If you get a 16-ounce drink at a bar, it should be a beer. If it’s a martini, leave. Say goodbye to the Cheesecake Factory, or wherever you happen to be, it’s a shithole.
Cocktails are supposed to be 1) strong and 2) not huge. Ever wonder why Hemmingway was able to down so many drinks? Alcoholism, sure, but the drinks themselves weren’t the fishbowls that pass as martinis these days. They were proper cocktails. And a proper cocktail is filled with booze, not blue dye, yellow #5, ‘tini mix, and ice flecks from over-eager shaking. Proper cocktails are hard to find.
Under the train tracks on Chicago’s near-north side, withing spitting distance of Cabrini Green and surrounded by jerk-off artist galleries, sits Club Lago, an old-timey spot filled with the previous incarnation’s decorations and the newer (for the last 50 years or so) owner’s Italian food and cocktails. They serve their drinks in proper-sized martini glasses that are etched around the bowl just like my grandmother’s.
Their martinis have gin and olives and are arctic-cold. And on top of that, the food is great. Sometimes after work, the bar is so crowded (not dance-club crowded, but no-stools crowded) it’s best to just plop down at a table instead and get taken care of. Just like grandma used to make, if grandma was an old Italian woman with a well-stocked bar.
Club Lago | Near North Side, Chicago
If you get a 16-ounce drink at a bar, it should be a beer. If it’s a martini, leave. Say goodbye to the Cheesecake Factory, or wherever you happen to be, it’s a shithole.
Cocktails are supposed to be 1) strong and 2) not huge. Ever wonder why Hemmingway was able to down so many drinks? Alcoholism, sure, but the drinks themselves weren’t the fishbowls that pass as martinis these days. They were proper cocktails. And a proper cocktail is filled with booze, not blue dye, yellow #5, ‘tini mix, and ice flecks from over-eager shaking. Proper cocktails are hard to find.
Under the train tracks on Chicago’s near-north side, withing spitting distance of Cabrini Green and surrounded by jerk-off artist galleries, sits Club Lago, an old-timey spot filled with the previous incarnation’s decorations and the newer (for the last 50 years or so) owner’s Italian food and cocktails. They serve their drinks in proper-sized martini glasses that are etched around the bowl just like my grandmother’s.
Their martinis have gin and olives and are arctic-cold. And on top of that, the food is great. Sometimes after work, the bar is so crowded (not dance-club crowded, but no-stools crowded) it’s best to just plop down at a table instead and get taken care of. Just like grandma used to make, if grandma was an old Italian woman with a well-stocked bar.