To tell you the truth, I had no idea what to expect from Astor Club, a private members club in the Gold Coast neighborhood that opened a little over a year ago.
Adam Bilter, who owns the club alongside his wife Victoria, invited me to come for the space’s Champagne and Caviar night, one of the many special events the Astor holds for members. I recruited my best friend, “Aubrey” — a pseudonym that’s dangerously close to her real name — and within 30 minutes of arriving,we had an invite to go on a boat, something I’ve spent the past 12 years in Chicago trying to snag.
Astor Club just has that kind of magic.
While the club just celebrated its one-year anniversary in June, it’s located in the former space of Maxim’s de Paris, a legendary underground speakeasy that was a Chicago institution from 1963 until 1983. Maxim’s was known for being the go-to after-party locale for celebrities who were hanging out at the now-shuttered Pump Room, and famous patrons included Frank Sinatra and the rest of the Rat Pack, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Audrey Hepburn, Truman Capote and pretty much everyone else that’s on your list of celebrities you’d want to invite to a dinner party.
The club closed after 20 successful years, with the space eventually finding itself in the hands of the city of Chicago. It was occasionally used for entertaining visiting politicians and dignitaries (Bill Clinton and Mayor Daley had a joint birthday party there in the early 2000s), but it was eventually closed up in 2012, sitting vacant for over a decade.
Then in January 2021, Adam and Victoria were walking their dogs by the building when the shuttered club caught their eye. (Astor Club shares a building with the Astor Tower.)
“We were just curious,” Adam said. “Why are the lights off? It looks abandoned — is it really? From there, we Googled the address, found out it was owned by the city and started really digging in.”
Sixteen months and several city council, alderman and neighborhood meetings late, the deed was signed over to Adam and Victoria, who spent another 14 months carefully restoring the interior, blending together the original 1960s vibe (the dining room was 100% a restoration, true to its previous design) with newer luxurious details, like Gucci wallpaper-covered phone booths off the lobby.
“From the day we walked in there, even when the lights didn’t work, it already had a great energy to it,” Adam said. “We didn’t want to come in and gut it, because it was already so beautiful.”
The beauty of the space really does hit you right away. From the moment Aubrey and I walked in, it immediately felt like we’d stepped into an ultra-glam time portal — all polished wood and gold details and plush red seats. There are nods to the history of the club all around, from the framed original Maxim’s de Paris menus to the peacock wallpaper along the back wall, an homage to the vase full of peacock feathers that keen-eyed Victoria spotted in an early ’60s photo of the restaurant.
“Where…are we?” Aubrey whispered as we descended down the curved staircase into the club, where we were immediately handed a glass of champagne and a caviar bump before being introduced to an alderman at the bar. A little different than our typical Friday night.
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Seven perfect spots, from casual to classyIt’s not just the gorgeous decorations that feel like they’re out of a different era — it’s the entire feel of the space. With a business-casual dress code and limited phone usage allowed, the bar felt like the kind of cocktail party you’ve always wanted to attend. People of all ages mingled, talking and laughing with each other — glamour without pretension. Aubrey and I sipped champagne with a kind man in a tuxedo, who shared with us the top spots to play golf in Scotland, a thing we’ll almost certainly never do, but what an honor to seem like the kind of people he thought might find that information handy.
All the while, Adam and Victoria made the rounds around the room, chatting with members, passing out drinks and generally being the perfect charming hosts.
“We live upstairs in one of the penthouse units,” Adam explained to me later. “So this is our home, but I kind of like to think of the club as our living room and our dining room and our kitchen. The people that are in there, they’re in our home. That’s the root of hospitality — making it feel like a comfortable experience.”
In addition to the bar, Astor Club also has a full-service restaurant led by Michelin-starred Chef Trevor Teich. While the restaurant was closed the night Aubrey and I visited because of the special event, Adam still gave us a tour of it, showing us the luxurious booth that the Beatles once sat in, and the small stage in the front where they were pulled up to sing a couple of songs.
Members of the club have access to an incredible range of events, many of which are included in the membership fee, which range from concerts to lectures to whiskey tastings, with a full list of events available here. (But take it from me and the entire ocean’s worth of caviar I sampled at the Champagne and Caviar night — if you’re a member, do not miss that one. And don’t forget to call a certain Chicago-based InsideHook writer if you’re looking for a plus one.)
Becoming a member at Astor Club is pretty straightforward: you simply fill out the inquiry form on the website here, and Adam will reach out and give you a tour. From there, you’re invited to fill out an application, which is reviewed by three committee members. (There is currently a waitlist, but don’t let that stop you.) The club welcomes a diverse range of members, of all professions and walks of life, with the youngest member just 25 years old and the oldest at 92.
Here’s the part of the article where I so badly want to tell you which notable Chicagoans are members of Astor Club, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. So instead, I’ll just say: that person you’re thinking of? They’re a member here. So is that other person. And the other one too. It’s the kind of place where anyone could come in and anything could happen — a space filled with possibility, but also with community and familiarity.
At the end of our evening there, my beautiful friend flirted with a handsome advertising executive at a booth in the corner, while I perched at the bar and housed one of the best burgers I’ve had in the whole damn city at a speed that Joey Chestnut would consider a little much. And in a way, both of us were experiencing Astor Club in the ways it was intended to be experienced.
The next morning, after a night of drinking somewhere between 1 and 50 glasses of champagne, I woke up with a little headache, much like Frank Sinatra (presumably) did before me, after having the exact same kind of night in the exact same room.
Some things in Chicago never change.
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