When you walk inside, no one greets you or seats you at a table—as with most supper clubs, you’re immediately in the bar area, where locals are seated elbow-to-elbow in a sea of camouflage jackets and cargo pants.

At first, we were offered a small high-top table and coffee, we weren’t seated at a proper dining table big enough for food, or with a view of the lake. In the adjacent room, we could see plates of food and big groups of people. We were clearly tourists—novices in the supper club vernacular.

It wasn’t until later that we realized the rules of the supper club. This was supposed to be a slow experience; there was no rushing in the establishment. Supper clubs are meant to connect the community, to enjoy your neighbor, and to appreciate a slower pace of life. As the patron, you have to ask to be seated—you don’t wait for anyone to ask you.

What followed was the best steak I’ve ever eaten, alongside the most impressive view of Lake Winnebago’s ice-covered surface I would see and the cheesiest, yummiest, potatoes. I had officially caught the supper club bug. My new friends in the ice shack were right—I wanted to eat here for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

One of many

Somewhere tucked in a wooded forest, or along one of the lakeshores, or maybe even on a riverside, sits one of the 250 supper clubs in Wisconsin.

Supper clubs aren’t necessarily unique to Wisconsin. They can be found in other Midwestern states like Minnesota, Michigan, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska and the Dakotas. The history of the first supper club is a little fuzzy. Rumor has it that the first supper club opened in Beverly Hills, California, in the 1920s by Milwaukee-bred businessman Lawrence Frank. However, his menu was diner food and didn’t fit the supper club agenda as we know it today. Most supper club historians claim that the supper club began in Prohibition-era speakeasies in New York City, offering beers and fried chicken. Another story is that the first supper club opened in the United Kingdom.

Whatever the history may be, Wisconsin holds the trophy for being the supper club capital of the United States. They’re also a uniquely rural cultural hub. Serving a limited menu of perch, prime rib and potatoes—and often decorated like a 1960s time capsule with plush leather booths, red carpet, and neon signs—these taverns and resorts are typically situated in a rural area and independently owned. Oftentimes, owners live on the premises or nearby.

Before starting Jim and Linda’s, Jim Koenigs was the manager of the Lum’s restaurant in Fond du Lac. Linda Koenings was a hairstylist at a beauty shop. The couple met at a young age—14 and 15-years-old respectively—in high school in New Holstein, Wisconsin. In 1978, Harry’s Lakeview Supper Club in nearby Malone was looking to sell the business, and Jim and Linda, 20 and 19 years old by then, scooped up the opportunity.

But it was hardly smooth sailing for the novice restaurateurs. Although the supper club seemed to have a prime location adjacent to a public marina on Lake Winnebago and a campground popular with summer visitors, it struggled to draw diners that first summer, says Jim Koenings. “The summer cottage folks, as well as the boaters, etc., all disappeared. That, for sure, was a huge awakening, and that first winter was so slow until sturgeon season rolled around in February.”

To this day, February is still a huge boom for Jim and Linda’s.

For the past 46 years since opening, Linda has been the main chef along with her sister Donna Keifenheim who has worked as Linda’s right-hand person for over 40 years. “Since we serve at night only, except for sturgeon season, fishermen are part of our customer base overall, but we have created a huge radius of distance that people travel to get to us. Lots of locals, yes, but many refer to us as a destination restaurant,” says Jim Koening.

For me, the destination was worth it. Supper clubs might seem like any other restaurant. You arrive, you eat, you pay, you leave. But being enclosed within a wood-paneled, deer antler, surf-and-turf menu is a different experience. It’s a warm Wisconsin bear hug.

Every supper club has its own clientele. Those located on a lake will cater more toward anglers, while those deeper in the woods will have to cater more to hunters. Other supper clubs have a mixture of all types of people.

Joy Gadberry is a North Carolina native who married a Wisconsinite. “Every time we go to Milwaukee, where my husband is from, we always try to hit a supper club at least once or twice when we’re up there,” she says.

She explains that in the supper clubs she’s been to, working-class patrons are the most common sight. It’s people coming straight from work, “like working on a road crew or construction site, and they’re still in their work boots and, and pants and, you know, work clothes, and they’re treated just the same.”

