Very soon, you’ll have another venue for live music downtown. Also: sushi. And breakfast burritos.
It’s called The Hamilton, it soft-opens next week, it’s enormous, and—here’s where it gets really interesting—it’s open 24 hours a day.
Which means you can pass a whole day like this...
5:01pm: Your journey starts as it should: in a high-ceilinged, mahogany-paneled bar that specializes in small-production American gin and bourbon.
6:27pm: You settle in at the sushi bar for a couple tipples of sake and exotic sashimi like Tasmanian ocean trout.
8:17pm: A show’s about to start, so you make your way downstairs to the 500-person amphitheater. Some nights, you’ll get local acts or cover bands; other nights, touring musicians like Chick Corea.
11:32pm: The band invites you backstage where you all share a duck sausage pizza. Your treat.
1:46am: After settling in at the other upstairs bar (the one with paintings from Chicago’s Field Museum) and sampling the 20 craft beers on draft, you turn to the woman next to you and offer to do a karaoke duet with her. There is no karaoke machine.
3:36am: Last call comes and goes. No matter. There’s late-night noshing like root beer milkshakes, housemade ramen and bacon chocolate-chip pancakes.
6:45am: You notice sunlight. You smell coffee. You have a couple hours to prep for your breakfast with the White House economist. You’ll tell him yes, that is a root beer milkshake mustache you’re wearing.
It’s called The Hamilton, it soft-opens next week, it’s enormous, and—here’s where it gets really interesting—it’s open 24 hours a day.
Which means you can pass a whole day like this...
5:01pm: Your journey starts as it should: in a high-ceilinged, mahogany-paneled bar that specializes in small-production American gin and bourbon.
6:27pm: You settle in at the sushi bar for a couple tipples of sake and exotic sashimi like Tasmanian ocean trout.
8:17pm: A show’s about to start, so you make your way downstairs to the 500-person amphitheater. Some nights, you’ll get local acts or cover bands; other nights, touring musicians like Chick Corea.
11:32pm: The band invites you backstage where you all share a duck sausage pizza. Your treat.
1:46am: After settling in at the other upstairs bar (the one with paintings from Chicago’s Field Museum) and sampling the 20 craft beers on draft, you turn to the woman next to you and offer to do a karaoke duet with her. There is no karaoke machine.
3:36am: Last call comes and goes. No matter. There’s late-night noshing like root beer milkshakes, housemade ramen and bacon chocolate-chip pancakes.
6:45am: You notice sunlight. You smell coffee. You have a couple hours to prep for your breakfast with the White House economist. You’ll tell him yes, that is a root beer milkshake mustache you’re wearing.
