Where’s the beef? It is here. My sister-in-law went far beyond the usual ham for a meaty holiday dinner.
But no ham? Or even turkey? But one then two then three meals, so wait … As its now been 40 days. But this would not be vegan.
Over the course of The Most Recent Major Holiday Gathering, and it is not Valentine’s or St. Patrick’s Day, there was every kind of fish or other fowl, filleted, big-bodied or small, or cow- or pig-based meat you could imagine, from all parts of the animal(s), and I think even hind-quarters and butt-steak are great. Ham was in hock. You just had to wait patiently, like a child putting their hyperness on hold while waiting for presents, which just might need to include Adderal, a 90-day supply from the pharmacist so to last until an early Easter, barely, depending on how you weigh New Year’s, with possibly more sugar-based candy. Like was abundant on all fronts, even by the TV stand, not standing alone.

(But what does stand alone, sorta but related as you will see, for food as we speak and you may need some added tips after or if you went to a Seder meal, these days appropriate, is Easter does a take with lefse and hummus, and brings in Tex-Mex. See the Picks Of The Week department.)

— The last storm, possibly, in its second part, of the seasonal slideoff of bar traffic left Minnesconsinites stranded — at home. On Sunday night, the north end in particular was a no-show, as Mallory’s said on its door, “closed due to the #@*&%$#& weather,” and the newly falling from favor Moose had its doors shut before 11:30 p.m. It was almost as much of a ghost town to the south, but at least Hudson Tap had one person playing pinball, two people at the bar-rail, three playing darts and a gang of four came in around midnight.
At Dick’s there about that many total people in attendance, but at least a few cars on the side-street, and before 1 a.m. a kinder-gentler mosh pit broke out via a new arrival to the dire darts diving area. The previous night, at the height of the snowstorm, only Dick’s and The Tap were open for business, their bartenders said. —

Back on the main topic, at least one beef and/or pork dish was even topped with bacon, so another pig offered its life, using a name brand — in what was an accompaniment and not just in The Eve church services, as she freely offered meat topping and the like over other meat — so cutting full strips and not just bits, and not just on the side. Double your pleasure. Meat that was manly, along the lines of prime rib, or at least prime pork, was included beneath it that I’m sure was braised, or you could also say marinated. But herring showed, her signature, if not salmon. Garnishes too, and maybe a few slices/nuggets of fruit and not just apples and oranges on it? And there were at least three types of it, “plain,” offered with each meal maybe with carmel topping, if again apples, as the holidays wore on.
(A black buddy of mine was just getting off his retail store shift, working for The Man until 5 p.m. He was calling home to the missus, when I approached his counter, saying that he was just yearning for her trademark scalloped potatoes with her trademark thick-cut bacon added, (he motioned with his fingers). But she was at church, doing the choir rehearsal thing for the upcoming Easter and its full religious season. So it would have to be Wendy’s and whatever mash-up of such type of grub they had. He seemed OK with it. But the upshot of this tangent? My sister-in-law offered all of the above, if I remember right, but woulda been minus Wendy’s and there beef, at her main meal of many, over the last (full) holiday of 2023.)
So on Christmas Eve, the first day, served up was the first dish from a four-legged animal, probably locally raised in our state known for such in its farming, and including beef. It was again, not the usual holiday grub. More creative in its ingredients. And thank God no lefse (that’s for another post) or lutefisk. I think we went tenderloin over sirloin.
But there was also a “snack” later that night, and it went beyond Christmas cookies and related candy, gotta love chocolate covered cherries, although there was that too. More meat, although the individual chunks were closer to bite-size. (See below as such a possibility.) I recall that some of it was even served on a stick. Sauced small party weenies? Coulda been half a hot dog.
And on Christmas Day, when back again for a third trip, and not needing a buffet line, there was more killer calories protein. This completed, so to speak, the whole enchilada. But not too spicy, or with the roast beast too rare, for the oldsters. And now, at last, ham even showed up, aplenty! I’d been wondering if that would, eventually, come along, from the get-go. All that was vetoed was veal.
From the start of the two-day-or-more celebration, everything you could possibly expect was there, except maybe there was veggie offering in absense, so not to pay total homage to that one of the many main food groups. For some reason I was fully assuming I would see green beans and silver almond slivers, or can of corn, Old School farm term with varied meanings. But there was a reason, as the 25th wound down, to keep the same number uniform …
More meat. And room for it on the dining room table, or countertop that was the abyss between the main eating or cooking areas. And that staple can of corn, and other veggies, reigned king.
And now a meatball joke, and not from the movie. My brother in high school got really sick after a holiday-time night of … you know. But he blamed it on consuming way too many of mom’s heavy-on-sauce-and-brown-sugar-cinammon BBQ meatballs. We still don’t know if mom ever figured it out, or maybe just played it coy — for years. Buy now I guess I’m outing him.

What is in a name? And what follows may be like this exercise, a bit longer than more four-letter words, but maybe just as “foul” …
I “went” on a “walk” through a lot of cars in park last year, when I saw the (pink as per an employee and her decked out car) sign on an auto bumper sticker, Cast Your Ballot For Vivek, now outed by vote.
I didn’t know who he was at the time, or Nikki Haley, a fire-brand as in the comet, to pick a more prominent one, but I immediately thought that hey, we’ve had other five-letter names as schmuck for our president. I’ll take some of the recent ones in reverse order, Biden, Trump, Obama and Bushs, (I made up that last one, to fit the theme, in part because there were two of them, so twice.) Double your digit folly. And Nixon beforehand. Vivek’s second name is too “wordy.”

