If you find yourself in the Midway district of Saint Paul, look for the giant, looming water tower that looks like a Cold War relic. Beneath its shadow sits Lake Monster, a brewery that operates on the delightful premise that Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes are essentially 10,000 hiding spots for things with scales, fins, and questionable intentions.

Founded in 2013, this isn’t a sleek, minimalist “white-walled” brewery. It’s a cavernous, wood-and-brick sanctuary that feels like where a Victorian naturalist would go to drink away the trauma of almost being eaten by a plesiosaur.

The Concrete Coast

The first thing the “Logbook” must note is the location. Lake Monster is the spiritual anchor of the Saint Paul Midway.

It’s an area defined by trains, industrial warehouses, and its proximity to the State Fairgrounds. During the “Great Minnesota Get-Together” in late August, this brewery becomes a basecamp for the weary—a place to wash the taste of deep-fried everything out of your mouth with something crisp and cold.

The Art of the Cryptid

Most breweries pick a logo; Lake Monster picked an entire aesthetic.

The labels look like they were pulled from a damp, leather-bound journal found in a shipwreck. They feature creatures that are half-familiar and half-nightmare: fish with too many eyes, serpents with elegant fins, and beasts that look like they could swallow a canoe whole. It gives the beer a sense of “adventure-taxidermy”—you aren’t just drinking a pint; you’re celebrating a successful expedition.

The Empty Rowboat Philosophy

Technically, Lake Monster specializes in what I’d call “Approachably Weird” beers. Their flagship is the Empty Rowboat IPA.

In the current beer world, where everything is either a “juice-bomb” or a “bitter-assault,” Empty Rowboat is a rare Midwestern classic. It’s a copper-colored IPA that actually tastes like malt and hops working together, rather than fighting for dominance. It’s the kind of beer you drink when you’ve been rowing all day and haven’t caught a single fish, but you’re strangely okay with it.

The Seasonal Migration (The Patio)

In the summer, the “monster” comes out to play. Their outdoor space is one of the best in the Twin Cities—a massive, sun-drenched expanse where dogs are more common than humans and food trucks park like visiting dignitaries.

However, the true “eccentric” note is their winter behavior. Minnesotans are a hardy, possibly delusional breed, and Lake Monster leans into this. They’ll keep that patio active long after the mercury has retreated into the bulb, proving that any weather is “beer weather” if you have a thick enough flannel and enough body heat.

The Spirit of the Search

Ultimately, Lake Monster isn’t just about the beer; it’s about the Lake. In Minnesota, “going to the lake” is a holy pilgrimage. Lake Monster captures the shadowy side of that pilgrimage—the part of you that stares into the dark water at dusk and wonders if that ripple was a log or a legend.