Gladberry says that due to their rural locations, supper clubs often mirror the culture of European immigrants who arrived in the 19th and 20th centuries. “Everyone is either of Scandinavian, German or Polish descent. So a lot of the dishes reflect that.”

Michelle Schultz-Wilson, 39, from Stevens Point, Wisconsin, describes walking into a supper club as feeling like you’re walking back in time. “They remind me of visiting grandma’s house where it is warm and cozy and full of nostalgia. You always feel like you are surrounded by family and always feel welcome.”

For Schultz-Wilson, who says she started going to supper clubs when she was in the womb, the experience is more of an event than just going to dinner.

“We typically arrive when they open at 4 p.m., enjoy some cocktails, sit and eat and finish with an after-dinner drink at the bar. This usually takes us hours, unlike dining at a restaurant that gets you in and out in an hour,” she says, adding, “Some supper clubs still have live music or entertainment, so they want you to stick around and enjoy yourself on an evening out.”

Schultz-Wilson runs a viral TikTok account, Schellies Sconnie Shenanigans, with 31.2k followers, where she reviews supper clubs, among other culturally significant foods in Wisconsin. She’s currently reviewed 42 supper clubs and mainly goes where her followers recommend she visit.

Schultz-Wilson hopes that posting on TikTok will get her generation and younger folks interested in dining at supper clubs so they don’t die out. “It breaks my heart, so I am trying to do my part to try to keep them running and keep them busy,” she says.

This is what makes her TikTok so special. It’s a combination of old and new, inviting the younger generation to keep dining at supper clubs, which are a relic of the past.

The endangered supper club

In the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s, supper clubs, like Holiday House in Milwaukee, were a place for big names like Dean Martin and Tony Bennett, where live music and dancing were accompanied by the meal. There was no need to barhop—everything you needed was in one spot.

Gadberry went to her first supper club, Heaven City, 11 years ago, where she experienced what she calls “world-class kitsch” from 1917. The now-shuttered club was notorious and once had an airstrip for Chicago mobsters to fly their planes in on. Her husband, who is a Milwaukee native, took her here before they were married.

Gladberry says that her in-laws remember a different supper club in the 1960s—more upscale, with live bands and dancing. “It was more of an event,” she says.

Most of those supper clubs are now long gone and many current clubs have a quieter familial environment. Despite their prominence in Wisconsin culture, supper clubs have seen a number of closures the past few years. Although exact numbers are hard to find, lack of staff has been among the leading factors says Ron Faiola, photographer, filmmaker and author of Wisconsin Supper Clubs.

Due to their remote locations, staffing is difficult and the number of diners has plummeted, especially due to the pandemic. Of course, this isn’t unique to supper clubs. According to the National Restaurant Association, 100,000 restaurants in the United States closed within six months following the first shutdown of restaurants for the coronavirus pandemic. But even seniority didn’t protect many supper clubs against the pandemic. The remote locations lent an unfortunate hand to contributing to several supper clubs shuttering since the pandemic.

Smoky’s Club in Madison closed last year after 70 years of operation, Machut’s Supper Club in Manitowoc County closed after 50 years, Buck-A-Neer Supper Club in Rozellville in Marathon County, closed after 43 years, while many more have permanently closed their doors.

For 25 years, Maiden Lake Supper Club, located Oconto County in Wisconsin’s remote Northwoods, was run by Mike and Georgia Dinkelman alongside their two sons. In 2003, their eldest son, Michael Jon Dinkelman, and his wife, Trina Dinkelman, decided to take over the restaurant.

Today, Maiden Lake faces many similar challenges as other supper clubs, including employee shortages. In the summer, Trina Dinkelman says, a lot of college kids coming home for the summer are looking for work. “Once mid-August hits, we are still very busy but with one-third to a half less staff,” she says. “We do our best to fill in and just try to get through.”

For many locations, there just aren’t enough people to visit. While regulars support as much as they can, they don’t bring in enough money to keep the lights on.

“I feel this business is a love-hate relationship. It’s a wonderful, rewarding, but [a] dedicated kind of life,” Trina Dinkelman says. “You need to be invested 24/7.”

