Maxwell Street Polish from Jim’s

Some years ago, not long after we first moved to Chicago, Mindy, the boys and I went to Poochie’s on Dempster in Skokie for a late lunch one Saturday. In fact we went there on several occasions but this one stands out in particular. That time, Mindy and the boys were waiting in a booth and I, having ordered and paid, was waiting at the counter for our food. So was another guy, who had most of his family at a booth but one son standing–bouncing, wandering, playing, practically vibrating–at the counter with him.

I’d ordered a bratwurst, and when it was brought to the counter, the boy, probably around 8 or 9 years old, leaned over the counter, put his face directly over my sausage, within inches, and inhaled deeply with a big goofy grin on his face. Then he went back for a second sniff. And a third. I waited for him to stop on his own, or for his father to notice and correct him, but neither happened. After this had gone on for a bit, I finally cleared my throat and said “Hey kid, you wanna get your face outta my sandwich?”

I guess it could have been said more kindly, and the boy’s father lectured me at length on the importance of politeness when dealing with his child–come on, though, I was there with kids the same age and they were sitting at the table waiting, playing quietly, maybe drawing with crayons, certainly not drooling into other people’s food! The part that seemed most awkward to me though was that I had called my bratwurst-inna-bun with onions, mustard and kraut a sandwich. I thought about it for years after.

I’ve long since come to the conclusion that I was right. A sausage-inna-bun is a sandwich. For you two-bread sticklers out there, the bun is essentially two pieces of bread that are still joined along a thin line. Slices of bread start out as pieces of the same whole. Many sub places only cut partway through the bread, and that doesn’t make their subs unsandwich. I honestly don’t see this as controversial, though I don’t know that I speak for the entire Tribunal on this matter.

All this to say, here is the sandwich I ate for lunch today. It’s a Chicago classic, known to all, and I think the only thing that might surprise a local is that the sun was out and I was entirely sober when I ate it.

Polish with everything, from Jim’s Original

There are places all over the Chicago area serving what they call a “Maxwell Street Polish” but as often as not, you ask for one with everything and you’ll get regular Polish sausage dragged through the garden. Sometimes it’ll be a a dinky extruded casingless 12-to-a-pack cheapo gas station Polish. Some of them do it right but for the most part I don’t bother.

There are 2 places where you can get a real Maxwell Street Polish (though neither one of them are on Maxwell Street anymore, in fact, Maxwell Street as a Chicago cultural phenomenon doesn’t exist anymore, though the remnants are still hanging on in more polished forms nearby). Most people in Chicago will admit to only one, though which one it is differs from person to person.

Jim’s Original

I’m a Jim’s guy. It’s deeper than a name. Back in the 90s, when I was driving a truck for a moving company and the other guys would drag me along to Maxwell Street for lunch, they’d always take me to the one just off the corner, which I now believe was probably Maxwell Express rather than Jim’s. That’s where I first got a taste for this type of Polish sausage. However, when my family moved back here in 2006, we tried both, and Jim’s is where we end up coming back every time.

A Maxwell Street Polish is not a standard Polish sausage. It’s a good-sized length of spicy kielbasa, grilled (or griddled, though I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of them get dunked in a fryer for a bit to crisp up the casing), on a bun. If you ask for everything, it comes with mustard, grilled onions, and sport peppers. If you get a hot dog at a Maxwell Street stand and ask for everything, it’ll come with mustard, grilled onions, and sport peppers. Same with a burger, chicken or pork chop sandwich, anything you order. “Everything” means mustard, grilled onions, and sport peppers, it’s ready almost as soon as you ask for it and it comes in a bag with fries and a couple ketchup packets.

These guys are quick. You order from the grill guy. “Polish with everything.” He grabs a bun from a steam cabinet, swipes it with mustard, forks an already-cooked sausage onto the bun, forks some onions on top from the massive pile sitting on the griddle, then sets it on the wax paper, drops on a couple of peppers, and wraps it. Meanwhile, the register guy has gone to get a bag, which he’s populated with fries, napkins & ketchup before the grill guy drops in the wrapped sausage. It takes more time for you to fish your wallet out of your pocket than it takes them to make your order.

The fries at Jim’s are the kind of food-service fries with a coating that makes them stay crisp even when they’ve had a while to steam in the bag. They’re not my favorite, but they’re better than food-service fries that have turned limp in the bag. Protocol states that you eat your food on the hood of your car, or, as I did, on the stainless steel counters along the front of the building.

Warning: if you eat in your car, or even just take the food home or to a nearby location in your car, the inside of your vehicle will smell like grilled onions for days. If you eat one of these sandwiches at all, your hands and clothes will likely smell like grilled onions nearly as long, but those things are easier to wash.

These joints are open all night, and a Polish with fries will run you $3.80 these days, which makes the corner of James M. Rocheford St. & Union Ave., just off the Roosevelt exit on the Dan Ryan, a frequent stop for a cheap way to soak up some booze before heading home. Or for a quick bike ride from downtown and a cheap lunch.

Jim Behymer

I like sandwiches.

I like a lot of other things too but sandwiches are pretty great