Chicago’s Italian Beef

Italian beef has been with this site from the beginning. One of my first posts was about the Italian beef sandwich at Bari’s Italian deli; there are photos of Italian beef sandwiches from two different Al’s in the background image (the original on Taylor and a franchise); I mention giardiniera, the world’s perfect condiment and the Italian Beef’s natural companion, just about every chance I get; and I even snuck in a backdoor Italian Beef history post in my French Dip writeup a few months back.

Hey, I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m a Chicago kind of guy. More than deep dish pizza, more than the dragged-through-the-garden Chicago dog, more than the Maxwell Street Polish sausage or Garrett’s popcorn or Shrimp DeJonghe or the Mother-In-Law or the breaded steak sandwich or any of the other Chicago original foodstuffs that have had their moments in the sun, the Italian Beef sandwich is the one food that, for me, represents Chicago.

Everybody’s list of best Italian beef stands in Chicago is different, but there are a few that are always in the conversation. Mr. Beef in River North (I haven’t been to the “Original” in Homer Glen, though it wouldn’t be much of a trek for me–maybe someday) is the one I’ve probably had the most, having worked a block from there for several years. Very beefy, not highly seasoned, and sometimes I feel like their giardiniera is nothing more than celery oil, but it always hit the spot. The original Al’s on Taylor St., another favorite, with their unique spicing and giardiniera (you’re always going to hear me mention the giardiniera; I’m not much of a sweet peppers guy). Johnnie’s Beef in Elmwood Park and Joe Boston’s on the west side, neither of which I’ve tried to date. Luke’s, which usually gets the dubious “best one you’ll find in the Loop” honor, and has been my go-to since starting a new job around the corner earlier this year. Portillo’s, which is a local chain but does a very solid job at just about everything, including Italian Beef (and a Beef & Cheddar croissant that is an occasional guilty pleasure of mine).

I had at one point thought it would be a good idea to check out all these places from the multitude of “Best Beef” lists you’ll find around the internet, not counting on how difficult that would be during the holiday season when seemingly every minute is already spoken for. I managed to drag Mindy one very snowy Saturday to a place we hadn’t tried, anyway, Tony’s in the West Lawn neighborhood of Chicago’s Southwest side.

Tony’s slices their beef a little thicker than most places, and it’s fine, really. Their giardiniera consists of bigger chunks of peppers and vegetables than usual, and it’s tasty enough. The real star there though is a one-off that you won’t find at other beef places called the Corleone. The Corleone consists of the same thicker-sliced Italian beef thrown on a griddle with some grilled onions and cheese, and served in a torpedo roll very much like a Philly Cheesesteak.

So since there were too many Beef joints to get to, and too little time, I decided to pick up a sirloin tip roast and make my own.

I seasoned the roast with a mixture of herbs, salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, and a whole lot of garlic. (I feel like I definitely could have used more garlic though–one of the “secret ingredients” sometimes mentioned for Italian Beef was garlic juice, which I was unable to source in time). I placed the roast in a roasting pan, partially submerged in a quart of beef stock, with more beef stock on reserve. I wet-roasted the beef until medium (for this sandwich you don’t actually want the beef to be rare. I know, I know. Resist your better instincts this time), topping off the beef stock with more beef stock as it reduced to keep the volume relatively static. Then I chilled the beef and sliced it as thin as I could on a deli slicer.

Meanwhile, I coated some strips of green pepper with olive oil and salt and sauteed them until limp, just in case anybody wanted to try sweet peppers. (We did actually try the sweet peppers. Most of us will stick with the giardiniera)

Italian beef sandwiches are served on “French” rolls, the most common brands of which in Chicago are Turano and Gonnella. I prefer the Gonnella rolls for the most part, but the Turano rolls are much easier to find in my area.

When ordering an Italian beef sandwich, one specifies the level of wetness (dry, wet, or dipped are generally the options, in order of increasing wetness). Do not order a dry Italian beef sandwich though–why would you? Half of what makes it so great is the jus, or “gravy” in Italian Beef parlance, soaking into the bread. A wet Italian beef generally means some of the gravy has been ladled into the bread roll before adding the beef, while “dipped” means the entire sandwich, after the beef has been added but before the peppers are applied, is taken with a pair of tongs and dipped into the hot gravy.