The work can be physically and mentally exhausting, she says. “If anyone thinks it’s easy and thinks they want to buy a restaurant to ‘make their millions,’ they have a lot to learn.”

And if supper clubs aren’t closing, they are revamping. But for many visitors, restaurants that create a new and updated look eradicate the joy of stepping back in time.

Caroline Gucciardi is a born and raised Chicagoan. Though she is not a lifelong supperclubber in the Badger state, she’s a lover of everything supper clubs offer.

Gucciardi tries to avoid newer supper clubs. She says they are trying to artificially hijack the environment and ambiance of what a real supper club took decades to establish. She’s more interested in the supper club state of mind: a “come-as-you-are, bring your hunger and yearning for a generous pour kind of place, where you can feel as comfortable knowing everyone, or not knowing anyone at all.”

To Gucciardi, it doesn’t matter how out of date and musty the establishment might seem, as long as “it’s unpretentious and adds to the ease and appeal of being in that space … Many of the older, established-for-decades places are proud of their presence in the archives of the growth of the town in which they stand.”

However, despite closures and remodeling, some argue that Wisconsin supper clubs are making a comeback for those seeking nostalgia and community, especially on social media platforms that encourage visiting places off the beaten path.

As restaurants reopen, people are excited to explore, visit new dives, and experience a remote wilderness while slurping on a fizzy drink.

For Dinkelman, at Maiden Lake, what begins in a supper club often carries on outside and on to the lake. Most people know one another and find connections in the supper club, finding a fishing partner, or someone to grab a beer with. “We are a family. We are a small mom-and-pop run business, no conglomerate, no multiple places, no manager running it. It’s us.”

So, what’s for supper?

Supper club delicacies range from fish to steak, ice cream to pie—all homemade—and almost always require an Old Fashioned, often called the state’s official drink. Koening explains that people hang out in the bar and lounge area for a while before finding a table and sitting down to eat. A supper club staple is a free relish tray while patrons wait for their food. While the tray isn’t as popular as it used to be, locals consider it a specialty.

When Schultz-Wilson enters a supper club, she usually makes her way to the bar and orders an old-fashioned brandy, also known as a Wisconsin brandy, which includes a pickled mushroom. Some folks opt for the olive, and some supper clubs even offer a pickled Brussels sprout (if you’re lucky).

Antlers Supper Club in Bonduel in Shawnano County is known for its Thursday German entrees and Friday fish frys. Owner Vicki Olson says, “Saturday, our Prime Rib is a must.”

She then heads to the salad bar (Sky Club in Plover in Portage County claims to have invented the first salad bar) for hot bacon dressing and warm bread served with a cracker basket and spreadable cheese and liver pâté. Her main meal is a ribeye served medium-rare with a twice-baked potato and extra sour cream. She ends her dinner with a Pink Squirrel, an ice cream drink made with a combination of vanilla ice cream, Crème de Cacao and Crème de Noyaux.

At Maiden Lake, Dinkelman suggests trying the Walleye, which is lightly hand-breaded.

Gucciardi recommends heading to Ishnala Supper Club, a legendary restaurant in Lake Delton in Sauk County, for juicy ribeye and seating that overlooks Mirror Lake. “We watched canoes paddle by, as I sipped my first Old Fashioned. It does not get better than that,” she says.

Gadberry says the relish dishes are special for her, but it’s hard to pick just one favorite.

When talking to Gadberry, her husband, Chad, comes home from work. She hops off the phone to ask what his favorite dish is. She quickly pops back on the line to tell me, “He doesn’t have one, they’re all good.”

In Wisconsin, August 31 is officially “Supper Club Day.” To mark the occasion, I recommend visiting at least one of the hundreds of supper clubs around the region. Pick your vibe, don’t judge a supper club by their photos, and arrive hungry.

Wherever you decide to dine and whatever you decide to order, you’ll know a supper club when you see one. It’s probably a little dark, a little dank, a little rustic, and there’s definitely a pair of antlers hanging somewhere in a corner.

A Wisconsin supper club will offer a view of a lake, river or forest—most importantly, it will offer the unmistakable taste of tradition.

S. Nicole Lane

S. Nicole Lane has been a freelancer for the past ten years and is the editor of Healthnews. She lives on Chicago's South Side.