The menu, the website, and the taproom screen — from one simple place.

Camp Beer Co. is a Langley brewery and taproom with a wall of hardware to show for it — BC Beer Awards’ Brewery of the Year, a long shelf of medals, and a tap list that changes constantly. The beer and the room are excellent. The way the menu got onto a screen was anything but.

The website ran on a drag-and-drop template builder — the kind that looks easy in the demo and turns into a wrestling match the first time you need to change something real. Editing the menu meant dragging text boxes around a canvas, and a single price change could throw a column out of alignment or quietly break the layout. So the team stopped trusting it. The real menu got rebuilt by hand in InDesign and re-exported as PDFs every keg change; the taproom TV was a third, separate export mirrored off an iPad. Three menus, three sources, none of them live.

And the ask went past looks. Guest experience is priority one at Camp — it’s why people cross the valley for the taproom — and they wanted a site that treated it that way. Not a brochure: something interactive and alive, that could tell a guest whether it’s patio weather, whether the doors are open right now, what’s pouring, when Campy Hour hits.

So the brief was really two jobs: rebuild the website to match the brand and make it live like the room does. And underneath both, what the operation needed was a single source of truth the staff could edit without fear of breaking it.

The one-source-of-truth idea only holds if the source stays healthy without anyone babysitting it. So the boring work automates itself. When staff publish a beer, a wrapped publish action stamps it “New on tap” automatically — nobody remembers to add the badge because nobody has to. Recurring events compute their own next occurrence, so the events strip on the QR landing page always names the next thing happening at Camp without anyone re-entering a date.

And inside Sanity, a Content Health dashboard names every gap in the content — beers missing badge art, blank descriptions, events without dates — so the GM opens one screen and knows exactly what needs attention, instead of clicking through the site hunting for holes.

The running costs went the same direction as the labour. Hosting, the CMS, and every poster render sit on Camp’s own accounts, and the monthly bill is lower than the Wix subscription it replaced. A site that does more, costing less to keep on — that’s what happens when the ongoing fees are for infrastructure instead of for permission to edit.

A taproom that wins Brewery of the Year doesn’t feel like a template, and its site shouldn’t either. So there’s a polish layer over everything. The hero choreographs itself into view — kicker, headline, buttons rising blur-to-sharp in sequence over a photo with a slow sixteen-second drift. Buttons lean toward the cursor. Beer cards tilt in perspective under it. ABV and rating numbers count up when a sheet opens. Every scroll reveal on the site sharpens from a blur instead of just fading in — things come into focus.

Over the “come say hi” section, a canvas of campfire embers drifts upward and swirls away from the cursor — particle count scaled to the area, resolution capped, and fully stopped the moment it scrolls offscreen or the visitor prefers reduced motion. The wow layer never gets to cost battery.

Phones don’t hover, so on mobile the depth comes from scroll and touch instead: CSS scroll-driven animations — zero JavaScript, compositor-only, feature-gated so older phones simply get a still page. The hero copy drifts and fades as you scroll out of it, photos pan gently as they pass, the lineup badges sway like hanging camp signs on staggered clocks, cards compress under your finger — and a three-pixel amber line along the top of the menu fills like a pour as you scroll the tap list.