I've lived a block away from this joint for a year and - until last night - had operated under the (false but reasonable) assumption that it had closed its doors forever.
An old friend was in town and we wanted to grab a couple of beers and hang for a bit. Â As we were walking over to another dodgy neighborhood watering hole (the stretch of Lincoln between Ainslie and Foster is loaded with them), I noticed signs of life behind the bar. We tried the door: locked. Oh well.
But before we could walk away the shadowy figure behind the bar made her way over to the front door, unlocked it, and let us inside this barely-lit gem of a bier-stube. It was all I had hoped it would be.
Spaten on draught for $3 (maybe a 300mL glass?) was a major plus. The jukebox is incredible (if you like old country and other classic sounds, such as the Stones, Bruce, Sinatra, Neil Diamond, Sam Cooke, Elton John, etc) and was ours. Actually, the entire bar was ours. For two hours. This was bliss.
Margaret, he owner/bartender is fantastic. She has lived in Chicago for half a century and can tell you all about it. I highly suggest you ask her about the city's changes.
Anyway, we stayed for $6 worth of music and maybe $12 worth of German lager. I regret nothing. On second thought, I regret my long-held assumption that this place is no longer in business. Deeply.
I shall return.
It was a fog-filled, murky night when I came upon St. Pauli's. In truth, I was searching for an alleged Romanian dance club that turned out to be a complete myth. Â Why not wander up and down the street, looking for inspiration? Â My pal and I wandered into St. Pauli's and the time-travel fun began. Â There were about four other people in the bar, and there was one pool table. Â Initially, I thought the bar was bigger, but that turned out to be the mirrors on the wall (LOVED IT!). Â Margaret wasn't bartending, because she had fallen and broken one arm and one leg. But, her lovely sister was there, and I think that she was maybe five years younger:) hell, maybe she was older! Who cares!??? Â As soon as I heard the prices.......and once I got my hot little hands on that jukebox (NOTHING in it past about 1975), I was IN LOVE! Now: would I go here alone? No----- mostly because I don't have car and public transpo is NOT user-friendly up there. Â I loaded up that jukebox with ALL of my guilty pleasures, and my friend and I got KILLED in pool by some older dudes who said I was adorable but did not do skeevy things like lick their lips or smack my ass. Â
On a second visit, I took a hellish date to St. Pauli's, and he ruined all the charm. It may have been the fact that he showed up for our date with a guy pal who drove him in from the suburbs (RED FLAG NUMBER NINE). Â We were the only ones in the bar besides a fabulous, mixed group of aggressive bi-sexual and lesbian ladies. Â When doomed date dude began hitting on one of the ladies, I decided that not only would I NEVER go out with him again, but I would NEVER bring a date to my little dive gem. Â Pool was still fun, and we still got our tails kicked by some older dudes.
I can't wait to go back, and I really hope that Margaret's joints healed up- Poor thing! This is a great place to chill with pals- no muss and no fuss!
I find it HEEEE-larious that it is listed as "St. Pauli Club" ;)
This is the place old female bartenders go and die like an elephant graveyard. I was here once and I regretted it ever since then, I was disgusted. Man that bartender was really old!! Wow!! This place stunk like someone took a pee in their adult depends. The people who where in there were like carni people a real freak show. This place is a real buzz killer, you have to be pretty drunk and desperate to come here.
Review Source:It's a 4am bar on the Northside of Lincoln Square.
I went there Saturday Night after finding the Hidden Cove jammed and with a loud and not so good sounding band. Crowded and no Karaoke makes The Hidden Cove worthless. So we headed to St. Pauli's because we knew it would be empty and we could chill, have a few drinks, and talk.
The front door was broken and there was a big hand written sign that said "Door broken. Go around through gangway to the back...Knock if locked". The door was locked and so we knocked and when let in, the place was empty. Â Literally empty. We had the entire bar to ourselves.
The foreign (German?) bartender didn't know how to make an Amaretto Sour.
"What's in it?" she said.
"ha ha...that's funny." we said.
"No really. what's in it?"
After we told her, she gave us a glass of sour mix that allegedly contained Amaretto. It was undrinkable. When my friend got his Long Island it had Whiskey in it. We quickly learned that the lady doesn't know how to make drinks. At all. Or maybe she just doesn't care. Either reason is plausible.
