Victory Brewing Company Philadelphia — Restaurant in Philadelphia

Jo our server at Victory was "nice".

What wasn't were the chicken nachos we had to return three times because they were cold. Each time the ice cold nachos were given back to us we could tell that they were the same exact cold nachos we'd had refired time-and-time again.

Then to make matters worse we returned the second item we'd recieved twice because the nacho fries were also cold.

Yet, here we are five beers in after a 6 mile bike ride and almost one-hundred in on a meal that was lackluster and unappealing to anyone's kitchen standards.

Victory is, or was, a bar brand that not only myself (a Philly native) and my friend (a recent NYC inductee) thought was amazing and was, in this case, not.

We did not mind paying but to have to return two appetizers 5 times in total and still pay for even one of those items is obsurdedly unnecessary and wrong.

Having this be our first time at a brick-and-mortar Victory location I'd strongly say that we did not enjoy ourselves. The beers came out right away but although Jo was nice, her attentiveness to us as a server was not.

Ontop of us having to force ourselves to try and eat the lesser of the two evils (the cold nacho fries) because we were hungry from biking and too scared to dare order anything else that would come out possibly even worse, I basically had to serve my partner myself.

I'd asked for sour cream to try and make the fries better which didn't come out until about 20 mins later so, even if our fries hadn't come out cold by this point they would have been. I'd asked for a spoon prior to the sour cream so that I could at least scoop the cold pool of cheese from the bottom of the dish to actually being on top of the fried... the spoon came out towards the end of the "meal" when there were no fries left.

I had to personally get up to grab my own salt, pepper and hot sauce from the server station because Jo never came back to us (and trust me, I waited. Because it's not my job to work for anything when I am out having a meal).

And then the side of hot cheese wiz I'd asked for to try and make the fries somewhat warm was never even delivered.

To make matters worse after having all of these problems at a table that was only stopping in for an hour during our bike journey, we never saw a manager. Which shows the lack of communication between the kitchen, servers and management. Had any item been returned twice let alone 5 times a manager definitely should have stopped over to see what was up.

No one cared, so no one did. Ya'll hadn't cared about the service since we sat down so why would we even ask to see if management cared when clearly they are seemingly no more attentive than our server Jo.

Ya'll can do better. And the service we received from beginning to end was not reflective of the quality of beer that Victory puts...

I don't even know where to begin, because I never wrote a review this bad and I'm so sorry about this, but I just can't leave it this way. I know there are days when you can't be your best self, but so far I have never been served like this.

Today we went to the Victory tap room and since it was full and we couldn't sit down to a table, we went outside to the terrace. We ordered beers from inside then we decided to stay in the terrace despite the fact it rained a bit, so we later ordered from outside as well. To our surprise we had to open another tab, even with all this technology, which was unpleasant because then we had to go two different counters to pay for the beers. Then another rain cloud came and it started raining again so they closed the counter outside and asked everybody to leave the terrace. Everyone went inside but there were no place for us there, so we decided to leave. It was impossible to get close to the counter but we tried our best. Finally a server looked at us, so I opened my mouth to ask for the bill to get out as soon as possible, but she slapped on the counter and said we needed to get somewhere else because we're in the way. I'm so sorry abot that but we weren't even near any inconvenient place, we stood at the corner of the counter. Then she left angrily (?). I was already annoyed by the unfortunate choice they made (to ask everybody to go inside where we couldn't fit), so I quickly found another way to the counter (I needed to switch places with a nice guy who didn't mind me lurking next to him) and I asked for our bills, but she left again so I couldn't finish my sentence. She came back with one of our bills so I wanted to ask for the other one but she left again. I don't know guys, I just wanted to be out of this place, it was very loud from all the people that had been let inside. I felt bad, I felt unwanted, I felt disrespected in many ways. My husband stood behind me, he had a rough day, he had to work, he couldn't hear anything, and I felt so bad looking at him because of all this. Overall this place had a very nice atmosphere, it was clean, it's in a good area, but the service and the choices made during the rain were just very unpleasant (not to mention the two tabs). It was...

As a self-proclaimed IPA sommelier (yes, that's a thing—I made it up after my third flight), I ventured into Victory with the grace of a hop-hardened monk seeking enlightenment. What I found was not just beer... it was a liquid spiritual awakening delivered by a bartender named Ryan who looked like he brews kombucha by moonlight and keeps a diary full of haikus about yeast.

Let’s talk beer: I ordered the Hop Devil, took a sip, and immediately grew a flannel shirt and developed a small beard, despite being a clean-shaven man. The floral notes danced on my tongue like a Coachella headliner, while the bitterness slapped me in the face like a jealous ex. I wept. Not from pain—from joy. My tears tasted like pine resin and self-awareness.

Then came the Cloud Walker. It was so juicy I filed a fruit salad lawsuit against it. It tastes like what I imagine a tropical storm in Bob Ross’s lungs might taste like—wholesome, chaotic, and delightfully unfiltered.

The food? Oh, it’s there. I think I ate a pretzel the size of a hubcap that cured my hangover while I was still drinking. Science can’t explain it.

Ambiance-wise, this place is like a temple where people come to worship the gospel of hops. The air smells like malt and questionable life decisions. The bathrooms? Clean enough to question your entire personality.

Would I return? I already live in their coat closet. Victory, if you're reading this, please stop vacuuming in the morning.

if your idea of a good time involves heavy hop saturation, accidental poetry, and bonding with strangers over phrases like “bro, taste this, it’s like if a pine tree and an orange had a baby during Burning Man,” this place is your Shangri-La.

5 stars. Bring a liver. And a friend who can carry...