— With this last blizzard, that didn’t really show, go figure — and more play with numbers follows — we were supposed to have 13 inches, I was told, and we got about half a foot, so six or seven inches if you’re counting, give or take a half-inch. More flurries could follow, we’ll have to see, to save meteorologicalician’s ass. Mom in Milwaukee said the same, first decreeing like Pontius Pilate as one season ends and another begins, that there would be much more, then really dwindling it off. Few people said five (inches), like the above.
It has been a winter of guys at times sporting flip-flops and arm-less T-shirts as temps hit fifties, yielding on a few days to parkas and we have needed windbreakers, partying women who got used to the warm climes and lack of glaze and forgot how to walk fast in heels, fewer cases of big boots with killer clunky ankle areas, parties of Minnesotans who still could not find their cars or clubs or party buses, and despite having lack of such to occupy their minds didn’t know which state they were in, but still coming up with quips on being in a quandary about lost locations and lack of snow … here it’s just the state of things. And before the supposed killer storm, by all accounts, I saw a mom in boots and a younger teen daughter (trying to extend her youth?) wearing bunny slippers.
Signs were still found above bathroom stalls and such about icy yard plowing and snow removal and spring muck cleaning before spring came — a bad winter for such business until, maybe in short form, now. Another basically bad, was after St. Patrick’s Day a bunch of vomit was on a doorstep and into the sidewalk downtown, looking the same pink color as the new and I guess cheaper way to combat ice with salt on streets, that got cleaned up in stages, like a snow plow crew going at it more then multiple days, like this snowstorm was to be. First was sand-piled on top a measure that covered the much of it, then shoveling came about and took most of the rest, leaving a space next to the rise of the first step, but then snow covered every last lingering bit that was there. The cleaners must have followed the forecast(s). —

Clinton was by most any name an exception, a red-letter day, although you might name him Billy, and have Trump go by Donny, or you could call him Barak, but then but for a one-digit departure, we have had Reagan and Carter, (Jimmy), and even two by the way of George. Ah more of the convenience of typos, and I could say Ronnie (Ronny?) before Reagan. I will milk more typos later. But God, we might need five different main parties, not just ass of “horse” and “phant.” And independent would make it six.
God, invoke his name again for the point of politics and you could use the term Jesus or Allah, or Christ or Yahweh, or even Buddah or getting close Ghandi, but as more of an exception to the theme — Kennedy is close — you have to go back as far as Eisenhower or Roosevelt. Red-letter Satan and/or the Devil though, is not on the ballot, losing out to The Lord in the squared-rings of the primaries. “Hades” is his one precinct. And what about, again going red, Lenin or Stalin. Even I as Joseph Winter could fit the letter of the bill, to be on the ballot as a write-in, as these days who wins the race for president is subjective, even when by vote and its chads, to get the number exact. The Buena Vista building — which found pols giving out leaflets, or just say hanging them on doorknobs on Saturday morning — could become my White House, four uses of five-letter words, as I write my campaign flyer.
And since this is the Badger State I write from, we also have to tab Gov. Evers too. But his first name as Tony cannot by misconstrued to fit with fives.
To bring in local elections, going north, we have Kerry again this non-national time around as a first name, last name Ries. And Kruze, noteworthy as not Cruz. And if we make Kate into Katie, as in Garza, more fits, exactly, the lettered bill. And for local “board” of more than one type, there is Maria Rudie, again double your fun if you are a politics/language junkie sort, Gavin and David and Bobby (not Bobbie) and Randy and Molly …
And for New Richmond mayor, Horne, with a first name of Fred or Freddy, and I suppose I could spell it Fredy.
A sign posted next to his said for sale or to-be-bred cows, as in “polled” Herefords, so get those sheep out to vote to the polls. Like David Mustaine sang, “go ask the sheep about their beliefs.” And don’t let a muzzle be put upon you. Although if you are of this belief, you could indeed “censor” me.
Going back to flips of fours and sixes — all five letters — a last sign said as its start Sora, to get out the Spanish-speaking vote, (hire more interpreters), which I think would resonate with my niece Hannah. She worked at a club or pub for a summer job, twice, and like in many cases, the cook was Hispanic, and had a crush or shine on her. Orders yet again needed to be called out in Spanish, I assume, and have witnessed in other bar and grill venues, and even Burger King. Since she spoke Spanish, she was The Queen, especially for the drama of complicated orders, like all those people who will die it they get any MSG or gluten, or peanuts, or XYZ.
Just don’t fill out the order ticket of a guest, in English.

There was little after-party, as it was early on St. Patrick’s Day that revelers in downtown Hudson got bombed, literally. Come noon you had to hump it to New Richmond or River Falls, or nowhere in the western part of St. Croix County — or run with your tail between your legs, sorta, to St. Paul. But even by mid-day, as the big parade was yesterday’s news, you could tell in role-reversal that about every third car parked on the main street had Minnesota plates, if any at all, at least in front. In a stroll after midnight, a lone squad was about the only car in sight, rushing to chase down someone and going fast enough for two drivers. Behind not far, a car made a questionable U-turn, then sliced toward a side-street to find an open bar. Note all the bad bombed-out car gags. Holy Wars and the punishment due to drivers from out-of-state making poor choices.

