I am here on the last night Butterfield will be open. The upscale farm-to-table restaurant at Hasbrouck House has just announced its immediate closing, along with the hotel, with shocking suddenness. The staff is stunned. They have just received the following letter from management:

“We regret to inform you that due to the closure of the hotel, your employment with Hasbrouck House […] will be terminated effective January 3, 2026.

“After careful consideration, we have determined that continuing operations is no longer feasible. As a result, all positions at Hasbrouck House are being eliminated.”

I arrived expecting a funereal atmosphere. Outside the air is bitter cold, the snow crunched underfoot. But as I part the velvet door drapes that block the frigid wind, I encounter warmth and unanticipated grace.

“Tonight’s kind of like the Titanic,” the receptionist tells me. The 25-room boutique hotel is top of the line, the last word in local luxury. Guests sleep on high-thread count Frette linens, don fluffy robes after a bath, and can purchase fresh flowers, fragrant natural soaps, and champagne for the room.

But all that is about to end. The letter to staff came as a shocker. A young hostess up front repeated what the new taped phone recording said: “We are having a seasonal closing,” but other staff members say the closing seems definitive.

“We weren’t invited to reapply in April,” notes a young man exiting the kitchen. "No severance pay but we might get unemployment … for a while."

Hasbrouck House, the handsome stone Dutch colonial, was built in 1757, 19 years before Independence after the American Revolution. It has presided over its 55-acre lot overlooking Route 209, for centuries of ups and downs. There had been one earlier closing, but the hotel had reopened in 2020. A few years ago, the owners had wanted to open cottages that would be serviced by the inn but objections were raised by neighbors regarding road access.

Summers seemed popular, with guests frolicking in the 100-year-old swimming pool. The hotel and grounds were often rented for weddings. Some nights, the wind blew the nuptial songs to my porch a mile away, and I could hear “Love, look at the two of us” as I sat. But, of course, winter, except for the holidays, was always a challenge.

In the end, there were issues alleged between the owners and management. Hence the abrupt finale. Tonight, only an hour-and-a-half from closing, everything is eerily perfect – candles flicker at the set marble top tables, but the long tufted banquettes of the main dining room are all empty.

As this extravagant hotel experiences its last evening, it does so with an unanticipated grace. Soft music is piped in (kind of like the Titanic) and the staff speaks in soft polite whispers, recommending the aromatic dishes to the end. They even refill the fine wine “‘on the house.”

“Over the holiday week, we were jammed” the young woman employee reports, “but tonight there are only six guests.”

In the smaller intimate café bar, the last four diners present are seated. It smells of hot focaccia with black garlic, lamb kofta, and mushroom cavatelli.

The restaurant will remain open through dinner “just for the guests." Soon, another young couple walks in, are welcomed, and seated. That makes seven of us. A spirit of camaraderie sparks the conversation even among these strangers. The remaining guests are enjoying their dinners but, in the morning, there will be no one to check them out of their $500-to-$800-a-night rooms.

“We had a great time,” one young man and his girlfriend say as they finish up their chocolate ganache, sharing with two spoons. “The hotel was billed as a romantic getaway and it was. The place is gorgeous, the food delicious and the extra complimentary third night enticed us.”

“I hope we open again,” a hostess says. “I just moved here, and I have rented a room nearby. And I can’t have my cat because the owner’s allergic. But I was looking to find another place and stay. It’s so lovely here.”

The other young couple, getting up to leave, voice their disappointment. “We were planning to come back in the spring.”

“Hey,” says a woman at another table. “This place is too beautiful to end. I bet someone else buys it.”

As I pay for a very delicious crab cake, I realize I am signing the final check of the evening, the last for the foreseeable future.

But I believe in historic buildings, and this one has stood for over 270 years. This stone house was here when George Washington slept just up the road, and his troops drank at Sally Tock’s Tavern across the street.

Something tells me, Hasbrouck House will still be here, maybe for another century or two. And I hope they’re open for dinner. And that the kind people who worked here find new employment.