We drank beer the rest of night. Draughts of Spaten and bottles of Bud Light. Things she couldn't screw up. We played pool, had our pick of songs on the jukebox though there weren't many we liked, and pretty much had the bar to ourselves. By about 3 am (4) other people had managed to each scurry in one at a time. All older men and all seemingly ready to die.
The place honestly feels like you are in your uncle's basement and it was furnished at an Elvis estate sale. There are posters still shrink wrapped to the cardboard they were sold adorning the wall. Lots of John Wayne, Elvis, and cars. A fun game we cam up with was "What was hung up last" it's tough. Nothing is younger than 20 years old with exception to the "No Smoking" sign.
St. Pauli's is bonefide dive bar and not because it's cool, edgy, or pulled from the frames of a David Fincher movie but because it just is. There's no draw there. Only to drink alone and eventually die.
So why would I give this place a 4 out of 5?
Because I was in need of a quiet dive bar that my friends and I could chill at and, outside of the mixed drinks situation, it was just what the doctor ordered. You can pretty much rent out St. Pauli's at 4 drinks an hour and with all the folks at the Cove and the expensiveness of Bar Atlantic, this was the best avenue.
A dear friend and I checked this place out last night....a warm summer evening that was great for strolling found us throwing back $2.75 Bud Lights ($2.75!!!!!) in a shitty bar. Â I digress. Â
Only regulars littered the place when we walked in and Colleen, the bartender, was able to introduce herself to us right away--shook our hands even. Â Nice touch, dear.
Decent juke box, blitzed regulars who kept handing me dollars to play whatever I wanted, and as a nice touch, Colleen will put your purse behind the bar if you need to step outside. Â I wouldn't do this on a busy night, but last night, it worked. Â
I am ecstatic that I live within stumbling distance of this place! Â And it's a 4 a.m. bar. Â Shit...
Is it a club? Â I guess.
You know that feeling you get when you're in an old folks home, and you see a couple who clearly have dementia and no love for each other anymore, but they've toughed it out everyday for 55 years, and they're slow dancing to some old Lawrence Welk jam? Â Well drinking here is kind of like that. Â It's depressing, heartwarming, and a spectacle all at the same time.
If you're under age 45 expected to be treated like you're the Fresh Prince of the St. Pauli Club.
Girls: I hope you like to be leered at.
Ahh, St. Pauli Bar, bastion of sugary Apfel shots and the corresponding sugar-shock hangover the following day.
Owner operated, german bier-stube style dive. She's a good bartender, weary but pleasant. Great jukebox, especially for those special times you wished you were in high school in the '70s. The decor is standard dive-joint stuck in the '70s, Â but the lack of lighting makes this an afterthought entirely. This is the kind of place you go to drink, not to make friends or lovers. The kind of place that you swear you'll not be going to next week, but secretly know you'll see it soon, and relish the idea. Hey, they're open laaate.
German biers on tap, generally three. Spaten always goes down easy by the time you make it to this northside gem. Expect to be the youngest people in the joint, bring cash, this ain't the kind of joint you start a tab at. Expect to drive or cab it, although it's not too far from Western.
A real German bierstube tucked quietly away where few youngsters roam, St. Pauli Club is a 4 a.m. bar cloaked in the sort of red light that says, "dirty things happen here," but the people are the counter are generally old, plump and harmless.
Toward the pool table, a few friends and I had shaky interactions with some crude fellows, particularly one who smacked my friend's rump. She's married, didn't care for it and smacked his butt back.
I have mixed feelings about St. Pauli Club. For all its velvet Elvis charm and Neil-Diamond-on-the-jukebox campiness, the place has an evil vibe that makes you feel like a fight could go down any second.
Arriving with three friends, I tried to find four seats at the bar. There were enough seats, but they were broken apart by drinkers sitting a few spaces from one another. And none of them was willing to scoot over. Totally uncool.
Had it been Whirlaway or Bob Inn, folks would have happily hopped aside to accommodate us.
On the other hand, there were middle-aged and elderly couples slow-dancing to oldies and shots of Apfel to make everyone smile.
If the drinks were cheaper and this joint had a bouncer, I'd give it four stars, but for now, it's just average.
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