Guests even needed a special gold-plated key to gain entry, spurring a brief but significant “Key Club” craze as similar outfits popped up across mid-century America. Against the far wall, a middle-aged bartender sporting a shock of blonde curls and a fringy black leotard presides warmly over a compact five-seat bar. A Baby Grand perches near the back, crowned by a large black-and-white photograph of an elderly gent engulfed by a sea of scantily clad showgirls. The textured wallpaper, deep maroon and emblazoned with a gold paisley pattern, stretches up to the heavens, forming a fitting backdrop to a handful of towering Botticelli-style nudes encased in thick gilded frames. That hallway eventually empties into the great room, where two-tops and four-tops dressed in crisp white tablecloths cluster beneath a truly gargantuan crystal chandelier. Sneak past the sign and approach a dimly lit host stand, then follow the maître d’ down a hallway lined with intimate leather booths and built-in bookshelves. Steakhouses reign supreme, from the Loop’s tourist traps and cheffy Fulton Market newcomers to Old Town throwbacks and the glitzy eateries dotting the Gold Coast’s “Viagra Triangle,” the Rust Street hub where men of a certain age canoodle with much younger dining companions over dry-aged Tomahawks.īut if there’s a place a Chicagoan would never expect to find one of the country’s most storied and, at one point, most exclusive chop shops, it’s probably O’Hare International Airport.Įnter the Hilton Chicago O’Hare Airport via the elevators off of Terminal 2, swing a right, head past the sprawling front desk and you’ll encounter an oversized mirror announcing “Gaslight Club: Elegant Dining & Entertainment” in illuminated, Gatsby-era lettering. Chicago is undoubtedly a meat-and-potatoes town.
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