— With the coming of spring, a string of spaced red shoe-shaped strips (but not ruby slippers) could have signaled foot traffic as they spread throughout the sidewalks of the business district, up and down most of the blocks, around corners and meandering closer to shops and then nearer to the street, block after block after block — as our Minnesconsin (who has a greater claim to this non-fame?) transportation repair season, the second of two, begins anew. These were guides for construction crews to find stuff below the pavement, a few also written in yellow actual numbers or letters. But the stripe spaces were like those made by a Genesis-type or sci-fi giant, judging by the distance between the left and right. The average length between them, measured on foot, was three or four strides.
First sign, leading to others, on the frequent wind of this spring, as it begins to unwind.
The most applicable sign of an effected business, it must be made of cardboard, like one of those that wouldn’t stand the test of time — when you punch a hole beneath a pair of those hanging hooks with the end of your scissors — first the right end fell down off the top pole, and then dangled, then the left, then both dropped. So the sign was laid out by the swirling wind on a small patch of lawn, then pulled completely away, and put away.
The written chalk outline, its that season again for children to play outside and draw since there’s not snow, outside another shop looked like, and bore the etching markings of, a bad cartoon character on a beer bottle, from either the craft brewery across the street or Oliphant or its ilk, from neighboring Somerset.
The signs in, and of, spring are blowing in the wind. —

So as the Irish approached, check out the gig where it’s always the after-party venue of choice in the downtown, going right to their later-than-on-most-weekdays (Sunday included now that Jeff Loven only plays there in summer) last call — Dick’s Bar and Grill. It’s more the bar portion at this time of night, and is the last pit-stop before calling it an evening in a several-block area, and a spot where local bartenders give it their all, minutes after a long-last shutdown of their own establishments until nextday. Traffic has always tended to move northward in town to catch that last drink at last call.
On this night it looks like you will not see much if any after-bar outtings, but here is what I saw at Dick’s for the grand finale, such as it was. (As this being just an hour into the essentially fourth day running of St. Pat’s, and as late Sunday yielded to Monday’s early morning, there was more about fitting-this-all-in to be told, especially by all of those few regular revelers who were pushing the limit Sunday night, and the brave who can go that long.)
But at Dick’s come 1 a.m. there were only four people, all bar workers, half still on the job and the other half lingering frontside after being cut from duty, and surviving. Dick’s had a few Irish ditties being played on the jukebox and/or music TV stations, if you consider the likes of Oasis to be Irish.
It had been that way since before midnight, and not much better in most of the earlier hours, they said. But in the a.m. there were a lot more people, who forsook the usual Bloody Mary’s and got loaded with Irish Car Bombs and corned beef hash.
But not long before THEIR last call, one of them loaded the jukebox one last time. Would there be more Irish music? He seemed quite ambivalent, but then a bit receptive. Meanwhile, the others conversed about their varied ratios of Irish blood, with one saying he was unsure and another that there existed a name back in his lineage that after exiting Ireland was green to the core. Kilt-like clothing was congured. I countered that I am 100 percent German. Ouch! (I a bit later saw a guy I knew, and asked him if his Packer jacket was meant to be GREEN and Gold, not shamrock green, but again uncertainty. He then claimed Irishness based on his last name, but first said he is largely German. Another one? For what reason was he unsure.)
You don’t really want to go home, but no reason to stay here. But as I exited a couple came in who looked Hispanic. And out on the side-street, there were more cars parked, all in a row, then the sprinkling I’d seen earlier, and two guys from Minnesota, I’m assuming, crossed said street. One had a skip in his step, and the other sported funny ear things on springs, meant to be Irish-looking not earrings, as they were higher placed on the pate. At least they were green. A fifth man came running by, and they all had Dick’s in their sights.
And that was that …
So I guess New Richmond was the place to be. My source, checking out his first parade there, said that the weather was cold enough to chase more than just snakes away, but was still fairly well attended. “It was cute,” he said, adding the parade was mostly for the wee little ones, who gathered candy thrown like it was Easter, but also had all the same usual trappings of things flow past you. After 20 minutes, he and crew were off to Mallard’s for a drink or two. They noted the difference in the two places, although both lie in St. Croix County, if near its edges.
So despite its last call patronage in just one spot, there was likely no after-bar in Hudson. But an after-parade in New Richmond.

What, it’s not quite St. Paddy’s Day yet?!? The Irish are already out and about, green garb and red hair and the pot of gold standard, even early as in this afternoon. The classic, Irish laden and ladeled out like corn beef, St. Paul parade is in the books, as per the just-hit-the-newsstands Irish Gazette, (find them, via me, at 17 western Wisconsin locations near you), but it is still 5 O’Clock somewhere, actually more like 4 p.m. Sunday in New Richmond as per the coming time of their own decades-long-annual city parade. So there is a wee bit of time left (my Irish folk I hope will forgive the overuse of the term) to again, as another overused term, get your Irish out. With it falling on a Sunday, that makes for a full three-day party.
What until then? Paddy Ryan’s Pub and Boxty House (both) in downtown River Falls kicks it into high as in highlands gear tonight, that being Saturday, (always have to specify), with their latest music offering, from the Chris Silver band, which is bluegrass enough as to be close to being Irish, (lilt and maybe lyrics compared). They are iconic, as per Irish and beyond, so get it going early. Bloody Mary’s on Sunday can wait. Irish whiskey can’t. But you can return for Irish grub on the next day.
Over at Johnnie’s a Gospel Choir singer was kickin’ it from the corner stage, and one of his mates was appreciatively listening at the first table sitting in front, in another pre-party. Come Sunday at 5 p.m. at the Wild Badger up in New Richmond, there would be a single deejay on from then until close. That’s a lot of hours to put in, much like an old Irish farmer. At the parade an hour before, a couple of newbies to New Richmond planned to take it in, not yet a couple in a complete sense, but gathering over the Irish in becoming so.
Which brings me to such divinity, as this is a more-or-less sacred Sunday, at Devine’s Liquors on the north end of River Falls, down or up, depending on how you take it, from Paddy Ryan’s. They are known for their Irish spirits, as per the-above-mentioned whiskey, although they may be sold out right now. So keep your St. Pat’s Day rager going, and thus continue it forward, by hitting them up when they are fully restocked. And while there, check out the latest copy of the Irish Gazette, letting all know what’s going on as such in these parts and across the pond with Irish politics and more, which is as interesting as here. And filling up its back page, full page, as such pages are a thing, see a dealie of what Charlie’s Pub in Stillwater has to offer, as the 17th comes to fore.
Irish grub at a Sub House? They have a sandwich board for such sandwiches, at their downtown Hudson location, and right now you will find their staple of the holiday, featuring (noted as warm) both sauerkraut and corned beef, also noted as you’re getting two portions. So forego potato famine.
But from it, out and about, and thin as a wisp and sporting the famously orange-red hair, are the Irish lasses, to be seen at places from bars (and crossing the streets across traffic to get to them), to convenience and grocery stores to get cabbage to yes, WalMart and especially Target, flooding as one out the door and its turnstyles, I think. At a local coffee shop where I happened to be, again, just prior to high noon, dropping off some Irish Gazettes, I saw in line in front of me a lass with such decorated hair. She was being waited on by another with such look, bobs on top and all, and then venturing past with her cup of Joe in hand fresh from the grinder was a third, who, and I just had to ask this, said she was indeed Irish. I had spotted her when first coming in the double-edged front door. And so it goes, just prior to This Day.
If this was another year — and I will help out the local Chambers of Commerce — we would be seeing the stamp-card promotion for area businesses, Irish and less so, where if you filled out all 31 days of March, in its Ides, you would get a prize. Not getting far away from our now chilly temps by going to the Bahamas, mind you, but still cool indeed.
Despite that, I did spy a single sprout of clover with a trio of buds springing from a crack in the sidewalk in front of one of those businesses, a foot from the wall, back early in the month already, with many more to come. And now as I look out my window into the dawn of St. Patrick’s Day, there are a wee bit of snow flurries being blown about by the wind. I realize this prose is all a little much, and laid on thick, but hey, it is St. Pat’s Day!

