Jackson's Hole Bar & Grill — Restaurant in Minneapolis

Jackson’s Hole – A Bar That Used to Know Me

I've been going to Jackson’s Hole for over two and a half decades—long before the current ownership. In all that time, I never had a single issue, except for one night when I had to wait inside during a snowstorm until 3 AM for a ride. No big deal. I’ve made friends with most of the regulars and employees, and I’ve even had one of the most insane acts of kindness happen here.

During COVID, after working a brutal 23-hour shift, I stumbled in, ordered a beer, took one sip, and passed out cold on a barstool. The owner, Johnny, who is not exactly a small guy, didn’t call the cops, didn’t toss me out, but instead physically carried me 600 yards back to my workplace so I could sleep it off. That’s some real old-school, brotherhood-of-the-bar type loyalty. I owed him for that.

And then, last Saturday happened.

But before I get to that, some quick backstory.

Years ago, a jealous, insecure coworker—who I can only assume was auditioning for the role of "Biggest Asshole in a Lifetime Original Movie"—got access to my secondary phone (not my primary). I left it at work in a locked office to stream music for the store I worked at. This walking example of male fragility stole $350 from my Venmo AND sent my private photos to over 1,200 people, including family, friends, and total strangers. Then, to top it off, he deleted the texts so I had no idea what was sent.

It was humiliating.

One of the recipients of this digital shitstorm was a bartender at Jackson’s, Rebecca—who I had planned to hire as my personal trainer. I walked into the bar completely unaware of what had happened and was immediately screamed at, refused service, and not even given a chance to explain myself. I later tried to reach out to Rebecca privately, but I’m pretty sure she blocked me before even reading my message.

So, like a reasonable adult, I just stopped going to Jackson’s on her shifts.

Fast forward four years later—last Saturday.

I walked in for the first time in years to meet up with a regular. I’m selling my house and moving to a downtown loft, so I wanted to talk to him about possibly being my roommate.

Johnny was behind the bar. Same guy who once carried my unconscious body through the streets of Minneapolis like a discount Saint Bernard. He served me, I tipped my usual 100%, and everything was fine.

Until, suddenly—“Hey, I need to talk to you.”

Johnny tells me I’m making an employee uncomfortable and asks me to leave. No warning. No explanation. No conversation.

I walked out without making a scene, but the whole thing felt off.

Then it clicked.

I wasn’t being a problem. I wasn’t harassing anyone. I was literally comforting a woman in distress. She was scared and confused when I got kicked out, and honestly, so was I.

I reached out privately to Johnny to clear things up, but he has ignored my message for a full week.

So here’s my offer.

I will immediately change this review to 5 stars IF these three conditions are met:

A public apology in direct response to this review.

A pint of Guinness and a shot of Jameson on the house when I return.

All-night free service for myself and one guest every year on my birthday (excluding gratuity—I always tip well).

That’s it. Basic respect. Basic fairness.

I’ve been a loyal customer for 25+ years. I’ve supported this bar through multiple ownership changes. I’ve spent countless nights tipping well, being a good patron, and literally having my unconscious body escorted home by the same guy who just kicked me out.

If Johnny ignores this, fine—I’ll take my business, my loyalty, and my 100% tips elsewhere. But this is a bar that once carried me home. I’d like to think it can handle a conversation.

Let’s see...

I am not a picky person and generally have no complaints even if something is off. But I must speak up as Jackson's Hole Bar is now on my short list of "I will not return" bars/restaurants.

Only thing saving review from being 1 star was the tasty giant pretzel I had to start. I had high hopes after that. However, things quickly took a turn.

I ordered the nachos (without meat) for a secondary table app. Table agreed they were the worse nachos they had ever tasted. Bland. No acid. No flavor. Barely a drizzle of cheese. And something tasted off about them generally.

To make matters worse, when I went to the mens room, it smelled like something had died in there...and had been dead for a while. It was worse than your average bathroom smell. It was almost unbearable, I'd say comparable to a porta potty after 12 hours in the sun.

Unsurprisingly, I began to feel queezy at my table and left early. And then promptly threw up everything on my walk to my car. So, not sure caused me to be ill but I will say I felt just fine prior to arriving.

And lastly, if I want to use my TouchTunes Jukebox tokens to play "Who Let the Dogs Out?" two times in a row, let me play "Who Let the Dogs Out?" two times in a row or get rid of your TouchTunes Jukebox as I paid money for those tokens and you...

I usually hate bars like Jackson's Hole, but the joint served its purpose on this pleasant evening in May. Having dinner a few doors down at 112 Eatery with my wife, daughter and her husband, I was a bit unsettled because my Milwaukee Bucks had a playoff game at the same time. None of my devised plans for skipping dinner would go unscathed, but running out and sprinting down the block to Jackson's Hole a few times during dinner would be tolerated by my saintly wife.

The bartenderess enjoyed my distress and obvious furtive affect, and the large screen allowed me to see the Bucks totally dismantle the Raptors. She noticed me running into the bar and had my cocktail waiting. I ran back and forth around four times for about 30 minutes total. I enjoyed the meal at 112 and the game at Jackson's Hole. I couldn't ask for more. My wife, daughter, and son-in-law probably enjoyed the reprieve of my omnipresence, although they would...