The best supper clubs stick to what they do best, like the thin-crust pizza at Noah’s Ark. Writer: Megan Bannister Photographer: Joe Crimmings From the outside, Midwestern supper clubs are fairly unassuming. Often located in nondescript buildings with few windows and minimal adornments, these seemingly modest eateries are easy to overlook. But just steps inside the door, it’s clear that supper clubs are still worth a second look. In many ways, supper clubs defy definition. In the days of Prohibition, many began as private members-only clubs where patrons could enjoy an illicit drink with their meal. While the membership requirements fell away over the years, the exclusive-sounding “club” name persisted. Today, some still serve elaborate relish trays. Some hold fast to the tradition of a prime rib special on Saturday night. Others offer a bevy of after-dinner ice cream drinks. And some have none of these things at all. When it comes down to it, supper clubs are less about specific features than an overall feeling. Through my experience researching and writing about this uniquely Midwestern phenomenon, I’ve discovered that supper clubs are special, almost sacred places. The more I talk with people, the more I realize that supper-club memories are as visceral and individual as they are universal. A lot of supper-club magic comes from their unwavering traditions, built on a proudly stubborn ability to stay the same over decades of new trends and newfangled technologies. The best supper clubs preserve the nostalgia of their heyday, even for younger diners who weren’t around to see it. It’s the radical consistency of spots like Maxie’s and Jesse’s Embers that inspire a rare kind of allegiance and loyalty among their patrons. These are places where they go to celebrate special occasions and make memories even on a casual Thursday night. As with many beloved institutions, supper-club histories are oral ones, more often shared through “remember when …” stories than intentionally written down. The tales tend to grow taller with each retelling, and the supper club itself is a character, along with a colorful cast of diners, waitstaff, cooks and owners. Questionably true stories of illegal gambling, bootleg hooch, famous politicians and infamous mob bosses are hallmarks of any supper club worth its salt. Of course, there are less flashy stories, too. Couples who had first dates and then returned for their wedding receptions. Weekly business lunches. Recipes passed down on napkins from one generation to the next. It’s these types of memories, swirling in the dim light, that make even newcomers feel like honorary regulars. All you have to do is go on any given night and listen while folks arrive. The staff and patrons greet each other like old friends; while some of them are, it’s also just the way supper clubs operate. Maybe it’s Midwestern kindness. Maybe it’s something more. Whatever the reason, it’s a feeling you’ll want to recapture. You’ll be planning a return trip even before you head out the door. Jesse’s Embers Dick “Jesse” Roush opened Jesse’s Embers in 1963, the same year the Iowa Legislature legalized the sale of “liquor by the drink.” Until then, many of the state’s supper clubs operated as members-only “key clubs” so their dinner patrons could enjoy a cocktail poured from their own legally purchased bottle, stored in their own locked cubby (hence the “key”). Soon after Jesse’s Embers opened, at 3301 Ingersoll Ave., it became a full-fledged restaurant known for its steaks, its Emberburger and its French dip sandwich. Over the years, almost everything has remained unchanged, including the menu, the decor and even the staff. Current owners Marty Scarpino and Deena Edelstein bought the restaurant in 2007 after decades of working on the staff. Noah’s Ark Ristorante Noah Lacona founded his namesake “ristorante” at 2400 Ingersoll Ave. back in 1946. Although its quintessential Italian-American menu extends beyond standard supper-club fare, there’s still that same nostalgic appeal. With vinyl stools at the bar and cozy booths, the place has a friendly energy and time-capsule ethos. And if its walls could talk, they’d have plenty of stories. Maxie’s Restaurant & Lounge When Mike Colacino opened Maxie’s in 1967 and named it for his wife, Maxine, it was on Ingersoll Avenue at the corner of Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway (back when it was still called Harding Road). It quickly became famous for its signature Maxie Burger, a juicy half-pound beef patty topped with lettuce, tomato, onion and dill pickles on a toasted bun. After about a decade, Maxie’s moved west to 1311 Grand Ave. in West Des Moines, where diners still rave about the award-winning onion rings (the skinny shoestring kind, not the thick rings). The eatery has changed hands over the years and almost closed in 2023, until local restaurateur Anna Suttie and two partners bought the place and kept its traditions alive.