I will now offer a running or should I say marching joke of more than, see the headline of the post below, “Gee, a wee bit of McGee,” about Upper Midwest parades that glamly bleed Irish green — going both east and west statewise from the Twin Cities. So you could call this a “yarn,” another four-letter word. I don’t know if posted inside the Irish Gazette, which I contributed to, publisher Brooks found a way to get around to this yet, or if he for sure will because of multiple health considerations that go way past what most humans face, and that’s a huge statement, but he took special effort to pen a piece about a parade that rivals what you will see crowded into St. Paul. This being set in of all places sparse South Dakota, I think in Sioux Falls — Fargo too was mentioned — but regardless, it should soon be in his online edition of the Gazette. (Both versions include all things Irish you need to know. And this website, too, is packed with more St. Pat’s info, some of which you can already see below.)
This parade-and-more data, broadly, amazes me, along the lines of what you’ll see written on this site and hopefully also in the Gazette, because these places that are like River Falls and New Richmond in western Wisconsin, even if lacking the tens of thousands in their metro area — if they even have a metro area — still have lineups that will see thousands lining the streets to watch. Dressed all in green and seeing, parading in front of them, more green, of so many shades it approaches gold, on the streets themselves. Shamrocks and such will put parades of other holidays to shame.
So if you are in Minneapolis, boring on St. Pat’s Day as opposed to St. Paul, and don’t want to stay put too far, consider straying and making a road trip east or west — whether it takes mere minutes or several hours, as I freely make comparisons. Forego foraying north or south, and then there’s North versus South Dakota, so Iowa and the Iron Range loose out.
OK, I will now name my man that started this, being my charade written in a department inside this website, of words running on, because it is oh so Irish. His name is Fenn.
And the referenced names of O’Connor and O’Connell, as a lettered postlude past The Story of O, start with six. And as I also referenced four-letter-words — beginning but not ending with my main doorway, but no, not backdoor man — the band Motley Crue, embodying both lengths, and led by musician Nikki Sixx, although it could be Thin Lizzy. And is there not an Irish name Sinn? And between those first numbers, namely five, there are those in “music lover,” in both its words, and one of those is the just shorter Fenn, who is forever tied in my mind to Dibbo. The “icon rock club,” more letters that are four invoked, after five and six.

But where does all this health consideration stuff weigh in? The wife of Brooks known as Mary Sue, his editor, has penned a big part of her stroke of a journey — I’ll let it speak for herself, as the first-person story is on the newsstands now via the Irish Gazette — and she is the Distinguished Irish Woman of the St. Paul parade. The other half of this regional “power couple,” five and six letters again, has kept himself as busy with being a caregiver to her, as he has been putting out the latest Irish paper edition. Just as much, Brooks said that on the production end of things is something he has not seen in 37 years in his position — for you newbies that goes back as far as Reagan and Carter, more six letter words — were woe after woe, and he really feels for the guy he’s worked with for that long who had now been working away as best he could through his own health difficulties, minute by minute, to do more than a journeyman’s job. It seems for Brooks and Crew, more such letters, although not complaining, one health problem after another confronts them. And has in one form or another, for years.
That is the short story of where you will find what, on holiday parades and the like, in both of our publications, whether in print or online. (More of my stuff was supposed to get in, there as well, but ended up getting axed because the number of pages were cut in half. So from a selfish standpoint, this is a guide on where to find my posts.) And the Irish Gazette is on the stands all around the metro, and will soon include the Hudson area, after my nap, as your starting point to this journey — even though you are reading about the ideas first in the instantaneousness of being online.

