CHICAGO — On a biting December evening, the St. Clair Supper Club in Chicago’s West Loop neighborhood offered an escape out of the weather — and into America’s culinary past. In the dimly lit basement dining room, wood paneling covered the walls, and paper place mats cheerily proclaimed, “We’re glad you’re here!” A cushioned leather strip ran around the lip of the long bar, inviting guests to lean in for a while. Over the speakers, Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” gave way to Gordon Lightfoot crooning “