For the past couple months, I have been contemplating a few pieces of “top secret” information. As a curious bar frequenter who was new to town, I had collected intelligence from a few close sources on which drinking establishments were must-sees in Milwaukee. After glossing over a few college and Water Street bars, red flags had gone up with their mentions of needing a password and being monitored on televisions at one secret location. It warranted further investigation.
Delving into my research, I uncovered the name and location of this novel establishment: the Safe House. I learned that the bar had opened in 1966 by four law school buddies and had since been frequented by celebrities, secret service men and Milwaukee tourists and locals, alike. Hmm, maybe I hadn’t cracked the code on this one. And maybe, Milwaukee Magazine had even rated this spy-themed funhouse one of its “best of” the town a few years back.
Although my operation had suddenly become not so covert, I still felt the need to complete my mission of personally probing the town’s finest institutions. Like a good investigator, I waited until I had the proper back up to make a move – it came with a recent visit from my espionage enthusiast relatives, who shall remain confidential – and on a recent Sunday evening, we set out to find the Safe House.
Down by the river along the dark alley of Front Street, we spotted a row of hanging international flags. Could this be the secret refuge for undercover spies? Upon closer scrutiny we read on a plaque that this was the International Exports building. Must be a cover, we decided, and entered the building. Just inside the entrance room, we encountered an obstacle: there was a man sitting by what looked like an old switchboard, and not only did he require our true identities, but he also needed a password.
As we were missing that bit of intelligence, the doorman sympathized with our blank stares and offered a reprieve. He propositioned us into playing a game of ring-around-the-rosy in exchange for access to what beckoned from the door behind him. After completing the task, we thought the stamp on our hands would be our only seal of approval. But when we entered the bar, we were met with a rousing round of applause from patrons who had just reveled in our antics from televisions above the bar (I later learned we were lucky not to have visited on a busier night, when they hand out Olympic style ratings to everyone who hadn’t prepared for the test.)
Scanning the layout of the building, I realized that the hidden cameras in the entryway were just the beginning of the Safe House’s spy paraphernalia. Behind the bar hung a world map with red lights marking secret spy locations and clocks that kept time in Moscow and Hong Kong. Photos of celebrities, spies, world leaders and travelers covered the James-Bond-plastered walls. The whole place was covered with artifacts accumulated throughout the past 40 years, proof of countless missions around the world and excavations of local buildings.
Beyond the bar and main dining room, which features a couple secluded Asian-influenced seating areas and poker tables ready for nightly gambling, the building holds several other passageways, gated-off bars and oddities for those eager enough to venture past the portraits of stern Cold War leaders and venture into the unknown. Highlights include a giant wall puzzle where espionage rookies can decipher the genders of the illustrated spy figures above, a booth with a payphone that features a hundred background noises to back up any cover story you might need to conjure up and a secret exit, which bar manager Brian Varick says is best used if you’re being followed or on a bad first date.
I explored some of the secret nooks and crannies of the bar with a Miller Lite in my hand, but there are a plenty of more exotic beverages on the spy-themed drink menu. There’s the Spy’s Demise, served in a glass with a souvenir chart to keep track of your progress and a certificate when you finish. The Mission Impossible, which provides two or more people the assignment of jointly downing 60 ounces. And the favorite: the Ultimate Martini, which bartenders can ensure is shaken and not stirred by delivering it to the customer in a shaker that travels on the ceiling in an air tube that crawls through the entire bar. Service James Bond would most certainly approve of.
Since gazing at all the espionage décor and viewing the entrance attempts broadcasted above the bar isn’t enough entertainment for the seasoned spies of the world, the Safe House features an in-house magician, nightly gambling and a DJ on the weekends. And if you’re lucky, like our group, you might even find yourselves as onlookers in a Hail to the Chief celebration (birthday girls or boys are sequestered on a thrown that comes up form the basement through a trap door and are treated to music and somewhat kinky video clips of people saluting them.)
This novelty bar is filled with hours of fun, and as I have demonstrated, you don’t need to be a secret agent to figure out where it is and how to enjoy it. But if I may share one more piece of advice from a seasoned Safe House visitor, come armed without the password – it’s more fun – and make an attempt for the ultimate slick departure by finding the hidden exit.
