Homewood Suites Minneapolis: Unbeatable Deals & Luxury Await!
Okay, Let's Dive In: My Chaotic, Exhaustively Thorough Review of… Well, You Know the Place.
Alright, alright, buckle up buttercups. You want a review? You got it. Forget the perfectly polished travel blogs, this is the real deal. I'm talking unfiltered thoughts, accidental coffee spills on the laptop, and maybe a few muttered curses under my breath as I try to remember everything this place had to offer. Prepare for a journey, a slightly messy, occasionally brilliant, and utterly honest one.
(SEO Note: This is going to be long, folks. Expect keywords like "Accessible hotel," "Luxury spa," "Family-friendly resort," "Restaurant with outdoor seating," and ALL the things you listed. Buckle up.)
First impressions? (Deep breath). Okay, let's get this out of the way: I spent way too long trying to remember the name of the place. Blame the jet lag. Blame the sheer volume of amenities. Blame my goldfish brain. ANYWAY.
Accessibility: The Good, The Bad, and the "Almost Got It Right."
- Accessibility: Okay, they say it's accessible. And for the most part, they are. Elevators? Check. Ramps? Mostly. Designated parking? Yep. But (there’s always a but, isn’t there?)… I did notice a few tight corners, especially around the… (wait for it)… the poolside bar! Which brings us neatly to…
- Wheelchair accessible: Again, mostly. Navigating the lobby was a breeze. The restaurant? Okay. But that poolside bar? Well, let's just say I saw a few folks maneuvering with Olympic-level skill. Maybe. Or maybe I just imagined it. The cocktails were strong.
- Facilities for disabled guests: They do have them. But it’s that classic situation where it feels like they’ve checked a box instead of truly caring, you know? It's like they’ve read a checklist but not actually experienced it.
- Things to do: Okay, this is where things get overwhelming. I'm easily overwhelmed.
(SEO Note: Key phrases in this section: "Wheelchair access," "Accessible pool area," "Disabled facilities review," "Accessible hotel rooms.")
On-Site Restaurants & Lounges: Fueling the Machine (and My Existential Dread)
- Restaurants: Multiple. Blessedly. I lost count. There was the fancy one with the white tablecloths (a bit too much for my casual vibe), a more relaxed spot with a great terrace (more on that later), and a… I think it was a casual cafe? This is where my memory starts to fade rapidly.
- Poolside Bar: Ah, the aforementioned nemesis. Great cocktails. Lovely view. Potentially challenging accessibility. It’s a love/hate relationship.
- Asian Cuisine in restaurant: They claimed Asian cuisine! I'll offer two words: Mixed reviews.
- International cuisine in restaurant: Ditto to the Asian cuisine.
- Breakfast buffet: Okay, now we're talking. Massive. Overwhelming. Glorious. I tried everything. I regretted nothing. (Maybe a little bit of the sausage. It was… aggressive.)
(SEO Note: "Hotel restaurant reviews," "Poolside bar with view," "Best breakfast buffet," "Restaurant with outdoor seating," "Asian cuisine," "International cuisine")
The Spa: Where I Went to Pretend I Was a Grown-Up
- Spa: Yes. Oh, YES.
- Massage: Essential. I think I had three. Maybe more. Time, like my sanity, blurred.
- Sauna, Steamroom: Standard fare, pleasantly clean.
- Body scrub and Body wrap: You know, I meant to try these… The intention was there. But the aforementioned cocktails got in the way.
- Pool with view: Beautiful. Serene. Until the hordes of selfie-stick wielding maniacs showed up. But even then, it was pretty great. Let’s be honest.
(SEO Note: "Luxury spa review," "Best hotel spa," "Massage experience," "Sauna and steam room," "Spa with a view")
Internet: The Lifeline (and My Digital Addiction)
- Free Wi-Fi in all rooms!: Praise be. Though the signal dropped out a few times. Annoying.
- Internet: It's there.
- Internet [LAN]: Didn’t use.
- Wi-Fi in public areas: See above. Mostly reliable.
- Internet services: Did I use them? Maybe. Did I understand them? Nope.
(SEO Note: "Hotel wi-fi," "Free Wi-Fi hotel," "Internet access in hotel room.")
Things to Do & Ways to Relax: Because Just Existing Isn’t Enough, Apparently
- Fitness center: Didn't go. (See: Cocktails, massage, Netflix.) But it looked… intimidatingly well-equipped.
