After five years, Stone Tap is ‘permanently’ closed, and after many more than that, Slayer is hanging up their loud guitars

The just-closed Stone Tap is now stone cold, along with the sexy names it gave some of its taphouse brews:
— After five years that because of their patrons they say were great, although it more likely was up and down, the owners of Stone Tap in downtown Hudson have closed it “permanently” after five years, while indeed thanking those people for their support. The announcement was made last Monday after a final weekend — via signs on all three doors that front on Second Street — as first reported in as I have said, that bastion of information (as long as it isn’t about music) on entertainment, the Pioneer Press, although they invoked that overused phrase “chef-driven,” and what eatery isn’t, in their report. One thing that sticks in my mind is that among the 50-or-so craft beers that had been offered, often on a rotating basis and also displayed on their door(s), some were given a slightly naughty by nature name, said a bartender there who I had met a number of months ago and agreed to visit and thus check it out. Now I guess I won’t have that chance, and so I guess as far as patronage, I was part of the problem, (although I doubt that naughty brews had anything to do with the closing). That former server added that the racy names caused some parents to order merely by pointing to the items on the menu; hopefully the kiddies couldn’t read yet. But all in good fun, we’ll miss the “Stone,” and thus give it this written “headstone.”
— Along those lines when it comes to having “doors,” on Saturday night, when I was going to check out the karaoke I had heard was offered at Shiner’s in Lakeland, it was only 11:45 p.m. and they were closed. So on to the Beach Bar I went, with a much opposite result. A band named The Bad Habits was taking a practice run through at the end of their last set, and ripped through an extended guitar version of Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix. Near the end of the song, the drummer didn’t something you don’t often see, motioning upward with his sticks, not down, to strike the skins.
— By all accounts, the Slayer farewell tour appearance that rolled through the Twin Cities showed they are going out at the top of their game, rather than being old warhorses that simply faded away. If only my bartender friend Matt could have seen it, he lamented, but he had to work that evening. I caught up with him a few days later and asked him if Slayer was now indeed dead or alive, (when this question is posed about a band leaning toward death metal, it depends on your perspective, I assurred him to appease his concern). They will remain alive in his memory, for sure.
— This is a matter of gas or gash, at least to the head. In less than a full weekend, there was a patron downtown who bartenders said got on a venue roof and ripped out gas lines, and then another who fell to the ground in a way that it looked like he hit his head on a curb. In at least one of the cases, there was a drug such as heroin involved, they said. That being the case, how did the one guy ever get up on the roof?
— A sign at Season’s Tavern touted their Pepper Festival root beer social, since This Is Largely The Tavern Of Pepperfest, based on its location and ongoing and related special activities that peak in late summer. The flip-side of the sign suggested another event, Watch Finding Nemo at Pepperfest Park. I’ll bet that come August you’ll be finding Nemo angling for contest-winning hot peppers. The updated sign at Season’s last Friday invoked the old tongue-in-cheek adage, “Free Beer Tomorrow.” (You’ll often see this referenced up the way at the Village Inn, as well). But since I saw the Season’s sign still up shortly after midnight, does it mean “tomorrow” is Saturday, or rather Sunday?
— Another sign, also in North Hudson, at Kozy Korner, said that pizza, etc. or especially, equates to happiness. I assume they were talking about their own. Is that Kozy Korner Karma?
— And a third sign, at the Agave Kitchen, gave praise to a fisherman near and dear to the owner, honoring Charlie “Seabass” Rode. Hey, that’s a lot more impressive than trout on the Kinni or walleye on the St. Croix. And to get to that level, you need to be simply awesome, which was a job description characteristic that has been listed just down the street at Dick’s, and on the hill at the 24-hour Kwik Trip. Actually they used the term “awesomeness.” I don’t know if that is an actual word, or something written by someone who had spent too much time on the late shift.
— Lastly as far as signs, the Village Liquor store asks this question, “chalice” rather than “glass?” Would that be the Holy Grail, or just a beer?
— So why was there a tall cherry-picker in the south lot of The Phipps on a recent weekend? Maybe its because they were having a performance, and wanted to be at the same height as the upper patio of The Smilin’ Moose! After all, both start with the word “the,” with a capital T.
— Overheard near last call at Starr’s Bar in North Hudson, and timely too. “… so I thought I should ask my dad …” He would have been proud of his daughter.
— Despite checkered success with actual fishing on the St. Croix, Christopher Onken saw the sign when with two sons last Father’s Day and was hooked. He ended up making plans to buy Beanie’s Resort in Lakeland, and also getting taught a thing or two about bait, as in minnows, (possibly bought at the Hudson convenience and/or liquor stores that specialize in these sales over the summer.)
The metro daily that first reported the story added these possible reading choices: Minnesota pheasant hunting season opens with numbers down, (so invoke former prime minister Tony Blair who sent a gift of the birds to a North Hudson man?), and Feds’ idea to allow trumpeter swan hunting has some crying foul (so invoke feeding the birds in winter at Lake Mallalieu and the St. Croix?) Also — this is a word of wisdom — the second pier in on the Wisconsin side the Interstate 94 bridge is where the crappies have been for over a hundred years, he was told. I know, as this was a favorite spot for me to capture fishermen, (no, not like a mythological siren), when I shot photo features for the opener when with the Hudson Star-Observer.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena sits. On a bloodied White House lawn.) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers them. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we were told. Or is there a token one? Is it a vowel? The letters, each in its place, one by one, have been replaced. (By court order. As...
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...
This is a truly awfuI, twisted tale of villains and heroes, powerful ale if used carefully, giant beasties and smaller hobbyts, but also renewal and redemption. I will ascrybe to an ancient rytual, back to when the tyme gyant lyzyrds peered into second story wyndows of apartment byldings and no amount of walls could keep them out of such urban non-placated places, save this practice that annually, about this tyme of three-day holiday, would save humanity for another year.  So in this spryng fertility ryte, go consume copious quantities of hunhy grhym cr’krz and jinjer biyr, deprived of its alcohol as worshippers need to be sober-headed...
Scroll to Top