A last way to salvage my “bad dad joke” online, inside material. River Falls until 2020 had bed races as part of its annual Irish extravanganza. Many of the each-room hospital kind. Can they adjust neck versus leg height from the tile floor, or pavement, for reason of comfort or competition?
My dad has had to shift nursing homes, and that’s no joke. And not funny. But what is, is the (back)story of simply making the bed you sleep in, as in you have to possess one to make it. Where he was, the bed came with the (astronomical) price. Where he is going to, provide your own. Or rent one of there’s, for a daily rate that rivals what you’d pay monthly for apartment rent. To defray? Go through Medicare or Caid? Go figure. To arrange for one — in what should not be rocket science to have one where you can raise your feet, as opposed to the rest of you, different in their provision — you might be on the phone for hours with someone from a country where most people sleep on a mat on the floor. Shifting your voice that no one will hear or understand anyway, from one operator to the next. And the supervisor is out until April.
The ending joke to this rant? If mom and dad invest enough money to get the Gonzo 5000 version hospital bed, they could recoup their costs by winning the River Falls bed races in all categories — including the appearance one, as my stringingly-legged old dad is still as attractive as myself his son, and that’s non-jokingly an ouch, although we just did the joint photo-cover-shoot for Bed-Ridden Quarterly — but wait, that would require further investment in time travel, as the races became deceased in 2020! All full 5000 circa 2020? More four-letter words.

In both River Falls and New Richmond, although 20 miles apart south to north, as you well know, the many thousands in their populations will be matched in number only by those on their main streets — even if not termed so — on St. Patrick’s Day, which itself goes basically by one name, to become one with the Irish and those who wish they were. So they’ll be mashed, as in McGuinnessed, so close together that they need to rub elbows while trying not to spill beer. Like at that old club in Hudson that people still ask about, like just yesterday, Dibbo’s, run for many years by a guy named McGee.
And running the trek up and down county highways, the G and A and UU or V — although exit from E as it goes only east-west in western Wisconsin, there are venues between, with parades and potato chowder contests. Such include the ghost found-in-a-strip-mall of the past Paddy Ryan’s Pub in the matchingly bigger town of Hudson, as it’s now located in River Falls. And go tinier in Mary’s Corners in Erin Prairie, the epitome of a small and cozy neighborhood Irish Pub in an even smaller town. Don’t dilly dally on your drive, and thus don’t forget squeezing in Meister’s in Boardman, which is not only offering the usual Irish-American fare, but the more rare corned beef chowder (see below), which is described at length online as being tinged with bacon and dijon mustard, although we don’t know the exact recipe on County A, the highway this time. The server agreed about the novelty of the ingredients, although needing a little prodding. This is not the soup-style of many an Irish stew — and I’d be lamb-basted if I did not lament about its lamb, forego the regular beef — or fish or seafood chowder and/or all those many other corned beef-based combos, although you can find them also, if you go hard online, by looking for the aforementioned soup. You won’t even find corned beef chowder listed, exactly, among the 27 most favorite Irish entrees. But its also recommended to try this main one, and all of the above, with soda bread or brown bread dressed in butter, too.

Back south at the St. Croix-Pierce County Line, in River Falls, being joined virtually at the hip will also be the case.
“By the time it’s noon, it will be shoulder to shoulder in here and you won’t even be able to get in the door,” said a bartender at Johnnie’s, which was also known originally as The Linehans, and is an Irish pub. The server then rushed off to pour a two-dollar beer for a pack-them-in pre-St. Patrick’s Day patron. On The 17th itself, and 18th too, they will offer free corned beef and cabbage on local hard rolls while it lasts, and they are sure to make a lot, as this part of the event, like the total picture, sells itself. So no need to charge for it. Specials on Irish whiskey and other drinks also will be offered, with stained glass windows as a backdrop.
The bartender said that on this day, like a select few others in town each year, people can buy a wrist-band-type-thing and take themselves and their drinks to the streets, and be allowed to roam more sidewalks and enter other venues to look for — more leprechaun-type things for possible prizes? And they will have music also, Irish themed and otherwise, starting early at 2 p.m.
In addition they call it, for the lucky, the Get Lucky Leprechaun Hunt, and there are many more than a wee allotment. Fifty-plus numbered “leprechauns” are currently hiding in businesses across River Falls. You have March 1-17 to find at least 30 of them. Bring your completed entry (available at all 50 or maybe even 55 locations) to Veterans Park on Sunday, March 17 between 1-5 p.m. for your chance to win $500, $300 or $200 in local gift cards.
But wait, the same prize numbers await for the potato soup crawl, described below. But you must vote.
No purchase is necessary at any locations, for both, but certainly welcomed. That’s how these businesses approach their pot of gold. It’s open to all ages, not just Guinness drinkers.
Here are the rules (condensed): The leprechauns are hidden across River Falls, not limited to downtown or retail locations, but don’t look too hard amidst the nearby clover fields. Each location will have a green leprechaun sign on their front door, or window, letting people know they are participating.
The leprechauns are on big, bright green cups and on them bear the look of the leprechaun pictured for the event, complete with their signature and dominating mustache. The cups are 16 ounces, for holding your favorite Irish draft, and have a number on which to look listed to the right of it. Put your business name on it … duh.
“For example, if you are in business ABC and find leprechaun #4, you will write ABC next to #4 on your card,” the rules elaborate.
Find at least 30 of the leprechauns, that’s about half, and write the correct business names next to their corresponding numbers on the card.
Return to Veterans Park, not quite like a trek up a castle’s hill, at 6 p.m. for the drawing. You must be present to win.
“Please do not share leprechaun numbers with others,” as that would bring bad luck.
A link to all participating locations will be posted.
In a photo for the contest, two bearded men are shown with a medallion-style, like-wooden-coin much bigger than the width of an oak tree. One’s locks dripping down inches from his chin are bright Irish red.
As for the soups to sample, there are about 20 businesses strutting their stuff, from smoked and otherwise corn beef, spicy or not, and bacon potato varieties, and more. You can try them out, and be present to win if a voter, at the same times and places as the leprechaun hunt. You must stomach at least ten to be eligible for cash cards.
“It’s free to participate and you don’t even have to (sign up to) enter,” said spokesperson Mei Mei Abdouch, of the River Falls Business Leaders group. Her cookie business is located off of Main Street on Elm, but although “quieter,” she said they’ll still expect 1,000 more visitors. There could be several times more than that on the main drag.
The city holiday had been focused in large part around bed races, careening about, until the wheels came off in 2020, when the River Falls Area Chamber of Commerce and Tourism Bureau pulled funding. Apparently there was no room left at the inns those came from. Other city events, most notably the River Dazzle spectacle, had featured a parade, but any St. Patrick’s Day version has long since fizzled.

