My Favorite Bar: The Pepper Canister

Refreshing Spirits Daily

Many great bars have shuttered this year, and sadly I am sure there are more to follow. A few months back, I got word that my old local in Chicago locked its doors for the final time.

I remember the first time I walked through that open red door on Wells Street. It was around 1 p.m. on a weekday. I had walked past it countless times on my way to work, a cocktail bar in a hotel just around the corner. I had an hour to kill, and a drink or two helped the first hour of bar work, juicing fruit and lugging ice up to the main floor from the basement, move by a little quicker. I entered The Pepper Canister.

The bar was long and stretched along the North wall to the swinging door at the back that led to the kitchen. TVs hung in each corner of the room, but they were all turned off. A Steelers jersey hung framed behind the bar above the bottles next to a green hardhat that I would learn years later belonged to a late patron. It was just me. Nobody else was in the bar.

I took a seat on a worn wooden stool and removed my jacket. I could hear someone coming up the set of stairs that led down below the bar, and soon the basement door opened, and a woman walked through. She apologized for the wait with her charming accent and asked what I wanted as she walked down and around the long bar. I ordered a Guinness, and she got to work pouring the pint. We didn't talk much at all, aside from that order. I paid and went on my way.

A few days later, I was in the same spot. I caught the earlier blue line from Logan Square and got off at Clark and Lake. I crossed the river and walked through the red door with an hour to kill before work. The bartender was behind the bar this time as I entered. Before I sat down, she asked, "Guinness?" That was the last time she ever asked what I would be drinking.

Over the next few years, I spent a lot of time on those stools, and I drank my weight in black custard a pint at a time. The bartender's name was Rebecca, and she quickly became a friend within those walls. Being a regular at a bar is usually a relationship between you and the bartender but being a regular at an Irish pub means you know the other patrons as well...and that they like you enough to make room at the bar.

Rebecca knew everyone's name that walked through the door and what they drank. It was fascinating to watch. She was always curious about cocktails and spirits and would often have a few questions about a liquor brand or my favorite ratio for a classic cocktail. As much as she thinks she learned from me, I know I learned far more about genuine hospitality watching her work behind that bar.

The house shot at Pepper was Jägermeister. I don't know why. I think the only time I saw anyone put back a pour of Jameson or Bushmills were people that had never been there before. If you had been at the bar for a few rounds or as you were checking out, a small glass of chilled Jäger would appear. I don't take shots anywhere else in the world, but I rarely turned down one at the Pepper Canister.

Pepper became a second home. A day game at Wrigley usually started with pints before and after even though it was out of my way. If friends were in town, the first place I took them was to Pepper. I would send postcards to the bar when I traveled. Rebecca would bring back cool presents for me from abroad when she took vacations.

I want to say that the bar itself wasn't anything extraordinary. You didn't go there for fancy cocktails or rare whiskey. The food was okay for pub fare, but I mostly ate out of necessity. What made it unique was the people. For some reason, good people walked through their doors. I can't say that about most any other place. It was a magnet for good people. That is what made the bar special. Pepper Canister had no gimmicks. It was honest and real, and the patrons were too.

The last thing I want to mention is their slogan: refreshing spirits daily. I always left Pepper better than when I entered, and that includes days when I wouldn't drink a thing! Sometimes I would pop in for a Coke and a bite (on those days, I had to walk in yelling, "DON'T START ME A PINT!") Once or twice, I walked in for some much-needed water and a few Advil before starting my shift around the corner. Refreshing spirits daily. They certainly lived up to that.

When my wife and I decided to move to Michigan and away from Chicago, I felt awful breaking the news. It felt like a breakup, and I was entirely at fault. The thing is, everyone was supportive and excited about my move. It wasn't sad. It was interesting! They couldn't wait to hear about the new house, and there would always be a stool for me waiting at the bar. I wonder if I would have had one more true farewell pint if I knew then it would have been my last?

I miss the Pepper Canister. I miss the staff, Ivan and Rebecca. I miss the patrons, Patrick, Brad, Joie, Mark, Christian, Steve, and the one guy who drank vodka and sat at the bar's end. I even miss the know-it-all guy that was always on his computer “working” and drinking martinis. I miss the walk to get there. I miss the great pints. I miss watching the daytime baseball that they would turn on just for me. I miss being a part of it.

What bars have closed for good that were a second home for you over the past few months?

Tomorrow for paid subscribers, our “bar is open” chat will be about favorite bars closed or open. I'd love to hear about your favorites. Please join us!