a room full of Duchamp with some pieces installed by Marcel himself.