- Gym/fitness: See above. My fitness journey stopped at the buffet.
- Swimming pool: Several. Clean. Inviting. Full of people judging my questionable swimwear choices.
- Swimming pool [outdoor]: See above.
- Things to do: They had everything. Every single thing. I saw a list. I promptly had a panic attack. This place is PACKED with stuff!
(SEO Note: "Hotel amenities," "Things to do on vacation," "Hotel with swimming pool," "Hotel fitness center.")
Cleanliness & Safety: Because the World is a Mess, Let’s Pretend It Isn’t.
- Anti-viral cleaning products: Reassuring.
- Daily disinfection in common areas: Good.
- Hand sanitizer: Everywhere.
- Hygiene certification: Fine.
- Rooms sanitized between stays: Important.
- Staff trained in safety protocol: Hopefully.
- Safe dining setup: They tried.
- Cleanliness: The place was clean. I mean, really clean. Almost… unsettlingly clean.
(SEO Note: "Hotel sanitation," "COVID-19 safety protocols," "Safe hotel," "Clean hotel.")
Dining, Drinking, and Snacking: My Personal Food Diary
- Breakfast in room: Didn’t order.
- Breakfast takeaway service: Nah. I needed the full buffet experience.
- A la carte in restaurant: Tried it once. Expensive. Lovely plating.
- Alternative meal arrangement: Don't know.
- Bar: See above. Cocktail heaven/hell.
- Bottle of water: Provided.
- Coffee/tea in restaurant, Coffee shop: Decent.
- Desserts in restaurant: Deadly. In the best way possible.
- Happy hour: Yes. Oh, yes.
- Poolside bar: The heart of operations, or the heart of the party.
- Restaurants: Too many to choose.
- Room service [24-hour]: Didn’t use.
- Salad in restaurant: Yes.
- Snack bar: There was a snack bar.
- Soup in restaurant: Yes.
- Vegetarian restaurant: I didn’t see a full vegetarian restaurant, but they had options.
- Western breakfast: See above.
(SEO Note: "Hotel dining options," "Restaurant with terrace," "Hotel bar review," "Breakfast buffet review.")
Services and Conveniences: The Small Things That Make a Difference (Maybe)
- Air conditioning in public area: Essential.
- Business facilities: Didn’t use any of that!
- Cash withdrawal: Convenient.
- Concierge: Fine.
- Contactless check-in/out: Efficient.
- Convenience store: Handy for snacks and things I inevitably forgot.
- Currency exchange: Always appreciated.
- Daily housekeeping: They were really on it!
- Doorman: Yep.
- Elevator: Yes.
- Ironing service: Didn’t use. I live in wrinkled clothes when possible.
- Laundry service: Didn’t use.
- Luggage storage: Fine.
- Meeting/banquet facilities: Didn't see them.
- Safety deposit boxes: Yes.
(SEO Note: "Hotel services," "Concierge service," "Hotel amenities," "Laundry service review.")
For the Kids: Bless Their Little Cotton Socks (and the Hotel’s Sanity)
- Babysitting service, Family/child friendly, Kids facilities, Kids meal: Yes, yes, and yes. This place is a family magnet. Expect shrieking children and strategically placed earplugs.
- Kids facilities: They have them. All the things.
(SEO Note: "Family-friendly hotel," "Hotel with kids club," "Babysitting service review.")
Access, Security, and Tech: Because We Live in the Future (Maybe)
- CCTV in common areas: Okay.
- **Check-in/out [express
Alright, buckle up buttercups, because this isn't your sanitized, perfectly-packaged travel itinerary. This is me, wrestling with a weekend at the Homewood Suites in New Brighton and, well, let's just say it's gonna be a ride.
Homewood Suites: My Temporary Prison of Comfort (or Maybe Just Overpriced Beige)
Day 1: Arrival and the Existential Dread of Free Breakfast
- 1:00 PM: Arrive at the Homewood Suites Minneapolis-New Brighton. First impressions? Beige. So much beige. Seriously, are beige paint manufacturers sponsoring these places? Check-in was smooth, which, honestly, I needed after the soul-crushing flight (delayed, of course). Room's… functional. King bed, pull-out couch, mini-fridge. Basically, the essentials for a solo traveler trying to avoid eye contact with the "Welcome" package brochure.
- 1:30 PM: Unpack (mostly). Resist the urge to immediately dive into the complimentary baggie of stale chips, because… willpower. For now, anyway.
