Home > Chicago Bars & Clubs > Editorial Review > Inside: The Violet Hour

Do you remember the last time you went to a bar simply because the cocktails alone were the cat's meow? At weeks-old Wicker Park lounge The Violet Hour, the pre-Prohibition drinks are, by far, the main draw--and they do deliver. The speakeasy mystique and all that it implies gets people in the door too.

The Violet Hour, which takes its name from a line in T.S. Eliot's poem "The Waste Land," is as highbrow a bar as you'll find in Chicago. Think of it this way: Foodies will flock here faster than average bargoers. But are amazing cocktails and an air of New York sensibility enough to sustain a lounge in our Midwestern metropolis?

Inside: Terry Alexander made his mark at this address with sleek Mod and splashy Del Toro; now his partnership with Donnie Madia (Blackbird), and Jason Cott and Toby Maloney (New York's Alchemy Consulting duo), brings another drastic design scheme to the space.

There's no exterior sign, save for a yellow lightbulb high above a door obscured by colorful paper-covered wood paneling. The raw entryway gives way to a breathtaking bar scene: It's Alice in Wonderland with alcohol. Thomas Schlesser (Blackbird and Avec) designed an elegant ballroom-like bar sectioned into three rooms by heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains. Cornflower-blue walls, white crown molding, crystal chandeliers and gorgeous hardwood floors set the tone for a rather imposing furniture set-up of extremely high-backed, blue leather chairs clustered around tiny white pedestal tables illuminated by candles.

Drinks: This is why The Violet Hour is a must-try. Maloney (formerly head bartender at New York's Milk & Honey and Pegu Club) concocted a menu of classic libations, along with a few originals that call to mind an era long forgotten by modern-day drinkers.

There are eight kinds of twice-filtered ice; bitters and syrups are housemade; fruits are squeezed fresh; and bartenders use eyedroppers to measure exact dashes of liqueurs. At $11 a pop, each drink sounds like a bargain, considering your mixologist labored over a shaker and other bar paraphernalia for five-plus minutes. (It can take at least 20 minutes to get a round for a table.)

After multiple visits, we'd tried more than half the menu, which divides drinks by spirit and focuses on gin, rum and whiskeys. Standouts included the Airmail, Amaretto Fizz, Blue Ridge Manhattan, Hemingway Daiquiri, Hotel Nacional, Iron Cross, La Paloma and Southside (with mint spanked tableside to release flavor and aroma). One note: These complex cocktails are so smooth and evenly balanced you may not notice how strong they are.

There's also a small, carefully chosen selection of champagnes, wines and beers--but we're not sure why you would order anything other than a cocktail here.

Food: It was love at first bite with the fried peanut butter, banana, bacon and wildflower honey sandwich on brioche ($8). In fact, we never made it past that. But there is a unique menu of finger foods including fried olives stuffed with picadillo ($8); chorizo croquetas ($10); and deviled eggs with candied pork belly ($8).

Sounds: Quite honestly, the music was a mess on two out of our three visits. From honky-tonk to The Kinks with a dash of Leonard Cohen, there was no discernable flow. At least the volume's kept low. The atmosphere's more befitting of sultry jazz.

Lean forward if you sit in the chairs in front: Their shape swallows up sound and makes hearing your companions difficult. That might explain why The Violet Hour feels like a library; if you find yourself laughing too loud, people will look at you with a "shh" hanging on their lips. Trust us: We've been on both sides. We almost shushed a group one night, only to notice on the next visit that we were the loud talkers.

Crowd: The curious. The cocktail counterparts of foodies. The canoodling secret lovers. We spied everyone from groups of hipsters to a middle-aged couple, plus a few people (not staff) sporting Prohibition-era threads that invariably look like costumes.

Though the crowd is eclectic, the atmosphere and door policy create a sense of isolation. The Violet Hour operates on a first come, first served basis and stops admitting people when every seat is filled, which means no one's ever left to stand or mill about. And with everyone stationary, there's not much mingling.

Service: For the most part, service is impeccable. Trained for more than 50 hours, bartenders know their stuff--and how! However, one of our waitresses didn't cut it--she was the only one who failed to ask if we'd been there before and explain the premise of the bar and the labor-intensive cocktails. While gracious, every now and then a staffer's behavior lent an air of pretension to our experience.

Insider tips: There's no smoking; a framed sign asks you to refrain from cell phone use; and reservations aren't accepted.

Plan ahead as Friday and Saturday nights fill up fast. (Remember, at The Violet Hour, "at capacity" means there's a bum in every seat--not that the bar's packed till you're sweating.) That said, the doorman asked to take our name and cell phone number so he could call us when a spot became available. Wonder how long that'll last ...

Bottom line: The cocktails are phenomenal--some of the best we've ever tasted! In general, The Violet Hour comes off as extremely polite but a tad pretentious: The cocktail is put on a pedestal here--not the cocktail drinker. But, as Bernard DeVoto said in his 1949 ode to the martini, "The Hour," "This is the violet hour, the hour of hush and wonder." And in this town, the quieter you keep the buzz around your bar, the louder the crowd cries to come in and have a peek.

[ Karen Budell is the metromix nightlife producer. ]

Originally published July 26, 2007.

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