Category Archives: Supper Clubs

A Toast to a new Old Fashioned

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There is a new twist to the Old Fashioned.

 
You can take it with you.
Like beer. Cheese
Or any other iconic components of Wisconsin food culture.

 
The Brandy Old Fashioned is a staple of the Wisconsin Supper Club landscape.  Timothy Pappin and his nephew Ryan Mijal have now rolled out the barrel with “Arty’s,”  an Old Fashioned in a bottle.

 

They came up with the zany motto “It’s not a party without Arty’s!” although there is no real Arty.
The imagery works.

 
I had my first Arty’s over the summer at a Wisconsin Timber Rattlers Midwest League baseball game outside of Appleton. I pictured an old frosty dude named Arty making the concoction in the basement of his Wisconsin home. The name Arty’s comes from the “R” in Ryan’s name and the “T” in Tim’s name.

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“You don’t know any Arty’s today but I knew there was enough Wisconsin Old Fashioned drinkers to make the drink convenient,” Pappin said in a late summer interview. “Instead of having to muddle, slice, carry fruit, having bitters and all that. If somebody was going to a Packer tail gate or camping, they could grab a six pack of Old Fashioneds. It’s an alternative to flavored and regular beers.”

 

Arty’s markets three flavors: Brandy Old Fashioned Sweet, Whiskey Old Fashioned Sour, and Whiskey Old Fashioned Sweet.

 
Pappin, 49, grew up in the sweet supper club environment

 
During the mid-1970s his parents Richard and Margaret Pappin owned the Embers Supper Club in downtown Clintonville, Wis.

 

“My Dad had a regular job as materials manager for Seagrave Fire Truck,” Pappin said. “They had the supper club on the side. So Friday nights after work he would bartend and my Mom would hostess. I would ride my bike there, go behind the bar and wash glasses and eat all the cherries.

 
“This was when people smoked and it was just all the supper club feel. My Dad wore turtlenecks and sport coats. The fire truck corporation was a large employer for the town and a colorful bunch of workers would frequent the supper club. I was 12 years old and I’d watch everyone  getting happy and my Mother would always order a Brandy Old Fashioned. I thought, ‘Wow, that’s interesting,’.”

 

Pa Pappin at his supper club (Courtesy of Tim Pappin)

Pa Pappin at his supper club (Courtesy of Tim Pappin)

 

Everyone has a thought on why the Old Fashioned is the Wisconsin state cocktail.
Here is Pappin’s theory:
“It had to do with the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair. Korbel Brandy came there. People from Wisconsin brought that brandy back and created that cocktail. It hooked itself into Wisconsin lifestyle. I don’t know if it has anything to do with German heritage. It is very similar to the Mint Julep in Kentucky, the Hurricane in New Orleans or Margaritas in the Southwest. But once anybody drinks an Old Fashioned, they go ‘This is delicious’.”
This is what happened in the summer of 2010 when Pappin and Mijal were hanging out at the family’s lake property about 45 miles Northwest of Appleton, Wis.

“We would spend our free time there on the lake,” he said. “Or hanging around the taverns around the lake. In 2010  I was with my nephew, who was then in his mid-twenties.  I didn’t feel like having a beer that evening so I ordered a Brandy Old Fashioned. He had never had one before.”
Gave it a shot, so to speak.
He loved it. “So we made an evening out of it,” he said. “It was a weekend and came out into the living room of the cottage the next day. We were getting the cobwebs out and I looked at him and said, ‘Let me grab another Old Fashioned out of the refrigerator.’ That was the a-ha moment, like ‘This would be something kind of simple’.” We figured somebody had to be doing this. This is Wisconsin.”

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The young men recreated that old fashioned night a couple weeks later that summer.

“We were on a pontoon boat and elbowed each other and said, ‘What a great place for a quick Old Fashioned.’ It evolved into ‘This is making too much sense’.”
Research was done and it was found no one was making a ready to drink Old Fashioned.
“There are plenty of mixes out there,” Pappin explained. “My formative years were in Wisconsin and I moved out of the state when I was 14.” He has since lived in 12 different states and cities like Kansas City, Mo. and Los Angeles.
“I never heard anybody order an Old Fashioned,” he said. “Or if I tried to in later years, you’d get a real nasty Manhattan.”