One also specifies hot peppers, sweet peppers, or none. Hot peppers means giardiniera, that king among condiments. Some places may have mild giardiniera available as well–Mindy prefers it to the hot, so we keep it on hand. Sweet peppers, as mentioned, are roasted or sauteed bell peppers.

Once the sandwiches’ parameters are specified, the sandwich maker will take a roll and hold it in some sandwich paper, and scoop an appropriate amount of beef out of the hot gravy with a fork, piling it into the open roll. The sandwiches are generally double- or triple-wrapped, especially if they have been dipped.

I didn’t get the beef sliced quite as thinly as I’d have liked, and my gravy wasn’t as highly seasoned as I’d hoped, though it was the beefiest gravy I ever tasted. The sandwich with sweet peppers definitely helped feature this beefiness, as the mild flavor of the sweet peppers helps to accentuate the savoriness of beef and juices.

I’ll always be a giardiniera guy, though. I used J.P. Graziano’s Victora brand of hot giardiniera, and as well as it works on an Italian sub, it’s equally at home in a hot, dripping Italian beef.

I don’t think I substantially improved on what I can get at my local, though, much less one of the premier spots around town. It sure seems like a shame that after this month, when I’m featuring Italian beef sandwiches, that this should still be true:

Johnnie’s Beef in Elmwood Park and Joe Boston’s on the west side, neither of which I’ve tried to date.

12 hours left in December? I can make this happen. I need to drive to the north side anyway this afternoon to pick up the 19yo, and he’s always up for an Italian Beef.

Normally this place is supposed to have a line out the door, but at 1:45pm on New Years Eve there were only a couple of people ahead of us. The line proceeds along a serving counter, and there’s a stand-up counter against the front window for those who choose to eat inside. The sandwiches were made quickly, handed to me almost as soon as I was done paying for them.

After my first bite of the sandwich from Johnnie’s, I was ready to call its near-permanent spot at the top of every Best Beef list to be all hype. My roll was stale and dry, and hadn’t been dipped thoroughly enough, the giardiniera was nothing special, and the beef, while tender and flavorful, didn’t seem like enough to make up for this sandwich’s deficiencies.

The next bite, and nearly every bite thereafter, proved me wrong. The beef is so thinly sliced and tender that it melts into the gravy-soaked bread perfectly. A stale roll is perfect for soaking up that jus, and softens as the gravy becomes more evenly distributed. The giardiniera, a fairly standard mix of celery, hot peppers, red peppers, and cauliflower, integrates into this mix quite well. It’s not a terribly large sandwich–though large enough, I think, especially with an order of fries–but two of them and a couple of diet pops only set me back about $13. Johnnie’s is pretty great.

Joe Boston’s is a narrow green building at the intersection of Grand and Chicago Avenues in Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood. Like many of the other classic beef joints, it looks like it’s been there forever, exuding realness. Again, we ordered our beefs dipped and hot.

This is a much bigger sandwich than the Johnnie’s beef–only Luke’s and Tony’s are bigger among those I’ve had. The beef is also very thinly sliced but maybe not quite as thin? It’s less tender, more chewy than Johnnie’s, but not so much that it’s a chore to eat. There’s a lot of good flavor here, but a very commercial-looking giardiniera (that you can also buy by the jar in the restaurant). I wouldn’t put this in the same tier as Johnnie’s or Al’s, but I’d definitely stop by again.

I don’t really have any conclusions to draw–I’m incapable of being critical of this sandwich, as it’s one of my favorite things and part of the reason I have become so obsessed with sandwiches over the past 10 years. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a bad Italian beef sandwich, and if I have, I bet it was still pretty good. Tender, shaved roast beef, rich savory gravy, spicy salty oily giardiniera, and a dense bread substantial enough to hold it all together. If you haven’t had an Italian beef sandwich, get thee to Chicago, ’cause you can’t hardly get it anywhere else.

Thanks for your patience this month, 2016 has been a great year for sandwiches (not so great in other ways, it’s true) but so busy for me personally! Additionally, this is the 200th post on Sandwich Tribunal, one heck of a good way to end our year! I hope 2017 turns out great for everybody reading. Thanks for sticking with us, and see you next year!