That is anything but true about New Richmond. Their popular long-annual parade, with people by the many hundreds several deep along the wide-sidewalked route complete with curbside bump outs for seating, careens for several blocks through the city, bending abruptly westward and happening past McCabe’s Shamrock Club. They again this year are featuring a food cart outside, and it is of ethnic varieties that expand beyond Irish, like last time around in River Falls with a venue featuring Mexican food. The exact menu is still to be determined. (The same is true with the publicizing of fare at Paddy Ryan’s Pub and Boxty House back down in River Falls, located in the midst of the madness, although it is sure to feature some of its annual favorites. Guinness specials, of course, and other drinks such as Irish whiskey discounted. They continue their venture into new territory, with a band on Saturday evening. Paddy’s Pub doing its take on P.D. Pappy’s.)

Less costly at McCabe’s …
But also, we toast McCabe’s, as there can be brews for as little as $1.25 and also featuring Johnny “Blood,” McNally Red Ale. Also offered is the more newly added World Whiskies Awards Ireland Blended Winner named Red Locks, from Brooklyn Park, a triple distilled over-the-course-of-four-years all in Ireland, curated blend using four different casks, available also at a rarity for even western Wisconsin, a drive-through liquor store open until midnight. A sign on the door between the main pub and the drive-through shop reads Cead Mile Fance, so very Irish. Another says, The parade starts here, (at 4 p.m. Sunday), and above it are five photos of such parade, (which began in 1977), one showing a tall man in the middle, and there’s another showcasing a such lad up closer to the tall ceiling. The parade lineup is in order of arrival, outside McCabe’s at 3 p.m. Also along the wall: Guinness celebrating 200 years in America. And then: Brewed For The Lucky.
And the original proprietor does not go unsigned, and she as an Irish lass parlays praise in a pair of photos for her namessake, founded back in 1944, (theme here?) Nearby, the walls are shared by two opposing shamrocks, large and small, and to frame the time, there also sits a pix of the biggest watch you’ll ever see, longer than a leprechaun’s wooded leg.
Up the street, also Irish, near the parade starting point, is Nootz and Oz Pub, which a few months ago added on the south wall of the building a big mural — like the smaller ones shown on the sidewalk bump outs — the length of two ten-yard lines as a sports bar, depicting the varied history of New Richmond.

We have seen a complete absence of workable policy solutions for the Mexican border crisis, so how is this for a plan — put our heads together with people in our local communities as a whole, and subgroups such as the churches and even strapped charities that have always born the brunt, and also government agencies and businesses and housing authorities, and even individuals working individually, to develop a comprehensive plan (government term) to accept immigrants into our society workably when they inevitably arrive here, as they are sure to keep acoming to chase the American dream. It hasn’t gotten much REM sleep lately, as the thus-named band will tell you, in so many more ways than one. So stay awake (rather than going for broke, with WOKE.) Help them to go for the gold that has of late become tarnished bronze. Little glimmer of silver here. Do they have that as well as the long-sought-after gold in Mexico? And do they get to keep the gold that falls, like Americans, when Coming To America?
How to help them leverage such an advantage, when they get to The States, from the provinces?
Maybe we will welcome in someone who will become the next Lady Gaga.

— Sometimes on analogy or analysis, or argument or metaphor, can be taken too far.
As possibly in the post that appears at bookkends to this brief. Imagine, possibly, that you can only accept the immigrant so far.
Can you stick too many people in a room too often, to keep none on the street? Or slash your profits too much, to save the poor?
I really think not. But …
Take these two examples as metaphor.
And place virtually all things on a continuum, albiet on the far upper end. Is that too far left?
How you ever seen the silly sovereign citizen video clips? Yes, of course, question authority and how it is allowed to rule over you, but make your stance logical. For after all, there always has to be a ruler. Even if he or she wields a ruler like a nun. Sorry about that, but there can never be a real thing like anarchy. Because some overlord will always rise to the top, and then … there is a ruler! And layers of sub-rulers, even if under him as minions. Power can never be shared equally.
And, who actually eats eight servings of veggies, even if a vegetarian devoid of consuming meat? Or what, four f—— kinds of an even fave fruit? I don’t know anybody who even hoards that much junk food, much less commonly consume a couple of sticks of carrots. This is merely an ideal, to keep in mind, obviously, and not be removed and made a Piece Of Mind, but in realization that is just not practical or doable. Are you listening Bernie Sanders? —

But to use a cliche, we all have to roll up our sleeves and sacrifice from our relatively greater wealth, perhaps sell the cloth that is saved, then donate those few sheckles, (since as many migrant workers know, a ragged T-shirt, even when it was worn by WASPs, is better than no shirt at all.) At an hourly rate of a migrant worker who would launder those for us, one piece at a time, and piecemeal just might win the game if enough pieces are conserved and converted. And that may be the rub.
So there can be, say, seven ways to win it, the total of all the sums. With a creative mind opened sevenfold. But there are also seven deadly sins, and seven sacred and verily scary roads to hell. So, each individual action and effort and ability mounts and is magnified, for good or evil. There is no such thing as: Just one passibly bad legislative bill, or excusing yet-another housing denial that could be avoided by restructuring a security deposit, or low-pay jobs for which people could be better trained with the price of, in time and fees, one less trip to the golf greens, or not teaching a second and related skill to such employees who thus might be given more to do than shoot the breeze if not the (busy?) boss who won’t delegate, as profit ebbs if the lone task of said employee idles for a time and kills productivity, or wisdom in shrugging off the advice of retirees or refugees who have been in the working-world trenches and can teach management a better way …
So I will offer some practical solutions, if not food for thought as even that can help the surge of refugees. Since maybe it is the piggyback, added idea, so share it even if you don’t actually volunteer, you have that could cumulatively thrust us past the rule of sevens to aid our fellow humans. For eight is not enough, when it comes to the outdated ideals of those TV-touted times that need some alteration by even lawmaking amendment — or re-establishment of their few positive principles.

