The snow settles on Clark Street in soft, insistent layers, and inside Simon's Tavern, the air begins to smell like cloves and cardamom and something older—wood polish, maybe, or the accumulated warmth of ninety winters pressed into pine. The front bar hums with its usual energy, but the back room operates on a different frequency altogether. This is where the booths are deeper, the light lower, and where a certain kind of Chicagoan comes to wait out the cold with a mug of glogg and no particular hurry to leave.
The glogg ritual begins
There's a moment each winter when the bartenders stop wiping down the bar and head to the back to fire up the copper pot. It's not a date on the calendar so much as a feeling in the air—when the thermometer drops below twenty-five degrees on a weekday, usually around five o'clock, you'll catch the first wisps of spiced wine steam curling through the doorway. Weekends, they start earlier, anticipating the crowd that knows exactly what they've come for.
The glogg at Simon's isn't some winter cocktail trend imported for the season. It's a Swedish tradition brought over with the tavern's founding in 1934, and it tastes like it: less sweet than you'd expect, fortified with aquavit, studded with almonds and raisins that sink to the bottom of your mug. The pour is generous. The price hasn't climbed the way everything else has. And if you're a regular—or you simply know to ask—the bartenders will ladle in extra raisins and almonds without adding a cent to your tab.
The architecture of warmth
The back room at Simon's is all dark wood and low ceilings, the kind of space that feels like it was designed for huddling. The booths line the walls in orderly rows, each one scarred with decades of initials and worn smooth by coats and elbows. But there's one booth that the regulars circle like sharks: the corner spot in the far back, tucked against the wall. It sits directly above the basement radiator pipe, and during polar vortex weeks, when the wind off the lake turns vicious, that booth becomes the warmest seat in the city.
You can't reserve it. You can't call ahead and stake a claim. You simply have to arrive early, slide in, and settle into the heat rising through the floorboards. It's the kind of small, specific luxury that no city guide will tell you about, the sort of knowledge passed along in whispers between friends who understand that winter in Chicago is a marathon, not a sprint, and comfort is where you find it.
The regulars and their rituals
Some of them have been coming here longer than the bartenders have been alive. They arrive alone or in pairs, always at the same time, always ordering the same thing. There's a quiet fellowship in the back room that doesn't require introductions or small talk—just the shared understanding that this is the place you come when the cold gets into your bones and won't leave.
They read newspapers. They work crosswords in pen. They nurse their glogg and watch the snow pile up outside the window, content in the knowledge that they're exactly where they need to be. It's not nostalgia that keeps them coming back, though there's plenty of that soaked into the wood. It's something simpler: the back room at Simon's does what it's always done, and in a city that reinvents itself every five years, that constancy is worth the commute.
What the light does
Late afternoon in winter, the light through the front windows is pale and watery, but by the time it reaches the back room, it's barely a suggestion. The overhead fixtures are dim and amber, casting everything in a sepia glow that makes the present feel pleasantly distant. You could be sitting here in 1985 or 2005 or last Tuesday—the view doesn't change much.
There's comfort in that sameness, especially as the city outside accelerates and morphs and prices itself into unrecognizability. The back room at Simon's remains what it's always been: a refuge for people who understand that sometimes the best thing you can do in winter is find a warm corner, order something strong, and let the hours blur together.
The sound of staying put
The acoustics in the back room swallow noise in a way that feels intentional. Conversations stay at the tables where they start. The clink of glassware is muted. Even laughter seems to settle quickly, absorbed by the wood and the coats piled on hooks and the general sense that no one here is in a hurry. It's the opposite of the bright, loud bars that dominate the neighborhood now, all Edison bulbs and exposed brick and soundtracks curated to within an inch of their lives.
At Simon's, the soundtrack is the radiator ticking, the occasional scrape of a chair, the low murmur of people who've found what they came for. It's the sound of a city taking a breath, and it doesn't happen often enough.
Why it matters in late 2026
Chicago has never lacked for bars, but it's increasingly short on places that feel like they belong to the neighborhood rather than to an algorithm. Simon's has survived nine decades of economic shifts, changing demographics, and the endless churn of trends that flatten everything into sameness. The back room, especially in winter, is a reminder that some rituals are worth protecting—not because they're precious or performative, but because they work.
When the glogg starts simmering and the snow piles up on Clark Street, the back room fills with people who know the value of a warm booth and a strong drink and a few hours stolen from the cold. That's not nostalgia. That's survival, Chicago-style.
Practical notes
Simon's Tavern is located at 5210 N Clark Street in Andersonville. The nearest L stop is Berwyn on the Red Line, about a five-minute walk west. Street parking is available but competitive during peak hours; consider side streets east of Clark. Hours vary seasonally, so verify directly before heading over. The back room is accessible via a short step from the front bar. Dress warmly for the walk, but don't worry—once you're inside, the radiators and the glogg will do the rest. Cash is appreciated, though cards are accepted.
Tags: #SimonsTavern #Andersonville #ChicagoWinter #Glogg #SwedishTradition #PullUpAChair #ChicagoBars #WinterInTheCity #ClarkStreet #CozyChicago #ChicagoNightlife #RedLineLife #ChicagoEats #WinterDrinks #ChicagoHiddenGems
Please drink responsibly. Must be of legal drinking age.
Sources consulted: Andersonville, Chicago · Chicago Neighborhoods · Andersonville - Choose Chicago
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