At the age of 30 Pappin opened a sports bar and grill in Tucson, Az. He recalled, “I thought I’d bring a little bit of Wisconsin to Arizona. So I had brats and I had the Old Fashioned. Down there you would get  people from Wisconsin and other people would ask about them. I got a following in that bar and I knew there was something unique. First it’s a delicious drink if you drink cocktails. I’m a beer guy, but I knew there was this tradition of the Old Fashioned from people who wintered into Arizona.”
Pappin grasped the old fashioned fascination for  marketing purposes

He said, “The idea was to put it in a glass bottle and our motto is ‘Tip Your Bottle Once or Twice, Always Better Over Ice,’ but one of the biggest surprises is that people put them in their cooler and would drink them straight out of the bottle. I never even thought about that. I probably see as many people drinking them straight out of the bottle as I do over a cup of ice.”
Pappin has been astonished by the response.

Lambeau Field tailgating with Arty's, Sept. 2013 (Courtesy of Arty's)

Lambeau Field tailgating with Arty’s, Sept. 2013 (Courtesy of Arty’s)

“We hodge-podged this process together because I wasn’t sure if it would be accepted,” he explained. “With the tradition, ‘You can’t put an Old Fashioned in a bottle, in Wisconsin it has to be muddled. And there’s still some people who say that.”

Arty’s strongest market is the Appleton-Green Bay area, although it is spreading out through Wisconsin.

The Chicago area may be coming.

“We’ve all seen malt beverages, but nothing has ever been made that is liquor based like this for an Old Fashioned in Wisconsin,” said Andy Kriz, Non-alcohol and liquor brand manager for Lee Beverage, which distributes Arty’s. “It’s important to be the first one of a new idea or concept in the market. Nobody remembers who came in second.”

Arty’s retails at $8.99 for a six pack of 7-0unce bottles.

Pappin said, “Retailers didn’t know where to put us. Some of them have us in the beer aisle. Some have us in the liquor aisle. Some have us in the ready-to-drink aisle. Because there’s nothing else out there like it.”

Kriz was sold on the quality. “It is spot on for flavor,” he said. “It is real whiskey and brandy. Its real bitters. And real 7-up and Squirt. And carbonated in a seven ounce bottle.”

It took time to put Arty’s in motion.

Pappin visited a couple of micro distilleries. They were supportive but they didn’t have the equipment to bust out a cocktail.

“They were all equipped to do their vodka or whiskey in 750 millliiters –not in a ready to drink 7 ounce bottle,” he said. ” I found a couple Midwest bottling operations but you had to have a half a million bottle run or $100,000 order, but we were nowhere near that. We were just the little guy starting out.
“So I thought, ‘Heck with it, let’s do it ourselves.”
The two-man Arty’s team rented the gutted Last Chance Cafe in Clove Leaf Lakes, Wis. for six months .

“I needed an address just to start all the legalities to get into the distilled spirits industry,” Pappiin said. “There was no toilet, no running water in there. By April 2012, we got all our approvals.”

Pappin and Mijal spent 2010-12 experimenting with formulas  and recipes, before arriving at a genuine Wisconsin Old Fashioned with “a minor secret,” according to Pappin. “It came after six months of three Old Fashioneds a night,” he said. “Because you can’t do more than that because they all start tasting good.”

 

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Friends and neighbors were the happy test group.

Kriz said, “It is more than popular. We will do over 10,000 cases of the item this year, just set out of an office in Oshkosh and another one in the western part of the state near Eau Claire. It is one thing to get the product out of the shelf for people to try it. The proof is the re-buys and brand loyalty. If the liquor wasn’t good, we wouldn’t be seeing all the re-buys.”
Pappin said one of the first product names was The Old Fashioned Old Fashioned.

But that doesn’t do justice to the new wave of heartland drinking.

Detroit’s Downtown Supper Club

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I came into Detroit a night before my book signing at Cliff Bell’s because I like the city.
Things seem so rock bottom, I feel a new slate of creative expression emerging–even though the vapor rising from the grates along Woodward Avenue still gives Detroit an apocalyptic  feel.