What if we did this with housing more refugees and especially families, even if at the rather slight expense, by comparison, of individual comforts: Let more of them in some apartments then is usually allowed by things such as code, to live together in love if not luxury. Yes, maybe that bedroom only has enough room for what’s prescribed to be two people, but a bit of room on a couch, for a third, is better than than such on a dirt floor in the desert. Or add a get-away-from-the-rest nook, it need only be the size of a bathroom, aside of the front apartment door entry. And another tucked in the corner beside something they don’t often have in the Mohabi, a microwave? Little kids can play for a while with little dolls in some fairly little places. And just provide a distance between them and mom and dad, and siblings.
Other things could also be in the mind of building planners, such as to make rooms just-even-a-bit-if-budget-stretching big enough to give options for using partitions (decorated with what would be wall hangings?) and things like bunk beds to make more living space for just a few other people to live, and share the rent. Even a great big throw rug can provide the illusion of being a buffer. And where some of us reside, the party and gathering rooms and patios, are often ending up virtually empty despite their great big spaces, so maybe just issue a “pass” that has a time limit for their use to spread the wealth around, so to speak. And defuse the severe housing need, refugees included and at the forefront.
I know, not many people would be tolerant of making apartment buildings become nearly mere crammed dormatories, but there is a greater principle. And it can be made practical by when needed and not pages in length, sprinkling in limits here and there, and giving refugees and others appeal options that are straight-forward and cut through red-tape. Is it really that important if your pet be a such-is-now-needed certified service animal, or if say, merely a tiny stay-at-home dog who gives you therapeutic comfort but yips a bit when you’re hurting from war wounds and worse. That call should not need to be made by religiously reading through several paragraphs of information, and then cross referencing to other paragraphs in other places.
Also, there are few better places to relax than in an easy chair plopped in the back corner of the back (or front) entryway to stairwell(s) leading into your very building. So make use of them. Really, wouldn’t you like to share it, for just a little time, time at a time?

I have no doubt that most migrant workers head south for the winter, where unlike Snowbirds they mind (or should I say mine) the greener pastures, literally, as they need to keep on working. No vacation for these guys, and gals.
But you know what? Like a motel maid who becomes very familiar with the rooms she (or he) cleans, and their nooks and crannies to arrange them faster, there is an advantage to an employer to have a worker who knows the drill, literally, and you don’t have to fill in the blanks with regularly recurring newbies, even if you take the stance that manual labor does not require much time for you to get them up to speed. They still need, for instance, to know what cleaners to use on what surfaces, to save your capitalist costs. In our materialistic society you buy boatloads of those that do not duplicate each other, to be used on every imaginable surface, and of any strength. (As a counterpoint, a bartender friend said she can go a long way with one jug of basic bleach.) And even Lenin’s housekeepers, and I’ll bet he had them, I’m sure needed to quickly learn a nurse’s corner.
So even if not a tree or vegetable hugger, you have to see that when plucking the peppers off the field you own, there is an advantage to not keeping on with a need to keep on, come spring and its basic training. Get it to having no training required. So to get the same workers coming back year after year, why not give a travel voucher, even if its used from Mexico. If you can manage a farm and its hundreds of acres (that’s most all of them these days), you can figure out with banker help maybe, how to encrypt such a voucher for only travel use. And even set it up for food use, and not traveling steak, that’s low-cost and healthy, like what they harvest — sans cheeseburgers. I get that farmers as owners, especially the non-corporate kind, don’t make much money either, but maybe you could get them as far as Kansas City? Then hop a train? Every bit helps, like a half of a hot pepper on a sandwich.
It’s not just charity. It could be good business.
What about allowing migrants more of another basic US experience, that of the fitness club. Yeah. It has to ache, picking crops all day, bending over and lifting constantly, and could it be that your workers would be more productive with the knots out of their back, come the next morn and go at it in renewed fashion. Again, choose activity options that are mostly based on such relief, if your business has short funds, and forego the actual racquetball?
And if you really want want to perk up your profits, learning from those in the trenches who know a thing or two, maybe mandate that your managers once in a while hang out in the hot tub to gather with those who do the food gathering, bonding in a good and human way.
How bad is that ache? Things and technologies and such may have evolved, but I was thinking this on a recent trip back to the same abode, where harvesting peppers was the thing: The workers would lie flat, I’m guessing, as best they could on what was much like a pallet, then grab from in front of them as they inched along. That’s an ouch. You don’t do it anymore when you’re pushing retirement age, if you can afford to, so maybe then you could just drive the tractor-type unit that makes the whole apparatus go. So … what if, and maybe come now its all been done before, install a button that would replace what you’re yellin’ for. The picker could hit it if he was about to miss a few big ones, a message for the driver to slow down the pace for a moment. So everyone is grinnin’ as the picker wouldn’t have to rush as much, the tractor driver has a more vital purpose, and the farm owner gets a better profit margin, even if just measured per pepper. All this, hypothetically, just because you invested in a few (Old School) buttons to hit. This chastisement from a blogger who has not yet established even a donate or subscribe button, and to those who have clamored, yes they are coming when my IT guy is done with a long lunch, so it’s literally, do as I say not as I do. That’s a bigtime music commonality, too.
Lastly on the subject, and this could really keep the crews coming back to you for decades, not the other guy down the dusty farm road, set up a small college fund for their kids — who might be working on the same fields too unless attending summer school, so more money for you since you’re making this measure — to be fully redeemed after a given number of years of consecutive service. The parents might not be able to go back to school themselves, but this could be just the ticket to enabling their children to — and let’s just go ahead and call it this — have a better life.
To go one step further, if I have not overtaxed you already, what if a big-business farmer would also become a landlord — another chore I realize — and build better-than-barracks housing units for his employees, and thus retain total control over their building template (and they usually do have them) to make them best for the migrant families they have come to know, or should have. See above for things like room size.

