Whether you need a place to unwind or you’re looking for a place to contain your rowdy group, Poag Mahone’s Carvery and Ale House is the place to be. Open from 11am – 9pm, Monday – Friday, this old style Chicago saloon brings you back to the turn of the century. Tin ceilings, tile floors, and a huge 28 foot oak bar turns back the clock to the times when Chicago was known for its slaughterhouses, tanneries and its freewheeling lifestyle.
Poag Mahone’s serves American cuisine, specializing in juicy 8 ounce 100% American grass fed burgers and mini burgers that keep customers coming back for more! Our carvery dishes out heaping portions of hand carved fresh turkey, roast beef and corned beef that make for some of Chicago’s best sandwiches and hot plates. And don’t forget dessert… the Irish bread pudding is served with a whiskey sauce so good we’ll have to card you for it!
The full bar features “Poag’s Honest Pour” of favorite whiskeys along with Guinness, Harp, Smithwick’s Irish Ale and other top imported and domestic beers on tap and in bottles. If the whiskey doesn’t warm you up enough, try “Poag’s Irish Coffee”, only $5!
(As told to Dan Rosenthal, shortly before his death in 1989. Not Rosenthal’s, Mahone’s.)
I guess the story of how I got my name really starts when I broke my leg. It was 1913, so I guess I was about 20 at the time. I’d been workin’ around doin’ odd jobs at the Union Stockyards since I was about 15 or so, and I finally wound up gettin’ a job as an apprentice butcher on the line over at Gus Swift’s packing house. They put me on the beef line, breaking hindquarters. For 5 years I worked 14, sometimes 16 hours a day on them hindquarters, and that’s where I learned about all the meat cuts that come from there, including where the best meat for burgers is, and how to grind it just right. The crew I worked with was all Irish, through and through. And from my first day all 15 of ’em treated me like I was one of ’em…I mean, like a brother. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t understand half o’ what they said, them speakin’ Irish and all. Hell, the only thing that was thicker than their brogue was their blarney. And after we’d get off work, we’d all go across the street to this Irish saloon The Blind Pig, and drink and sing and raise hell till they either threw us out or it was time to go back to work. Anyways, after 5 years or so on the job, I broke my leg, bad, so that was the end of my workin’ the line.
So I went across the street to The Pig and got a job as a bartender. My Irish pals thought this was a great idea, ’cause they would come in every day and hang out in a pack at one end of the long bar we had and I’d sneak ’em beers whenever I could.
Well, one day, I’m workin’ behind the bar and the place is packed and everybody’s shoutin’ to be heard and I’m drawin’ the Guinness as fast as I can and I see my pals come in and take up their place where they usually do down at their end of the bar. So I go down there to take ’em a few pints, and Sean Murphy, one of my pals, leans over the bar and he shouts to me, “Say, ya’ know that guy you just served down there? I think he might be from Galway and I might know ‘im…go an’ ask ‘im ‘is name, will ya’?” So I says fine and I go back down the bar and ask the guy his name. Well this Irish fella musta had a bad day or somethin’, ’cause he don’t say a thing. He just keeps starin’ into his pint. So I shout at him again, “Hey, fella, what’s yer name?” and he slowly nods up from lookin’ into his glass and he glares at me…and then he yells back, “Poag Mahone.” So I say thanks, and he goes back to bein’ mean to his pint and I go back down the bar to Sean and Sean shouts, “Well, what’s ‘is name?” And I shout back, “Poag Mahone!”
And then Sean hits me…right in the eye.
Well, in a few minutes we got it all sorted out and I found out that “poag ma hone” means “kiss my ass” in Gaelic! Sean and me stayed friends. Only all my Irish pals thought the whole thing was so damned funny that if I thought Poag Mahone was such a great name that I should have it and they started callin’ me that name and I guess it kinda stuck. And once the word got around, as soon as any Irish bloke got to town he’d have to come over to the saloon and ask to order a Guinness from Poag Mahone. I didn’t mind it though. I wound up makin’ a lot o’ money off o’ that name, so much that I wound up buyin’ the saloon and sellin’ those great hamburgers I learned to make when I was workin’ at the stockyards. And now yer gonna buy it all from me.
Nope…I gotta tell ya’ mister, I don’t mind that name one damned bit.