- 2:00 PM: Venture out. Gotta find coffee. Desperately. The in-room coffee maker… a torture device disguised as a convenience. Starbucks it is. Found one a few blocks away (thank the internet for GPS). This latte better be worth the price of a small car.
- 2:15 PM: Latte acquired. Bliss. Briefly considered returning to the hotel room, burrowing into the bed, ordering pizza, and pretending the world didn't exist. But alas, responsibilities beckon.
- 3:00 PM: Explore a little, I need to step outdoors. Head over to a local park to get some fresh air instead of sitting inside.
- 5:00 PM: Dinner. Debating ordering food from a delivery service or going out. I am leaning toward a local restaurant, because I do not want to be stuck in my hotel room.
- 6:00 PM: Dinner at a local restaurant. Great food! I enjoyed the atmosphere and how polite the staff was.
- 8:00 PM: Back at the hotel. Now, to choose between the pull-out couch or the king-sized bed.
Day 2: The Great Mall of America Debacle (or How I Learned to Hate Humanity, Just Kidding… Mostly)
- 8:00 AM: Free breakfast. The dread. I walked in hoping for a miracle. It wasn’t a miracle. It was…an experience. The waffle machine was a battleground. Children were shrieking. Grown men in suits were aggressively competing for sausage links. I managed to secure a single, slightly burnt waffle and a cup of brown liquid vaguely resembling coffee. I ate it out of fear. Then I escaped.
- 9:00 AM: Head to the Mall of America. This is where things get messy. The sheer scale of the place is overwhelming. It's a city built on consumerism and overpriced air conditioning.
- 9:30 AM - 12:00 PM: Wandered aimlessly. Rode a rollercoaster (yep, in my late thirties). Bought something I don't need (a sparkly pen, don't judge me). Felt the overwhelming force of people, crowds and noise. It was both exhilarating and exhausting.
- 12:00 PM: Lunch. Opted for a food court experience. Regretfully, I got my food from a fast food franchise.
- 1:00 PM - 4:00 PM: Continued the mall adventure. I was lost at some point. I saw a guy riding a segway. Saw a screaming kid. Saw a stressed out parent. I was exhausted after the Mall of America.
- 4:00 PM: Head back to the hotel to rest and recover, a nap.
- 7:00 PM: Dinner at the hotel. The hotel had a free dinner. It was… okay. I probably would have enjoyed the microwaved pizza from the vending machine a little more, but hey free food is free food. I chatted with a couple of other guests, one who was convinced aliens were controlling the government, the other was super excited about a local quilting convention.
- 9:00 PM: Watching some tv and relaxing.
Day 3: The Escape (and the lingering scent of chlorine from the pool)
- 8:00 AM: Free breakfast. I skipped the waffle catastrophe this time and opted for a bagel and the brown, possibly-coffee liquid.
- 9:00 AM: Attempted to use the hotel pool. It was full of screaming kids. Decided to go back to my room and watch some tv.
- 10:00 AM: Final check-out. I left the room, leaving behind a single, half-eaten granola bar and a faint feeling of, well, beige-ness.
- 10:30 AM: Head back to airport. Ready to go home.
- 12:30 PM: Delayed Flight. Ugh.
- 3:00 PM: Landed. Exhausted. But hey, at least I survived.
Final Thoughts:
Would I go back to the Homewood Suites in New Brighton? Maybe. It’s certainly functional, but it lacks any real personality. It's a place to sleep, not a place to live. But hey, at least the bed was comfy. And, I survived. And, more importantly, I have this story. And that, my friends, is what makes it all worthwhile. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find a real coffee shop and cleanse my palate of beige.
Charleston Getaway: Unforgettable Stay at Holiday Inn Riverview!
Okay, fine, what *is* this thing anyway? Like, the actual THING we're supposed to be talking about?
Ugh, alright, alright. Fine. Look, whatever it *is* is supposed to be a list of questions and answers, yeah? About… well, you fill in the blank. Let's pretend it's about, say, making sourdough bread. Because I tried that once. Oh, boy. We'll get to *that* later. So, yeah, this is technically a FAQ. But done… my way. Which means rambling, tangenting, and potentially crying into my keyboard. Don't judge me.
So, how do you actually *start* the sourdough process? Isn't it like, super intimidating?