All these things need to be allowed by reshaping existing rules and codes and laws, and they need not be exactly the same in every town — although that can create a slippery slope to work in or on — and a determining factor might simply by the sheer income and other means city by city. Thus, creativity and flexability could be keys here, but they need a proper framework within to work. And these things would likely have a price tag, but more than that just require say, more feet on the floor to provide service, occasional quick compliance checks and yes, security. So collaberation between all sorts of entities and individuals would be a must, as so often they run on a parallel course but do not intersect to work as a team. So a by-product of all this, for business and profit margin, might be weeding out some unneeded duplication of tasks.
So in floating my craft as a writer, did I miss the boat on these topics as I swim upstream? Should I go jump in the lake? Or did I defend those who “would sell my soul for water. Nine years of breaking my back …”

Where there is a burger, especially if there are close to a dozen burgeoning, there is a battle. And though not necessarily moving into overtime, these like other contests usually do not play out with a winner until late in the game.
That’s doubly true when two or more buns are, well, abundant. To warm your late-winter cackles, like chili feeds often do. And you might find some of that on top.
To wit, Hop N Barrel in Hudson has hosted its all-February burger contest and accompanying crawl, not wrapping up until the end of the month. Their craft beer creations typically are part of a sandwich package that includes burgers from all around restaurants in the downtown and just beyond in Hudson, and if you try out a majority of them you can vote to help pick a favorite, and win something for yourself too.

— And oh, there is a burger battle in River Falls too. Not as many joints but — as in butt steak — you are required to hit them all. This the cooly confrontational over the best catsup and condiments and more, and you can veto the Vine Ripe variety, goes through the 29th, just like of note, the ending date of the largely similar Hudson version. But south, they list four different types of things you should look for, contest categories, only starting with flavor. So as a plus, completing your approach, presentation is important, and you gotta appreciate a well-placed pickle. —

But the “more local” entry that caught my eye was from what I tap as among the tops in this area, Hudson Tap, and you can get it for just $14.75, for both beverage and burger and beyond. Longtime bartender here and elsewhere, including a gig in the Gopher State, Amanda says it best … “yeah, it’s really tasty.” She immediately gave me a menu of singular focus.
It said the Burger Battle Burger boasts two four-ounce ground chuck patties, smoked gouda, tomato bacon jam, truffle aioli, arugula, tomato and red onion on a grilled pub bun with seasoned skin on fries, for this winter season. It is paired with a Hop and Barrel Zorro Rojo amber lager.
I had also seen the burger’s description, and its name and number on the wall, as in the bathroom, where as I looked above the sign on the sink I met a man who knew a thing or two about such endeavors. He hailed from Minnesota, then having moved to Hudson, and has tried his hand at two different games hosted by Hop N Barrel, a place he quickly grew to love.
One was a contest that he won with barley, but by more than barely, by using a creative cupcake formula, and the other was making soap from such brews. Two very different approaches, like dark vs, IPA, same result.
Or you could try the Big Ben Burger at Bennett’s Chop and Rail House — you get the rub and not on beef — along with for you two state-area-affictienatos a Minnesconsin named brew, as you will have to make a run to try out more than one variety of hamburger and fixings, to meet contest requirements. Then move on down the block, or up a side-street …
*** Such as Post American Eatery, which also won as just announced, the recent Hudson Hot Air (Sippin’) Affair with a drink that championed vodka-infused marshmallows. Not mushrooms. For those, a breaded and fried portobello, you’ll have to visit there for the Burger Battle which features — theme here? — blackberry chili jam and BBQ sauce on a three-quarter-pound hereford, not the full cow, but impressive none-the-less.
So, you have until Two Minutes Until 12:01 on March 1. So march out to get such merch from local restaurants, bar and grills, and other sandwich-style eateries. Then a victor will then be crowned, via Hop N Barrell itself, on March 5, complete with more giveaways to contestants.
And then, until then, for the rest of this weekend, this is the as-so-often-stated planner: They had The Luck, playing at Ziggy’s Hudson, on the rare back-to-back nights in mid-February, (with songs that if not original music, had an original quality, to be described later), to follow if you are lucky The Nathan Hansen Band on a mid-month Friday, then Pop Syndrome the night of the 23rd, followed by Them Pesky Kids for a return-to-the-Hudson-area engagement. All of this after, if you are a celeb-encounter-freak as described in a post below, the cabin fever event in New Richmond that featured an in-costume, indoor mini-golf tourney — it matters how you look not how you putt, they say — there is no truth to the rumor that as in their take in GQ-type fashion, they had the fashion-plate, noted-for-such-putting-toward-the-green-in-pants pro Payne Stewart in attendance. Knickers not there! So that might be porn anyway.
And for The Luck, their covers were described as having a Pink Floyd-type vibe, by a new bartender, even after I described them as having a quality that’s far beyond, to enhance their psychedelic-stylings. (We’d talked about covers of a couple of Minneapolis-based bands — but I had to pick one — and I think prominent on The Avenue was The Gin Blossoms, or was it The Wallflowers, with their humble humility shown also.)