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I went to a classic Wisconsin supper club to talk politics. This is what I learned
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When we started planning an election reporting trip to swing state Wisconsin, locals told us we had to include a visit to a supper club to experience a unique part of the state's culture. So when I finally met Chris Wiken, whose family opened The Packing House in Milwaukee 50 years ago, my first question was, "What on earth is a supper club?"
"This is the elusive question," he says. "The whole idea of a supper club is somewhere that you're going to come and spend the evening at."
Typically, a supper club will include a few things: a Wisconsin brandy old-fashioned cocktail at the bar, seafood or prime rib in the dining room and then live music and a boozy ice cream drink to close out the night.
Even though The Packing House was remodeled about a decade ago, it still has a classic old-time aesthetic with dark wood and dim lighting. Walking through the doors feels like going back in time.
Milwaukee's main airport terminal was just across the street when The Packing House opened in 1974. Now, that terminal serves private jets where former President Donald Trump, Vice President Harris or their running mates park every time they come to town.
"The police and Secret Service come over and go, 'Hey, Chris, they have to close down the street again.' And then I go and shake my fist at them," he says, joking that he'll vote for whoever shuts down the street in front of his restaurant fewer times.
You won't see a Harris or Trump sign in front of The Packing House. Wiken doesn't want to alienate his customers, who have a wide range of views, as the All Things Considered crew and I discovered when we started chatting people up at the bar.
Janine Collette, having dinner with an old friend, remembers growing up in Wisconsin before Roe v. Wade legalized abortion in the state.
"In high school, we used to raise money in the girls' bathrooms to help girls go to the state of New York to get an abortion," she says. "We're not going back." Collette is excited to cast her vote for the candidate she expects to become the first female U.S. president.
At the other end of the bar, Ron Raasch says that he has voted for Democrats his whole life and that this election may be the first time he doesn't. He's disillusioned with the two-party system and is considering a vote for Green Party candidate Jill Stein.
"It's very hard to see the difference when both of the major parties are going to continue shipping arms all over the world and especially to Gaza," he says. Raasch isn't concerned that in 2016 and 2020 the margin of victory in Wisconsin for Trump and Biden, respectively, was less than 1% of the vote. "People are throwing that as a fear tactic," he says. "And I'm trying to [more so] make a statement that the two-party system is showing its age and its frailties."
Wearing a Packers hat at the bar, Lee Cielonko is nursing a beer while he waits for his food to arrive. "I want the economy to be put back together. I want energy. I want to drill, baby, drill, man," he says.
He's supporting Trump and is concerned about immigration, saying: "People come here and they don't have the same culture as us. They don't understand and know a lot of the way our culture works."
So much about the future, as well as this election, is uncertain; there can be something comforting in the familiar: fish fry Friday, a Wisconsin brandy old-fashioned at the bar and live music in a place that has been doing pretty much the same thing since before most Americans were born.
Karen Zamora, Mia Venkat and Ashley Brown contributed to this report.
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