You can’t go far in downtown Detroit without someone mentioning the city’s bankruptcy. It’s the same way everyone in Chicago harps about the Bears.
After catching a Tigers game I was sitting at a bar next to the Fox Theater.
A stranger looked me in the eye and asked, “Is this city worth saving?”
I’ve been from Fairbanks, Alaska to the Guatemalan fishing village of La Barrona (pop. 900) where I spent a New Year’s Eve on a mattress on a dirt floor. Adriana and I still question if we saw a black rat scurry across the floor to bring in the new year.
But no one has asked me, “Is this city worth saving?” on any visit.
I could not answer that question objectively about Detroit.
“Of course,” I said over a Blue Moon at the Detroit bar. I elaborated that maybe Detroit should no longer think of itself as a major metropolitan area but as a boutique urban destination like Baltimore (pop. 619,000).

Cliff Bell at work

Cliff Bell at work

But what do I know?
I do not know what it is like to live day to day in Detroit.
“It’s daunting,” said Paul Howard, one of the founding partners who brought Cliff Bell’s back to life in downtown Detroit. I had told him about my previous evening’s encounter. He said,  “It’s tough getting things done daily.”
Howard, 39, is a Detroit native.

Book party appetizers, fresh baked flatbread with tomato, basil and mozzarella

Book party appetizers, fresh baked flatbread with tomato, basil and mozzarella

I loved  Cliff Bell’s history and wanted to veer off the predictable rural supper club path to include them in my book.

Howard and I had a couple long talks while I was researching the book. I closed the Cliff Bell’s chapter with his remark about Detroit that still gives me chills. He reflected, “Maybe a good analogy would be the people who held out in the Dust Bowl. They had the same sense of pride and would be happy to tell you about their lives.
“I guess I’m one of them.”
You find that in Detroit.
I go to Detroit a couple times a year and I’ve consistently noticed the majority of people make an extra effort to talk to you, give you directions or share a story. And there is no argument that Detroit’s Eastern Market is more exciting and cross cultural than any Farmer’s Market in Chicago. After all, I found Mountain Dew jelly at the the Eastern Market.
The book signing turnout at Cliff Bell’s was unlike any other of the half-dozen appearances I did this summer. There weren’t many older supper club regulars.
Cliff Bell’s has been reinvented into an upscale urban destination. They are using Chicago’s iconic Green Mill night club  as a dark, visual template for live music. On a Thursday evening I saw  Tigers fans (Cliff Bell’s is just a couple blocks from the balllpark) and Wayne State students. Alissa Jenkins is studying journalism at Wayne State. Her friend Steve Duttine is a photographer from England who was documenting Detroit.

We talked a lot about the presumed deaths of Detroit and print journalism.

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Thanks to my friend Susan Whitall for this comprehensive write- up in the Detroit News.

Find her 2011 book “Fever: Little Willie John, A Fast Life, Mysterious Death and the Birth of Soul (Titan Books). The former Creem editor does justice to the precursor to James Brown and Stevie Wonder.

Grits ain’t groceries.


So when you go travel to Detroit, and please do, also find a room at the Inn on Ferry Street.
Ironically, the first time I stayed at Inn on Ferry was when I went to see Bruce Springsteen’s “Wrecking Ball” tour last spring in suburban Auburn Hills. The Inn on Ferry is actually four restored Victorian homes and two carriage houses just north of downtown Detroit. Both times I have stayed at Inn on Ferry I was in The Scott House, built in 1886 by Detroit architect John Scott. Locally roasted Great Lakes coffee is served 24/7, which is always a plus for me.
The Inn was developed by Midtown Detroit, a non-profit planning and economic development agency. The group partnered with the Detroit Institute of the Arts (DIA), which owned the property and had been using some of the homes for storage. The Inn opened about a week after 9/11. All the buildings comprising the Inn are on the local, state and the National Register of Historic Places.
After the Tigers game and the Blue Moon beer I stopped for a sandwich at the Magic Stick on Woodward. I had called the Inn on Ferry for a briefing on where to turn. It was just before midnight when I rolled into The Inn. A parking attendant was waiting for me on the driveway. I was not a stranger in this struggling town.
Sometimes the wounded heart is the most passionate heart.

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The Perfect Polynesian Supper Club

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My lure for the supper club was cast in a sea of wonder at the Kahiki in Columbus, Ohio.

The Kahiki was one of the most remarkable restaurants I have seen.

I was a 7-year-old living in Columbus the first time I visited the Kahiki in 1962. Just like a Northwoods supper club it was a larger than life destination.

Cascading indoor waterfalls were framed by big tiki gods, “tropical” rain fell every half hour and war chants and steel drum rhythms spun through intimate bamboo dining huts. More than 1,000 tropical fish were featured in an aquarium along the huge east wall.