Intimidating? Honey, it’s the culinary equivalent of assembling IKEA furniture after three shots of espresso. Yes. Utter, utter terror. Okay, so they tell you to make a "starter." Which sounds all sweet and innocent, like a friendly little puppy, or a… well, a "starter" to a good book. Nope. It’s a bubbling, yeasty… *thing*. You mix flour and water. And then you… *wait*. For days. And "feed" it. Like a tiny, fussy pet demanding constant attention. I remember the first time I saw mine—a grey, bubbling mess—I thought, "This is either going to create the next great bread, or poison my entire family." No pressure, right?
Feeding the starter… what's *that* all about? What's the deal?
Feeding! Ah, the joy! You take your bubbling, potentially-sentient blob, throw away half (which feels horribly wasteful, I have to say), and then add more flour and water. It's like… a tiny, hungry monster, always needing more fuel. You're basically co-parenting an amorphous blob with gluten. And, honestly? Sometimes I'd forget. I'd be all, "Oh, right! The blob! It's been, like, three days. Oops." And then you'd open the fridge, and the smell would hit you like a punch to the gut! Think, "Ancient, fermented gym socks." It *was* that bad. I think I almost lost the will to bake more than once.
Alright, so, it *finally* seems like your starter is working! What do you do next? Is it time for the bread?
Oh, you sweet, summer child. If only it were that easy. You've got to *build* that starter before you make the bread. It's like a tiny army you’re trying to bring to life. You take some of the starter, you put it into a bigger bowl with flour and water, and let it… well, *ferment* some more. It's a delicate balance. Too much, and your bread is gonna taste like a sweaty armpit. Too little, and you’re looking at a dense, doorstop-like brick. (Which, let me tell you, I've made *plenty* of). Which, by the way, is usually what mine turned out to be.
Okay, okay, let's cut to the chase. The actual bread? The baking process? Is it as hard as everyone says?
*Hard*? Sweetie, it's existential. It's like you're trying to control the very forces of the universe, but the universe is a temperamental, gluten-loving jerk. You mix the dough. You knead! Oh, the kneading! My arms! I honestly thought I’d develop muscles like Schwarzenegger. (Spoiler alert, I didn’t). Then you *proof* it. Which means letting it sit… for *hours*. Watching. Worrying. Praying to the bread gods that it will rise. Then you shape it. This part is surprisingly soothing. And then… you put it in the oven. And you wait. And you *hope*. And you check on it—constantly. Is it burning? Is it rising? Is it going to be a total flop as usual?
And… the results? Was it worth it? Tell us the truth!
Here's the thing: Some days, it was glorious. Crusty, airy, with a slightly tangy flavor that made you want to weep with pure joy. Those days are rare unicorns, by the way. Most of the time? Let's just say my family developed a strange fondness for croutons. One loaf, I swear, was so dense, I’m pretty sure I could've used it as a doorstop. It had the approximate circumference of a small planet and tasted much like unflavored cardboard. My husband, bless his heart, tried to be supportive. "Mmm, tastes… rustic?" he'd say, forcing a smile while stealthily reaching for the butter. I nearly threw the whole thing out the window into the backyard. But you know what? Even the failures were… kind of worth it. The smell, the challenge, the feeling of… *attempting* to make something from scratch. I’d keep trying, because even if the next one tastes like a brick, at least I know I tried, right? And... maybe... one day... I'll get lucky. Or at least, make something edible and not just a weapon.
Any advice for someone just starting out? Don't want any more bricks in my life.
Okay, fine, actual advice. First, don't be afraid to fail. Seriously. It's practically a rite of passage. Second, find a good recipe and stick to it (until you're feeling brave, then you can mess around). Third, be patient. It takes time. FOURTH: *Buy a scale*. Seriously! Measuring by volume is a recipe for disaster. And finally? Remember that the goal is delicious bread, not to win a bake-off. Oh, and have alcohol on hand. Because you're gonna need it. Especially that first time. And the second. And probably the third...
What do you do with the failed loaves, though? I mean, seriously, are we just eating bricks?
Ah, yes. The inevitable question. The fate of Doorstop Bread. Well, I’ve tried a few things. Dog biscuits. They seemed to enjoy those… Sort of. Croutons, of course. They hide a multitude of sins. French toast, if you can stomach the texture. And if you’re truly desperate? Feed it to the birds. Just… maybe not the whole loaf. One very sad, brick-like loaf ended up as a bird feeder and it stayed there for days. The birds just looked at it. Didn't even peck. Even the birds knew it was bad. And, honestly, sometimes, the truth is, you just have to admit defeat. AndHoneymoon Havenst
