The Lutefisk Mafia Of Southern Minnesota
The Lutefisk Mafia Of Southern Minnesota
And How I Was Almost Sent To Sleep With The Fishes In The Mississippi
The criminals of Fargo (movie and TV Show) are not so far from the truth. I lived in Minnesota for over a decade and man, oh man, I have seen some things.
Some… criminal things.
In MINNESOTA.
It ain’t all church socials, Velveeta hotdish, and Garrison Keillor in Minnesota.
No sir.
There are also ne'er-do-wells. Lots of ne'er-do-wells.
Today I’ll be writing about the criminals I like to call: The Lutefisk Mafia of Southern Minnesota.
Lutefisk is a kind of dried cod soaked in lye (yeah, lye) that the Norwegian-Americans of Minnesota love. I can’t actually define lutefisk because it goes beyond the logical realms of cookery.
I could’ve called them the “Lefse Lunatics” or “Hotdish Hooligans,” but let’s stick with the Lutefisk Mafia. They did seem relatively organized.
How I Was Almost Sent To Sleep With The Walleyes
Red Wing, Minnesota, sits on the banks of the Mississippi. It’s where the yuppies, hipsters, millenials, and suburbanites of the Minneapolis/St. Paul metropolitan area go to antique and relax.
My wife and I were down for the weekend to stay at a Bed and Breakfast.
claims to haves seen a ghost at that Inn, but I’ll let her tell that story a different day.After a hard day of antiquing we were… bored. God forbid we just sit there, drink an Old Fashioned, and relax (that’s a drink in the the Upper Midwest I’ve never actually had).
So, we went down to the lobby of the B&B, booted up the PC and printed up some maps from MapQuest. This was like 2004, smart phones didn’t exist yet. We actually did go around like pirates with paper MapQuest Maps.
MapQuest is still a thing.
Why?
While perusing MapQuest, we found a park a few miles outside of town. At least, it said it was a park.
We thought, “Why not go to a random park we’d never heard of before and knew nothing about?”
So, we got in our piece of crap Nissan and headed out into the country.
I don’t remember the name of the park and can’t find it on MapQuest. Or Google Maps, but I’d know it if I saw it. Maybe it doesn’t exist anymore.
Around the time we were about to pull up to the park the sun had just set. But, we had our printed maps in hand and found the place.
The park looked… busy.
It must’ve been around eight at night. It was still summer, so we figured a picnic must’ve been getting done or something.
Man, we were WRONG.
Sitting at the front entrance of this little no-name park were two brand new, giant pickups. They were shiny as heck. Waxed, even!
There were two guys kinda’ milling around their trucks. One of them had a shotgun.
Now, I know what you city folk are thinking, “A freaking shotgun? Why didn’t you get the hell out of there?”
First of all, why do you gotta’ cuss, eh? You could just say “heck.”
Second, in rural Minnesota you don’t think much of a guy with a shotgun. They could’ve been quail hunting. I don’t know.
I actually told
, “Hey, maybe we should just, you know, keep going? We could skip the park.”She said, “What? We drove all the way out here and I don’t even get to see the park that I’ve never heard of before?”
Couldn’t argue with that.
At this point we could tell that the park wasn’t much of a park.
And it had armed guards.
What was I going to do though?
This must’ve been a case of “fight, flight, or polite.” As Minnesotans, we usually go with polite.
So, I waved at the guy with the shotgun. He put his hand up and stopped us/ We stopped, but didn’t roll down the window…
After looking us up and down, waved us in.
Waved us in!
Like he was the owner of the park. Thanks, buddy!
smiled and waved back. I think my Spidey Senses were already tingling, but I drove in.The road to this park was a straight shot up a hill. At the top were some pit toilets and a turnaround.
About ten other beautiful pickup trucks were parked all over the place. Lots of different colors, all brand new. A full rainbow of pickups.
And there were about twenty guys with various pistols, shotguns, and one even had an assault rifle. They were all white guys with tucked in shirts and belt-buckles. Very west-Texas, No Country For Old Men kinda’ vibe.
They seemed to be waiting for somebody… and they seemed to think that somebody they were waiting for, was us!
The road must’ve gone about a 50-100 yards up that hill. Each twenty yards or so was a pickup and a guy with a gun.
It Was The Lutefisk Mafia!
Like I said, that’s what I call them. They don’t have an official title as far as I know, other than no good dirty drug dealers.
We had driven right into major drug deal and these guys thought we were the sellers. Or buyers? I don’t actually know because by that point we knew we had to get the heck-fire out of there!
It wasn’t a hotdish jamboree like we were hoping.
As we slowly drove by each of the gun wielding white guys we… WAVED. We SMILED.
They pursed their eyes at us.
One smiled and waved back. I liked that one.
At the top of the hill was a turnaround where most of the action seemed to be happening. Most of the pickups were around the pit toilet.
We did a lot of smiling and waving. One of the gun-wielding Mafiosos walked up to our car. He did the universal, roll your window down sign.
I rolled it down and think I said, “Hey, how ya’ doing guy? We’re just checkin’ out the park, okay? Good to see ya. We’ll be on our way.”
He didn’t say anything, just made a kind of hand motion for us to keep moving.
And we did.
They all seemed a little disappointed that we weren’t their contact.
We got the hell out of there. Picked up speed. Waved, smiled at everybody who was stationed around the park.
And got the hell out of there.
Twenty minutes later we were back at the B&B (an actual B&B, Airbnb wasn’t invented yet). Laughing about it.
These guys thought we were muling in the meth, or whatever illicit items they were waiting on.
One thing I can tell ya', they weren’t waiting for their moms to bring the casserole.
Epilogue: Should we have called the cops? Told them about the Lutefisk Mafia’s big meetup?
We decided, no.
You do not want to get on the radar of the Lutefisk Mafia of Southern Minnesota!
That is some story. I may have been tempted to speed away - but they had guns!!! I am from Michigan, and we have our kind of mafia; they are called militia. Better defined as protecting who knows what from what. I haven't visited Minnesota yet. Do you know if that park is listed in the traveler's guide?
Can't believe smile & wave works in basically any situation! I laughed at "One smiled and waved back. I liked that one."