Just like many Northwoods supper clubs, the ambiance overshadowed the food. The Columbus Dispatch once wrote that the Kahiki “is one of the few restaurants in Columbus in which food can injure you.”

My father was a purchasing agent who had been transferred from Chicago to Columbus by Swift & Company. Founder Gustavus Swift began in Chicago’s Union Stockyards–and Swift was a purveyor to Midwest supper clubs.

Kahiki Friday night fish fry? Mahi-mahi almodine.
Saturday night prime rum! [Click on Supper Club recipes for the exclusive Kahiki Polynesian Spell drink recipe.]
Like a Midwest supper club, the Kahiki was an accessible escape into another world.

Like a Midwest supper club of the 1960s, the Kahiki had a live trio: The Beachcomber Trio mixed “Beyond the Reef” with Andre Previn’s “Like Young.” The Beachcomber Trio were led by woodwinds-pianist  Marcel “Marsh” Padilla, who during World War II was lead saxophonist behind the bands of Judy Garland, Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. I have a live album they cut in 1965 and it is easy to hear the timeless chill backdrop of clinking cocktail glasses and waterfalls.

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The Kahiki was built in 1961 and designed like a New Guinean war canoe. The roof peaked at 60 feet at the front of it’s A-frame. It was the nation’s first free-standing Polynesian restaurant. I recall talking to Chicago restauranteur Rich Melman about the Kahiki (which means “Sail to Tahiti”) and we concluded it would be cost prohibitive to build a detailed 20,000 square-foot restaurant like this today.

The centerpiece of the main dining hall was an 80-feet tall tiki goddess with bright red eyes and a fireplace for a mouth.

Who wouldn’t be impressed?


The Kahiki was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in in 1997. The federal government cited the Kahiki’s “rich Polynesian culture, architectural design and influence on national and local restaurant history.”

The honor didn’t stop the Kahiki from being torn down in 2000 to make way for a Walgreen’s. More than 500 Kahiki fans from as far away as London, Melbourne and San Francisco flew to Columbus for a farewell party hosted by Otto von Stroheim of “Tiki News.” I flew out with a dear Chicago editor friend who really enjoyed the make-your-own-won-ton-bar.

Meeting fun friends at Kahiki farewell party, 2000

Meeting fun friends at Kahiki farewell party, 2000

A few weeks ago I was going through my father’s archives in the basement of the west suburban Chicago home we moved to in 1966 after we left Columbus.
I saw an ad for the Kahiki in one of those weekly entertainment magazines you find in airports and hotel rooms.
I couldn’t believe my eyes:
“KAHIKI SUPPER CLUB,” just 10 minutes from downtown Columbus. (What made the Kahiki an even stranger destination is that the Polynesian supper club was in Bexley, the Jewish neighborhood where Chicago newspaperman Bob Greene grew up.)

The small print of the Kahiki Supper Club was a collision of cuisine: “Kahiki is the world’s most elaborate Polynesian Supper Club. You’ll enjoy the ultimate in Polynesian cuisine, or the finest steaks, chops and seafood, while viewing an undersea panorama of rare tropical fish…”

Note the quick transition out of Polynesian food in a meat and potatoes place like central Ohio.

 

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But sense of place is the key component which connects the Kahiki Supper Club with Wally’s House of Embers (a Kahiki cousin in terms of crazy decor), Smoky’s Club in Madison or any others in my book.
I will never forget the Kahiki.
Life was larger, yet a bit more accessible.
Earlier this summer John Tierney wrote a fascinating New York Times piece about nostalgia as a positive emotion. University of Southampton (England) psychologist Constantine Sedikides had a conversation with a colleague, who was a clinical psychologist homesick for Chapel Hill, N.C. The North Carolinian assumed he was depressed because he was “living in the past.”
Sedikides countered, “Nostalgia made me feel that my life had roots and continuity. It made me feel good about myself and my relationships. It provided a texture to my life and gave me strength to go forward.” In the 14 years since that conversation Sedikides’ research on nostalgia has concluded in part that nostalgia can make people more generous to strangers and more tolerant to outsiders.
This is true of the warm feeling of a supper club. I hope to think I absorbed a bit of that as a kid in Columbus. Whether it replicates a large Polynesian canoe in Ohio or offers a majestic lake view in Wisconsin the American supper club creates an expansive canvas for vivid memories–even after the physical realm has gone away.