The scene in down the local pub has a rhythm of its own—the metronome of clinking glasses, the crescendo of warm laughter, and the hum of background chatter. It’s a place of community, where friends gather over pints and new ones are easily made. Yet for parents with autistic children, especially those of us who love both craft beer and the connections these spaces foster, visiting a pub or brewery taproom involves a unique balancing act.
Parenting any child in a public space can be an exercise in both flexibility and endurance, but with autistic children, there’s an added layer of sensory awareness and preparedness. The pub or taproom environment, with its often loud noises, unfamiliar faces, and sometimes crowded spaces, can be an unpredictable sea, like a craft-beer-novice navigating the fridge caught between knowing whether they’d prefer Acronym Soup DDH IPA or a Maple Syrup Imperial Brown Candy Floss Sour.
But there are still beautiful, memorable moments to be found. And for many of us, it’s about finding that delicate balance—between honouring the needs of our children and not letting go of the vibrant experiences that public beer spaces bring.
Our first daddy-daughter trips involved small steps to our cosy, child-friendly local pub over food. Rather than diving into the busiest Friday night dinner-service, we’d opt for the quieter weekday afternoons when the bar’s hum was less boisterous, and staff were more relaxed. The aim was to help our daughter feel as comfortable as possible, testing the waters without overwhelming her with the intensity of a bustling pub.
Needless to say, these early visits weren’t always a roaring success. Back then, before we had a diagnosis, all we knew was she didn’t seem to like pubs very much, which was completely at odds with my sheer love of them. I often felt defeated when arranging a brief family visit to a much loved taproom and felt I was making my family endure (or suffer) my own needs. Still, I was determined to make it work for The Greater Good.
For those of us who love beer, this adaptability isn’t about sacrificing our experience but reshaping it into something new and inclusive, where everyone in the family can feel at ease. We came to realise that, by encouraging our daughter—while respecting her needs—to engage with these spaces, we weren’t just exposing her to the world around her: we were giving her the tools to navigate it, ensuring that her life would be all the richer for it, setting her up for the long haul.
Some pubs and taprooms go above and beyond, some don’t. I’m still always amazed by the amount of brewery venues in particular that solely focus on neurotypical grown-ups and pay no mind to families, let alone those who have members with additional needs.
We’ve found tiny details can feel like massive gestures to families like ours: benches near quieter nooks, friendly bar staff who know how to converse with children rather than treating them like an alien species, or outdoor seating with heating where little ones with big needs have extra room. These small accommodations make a world of difference. For families navigating autism, these small comforts aren’t just helpful—they’re a reminder that we belong in this space as much as any other guest.
However, it shouldn’t all on the brewery or publican to cater to our needs, as if we were the only family that ever existed. Part of the joy for us and lessons we learnt early on was by engaging with them in all the conversation, playing games with them and ensuring they were having a good time. And, if it all becomes a little too much – like on my birthday one year in my favourite brewery taproom – then the kids always come first and we finish our pints and leave.
The time we spend at a taproom or in the pub might look different from others—our visits might be shorter, or our venues more carefully chosen to avoid overstimulation—but the experiences are just as rich. As my child heads towards her GCSEs, she’s beginning to understand these visits as part of our family rhythm. And while there are still challenges – usually when we haven’t given her sufficient notice and outlined the plan with military precision – there’s also an immense sense of pride in being able to share these experiences, slowly and intentionally, with them.
Even with all the planning in the world, there’s always an element of the unexpected. There’s a beauty in the unpredictability, though; like the time when our daughter became so anxious about the lack of tables in a taproom in Northumberland (on yet another industrial estate), forcing us to sit outside on kegs. It transpired the food vendor that day was serving Korean food. For a young teenaged girl who had just discovered K-Pop and had a hatred of rice only rivalled by her distaste for other forms of pop, I was amazed that she wolfed the whole thing down and insisted we come back next time. It’s these moments that become the stories I look back on fondly.
In embracing both the challenges and joys of navigating taproom spaces and public houses with an autistic child, and accepting her feelings of them as equally valid as mine (even if they are negative), I’ve found a surprising sense of connection with her. It’s certainly a different kind of experience (especially before she under the function of being in the pub wasn’t literally to just ‘have a drink’ but for sitting leisurely for a while… we’re still working on that one!). Yet, like all the best beers, it’s an experience worth savouring in its own unique way.
Photo by Marco Chilese | Unspashed.
