Prohibition glory: The Green Mill Cocktail Lounge. Photo: Getty Images
As the stomping ground of mob boss Al Capone and the site of the St Valentine's Day massacre, the world of organised crime is ingrained in Chicago's identity. While most of the places once frequented by mobsters belonging to Al Capone's "Chicago Outfit" have now gone, the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge stands as a direct link to the heady days of the Prohibition.
Located in Chicago's Uptown area, next to a no-frills pizza joint, the Green Mill's glorious, emerald and gold neon sign blinks with art deco brilliance. While a new crop of derivative bar and speakeasies has opened up in the wake of HBO's Boardwalk Empire series, the Green Mill is the real deal, not a hip homage.
Once part-owned by notorious mobster "Machine Gun" Jack McGurn, the Green Mill isn't some club trying to look like it's from the 1920s - it's actually from the '20s. As one of Chicago's oldest clubs, it has operated since 1907 and hosted many jazz greats including Billie Holiday. The subject of much folklore, including the brutal throat-slashing of entertainer Joe E. Lewis (who was attacked for choosing not to perform at the Green Mill) stepping inside is like walking onto the set of The Untouchables. Featuring period-era interiors, it's a dark, musty and utterly evocative bar made even more atmospheric when sitting in Capone's favourite booth, which has a clear view of both the front and back doors in case he had to leave in a hurry. There are other remnants of the Prohibition era here, with the secret tunnels Capone and his gang used still existing underneath the bar. For a traveller new to Chicago, stumbling upon the Green Mill is like hitting historic pay dirt.
These days, the bar still operates as a live music venue hosting performances that Capone would have been down with (jazz bands) and some he may not have embraced (poetry slam nights). Dropping in for an afternoon tipple, a few people are propped up at the bar playing cards including a cheeky old-timer who could be from the Prohibition era himself. The black-vested, wise-cracking barman isn't playing dress ups, but he has a certain pre-war flair about him. He gives the patrons a bit of shtick as he mixes drinks and wipes the bar down with an old rag. When someone makes the cardinal error of ordering a cosmopolitan, he wastes no time in asking them if they would like to order a real drink. There are no cosmopolitans, crantinis or elaborate cocktails around here because the Green Mill doesn't make them. You can order a beer or a stiff drink such as a neat whisky. The locals aren't too bad at giving some shtick themselves, with one annoyed punter jumping the bar to answer the incessantly ringing phone that had been left unattended while the barman disappeared down a trapdoor to retrieve more alcohol. Answering the antique phone with an over-the-top, comical flourish, the customer gives the caller directions to the bar, and opening and closing times with such precision, the caller would have no idea he doesn't work at the Green Mill. When the barman returns to a chorus of muffled laughter he hounds us to tell him what we did to his bar while he was gone.
Although the world has moved on and bootlegging has been committed to history, the Green Mill's decor, vibe and commitment to not serving crantinis ensures it remains true to its gangster origins