Local Favorites #1: The Guido Special at D&D Foods, Chicago Heights, IL
It’s common for people to connect with others on subjects of common interest. Parents of newborn babies are pressed for statistics and sleep schedules, pet owners swap stories and photos. There’s nothing unusual about this; it’s the common mechanism of social interactions. So when you are known as “that guy who likes sandwiches in a way that borders on creepy,” you get a lot of folks telling you about sandwiches they like.
I find myself trying these sandwiches from time to time, as well as unique must-try sandwiches I’ve read about on websites or while actively researching other sandwiches, and usually take pictures, a few notes, then never end up actually putting anything about them on the website.
I love the recommendations though! I want people to tell me about the place down the street from them that makes a sandwich you can’t get anywhere else. How can I be the guy who’s tried all the sandwiches if I don’t, y’know, try all the sandwiches?
So I thought I’d start another little mini-series, a subsection of the website, pun intended, called Local Favorites, to join my quest for the best breaded pork tenderloin sandwich in Quincy, IL and some other brief attempts at similar categories. Given the number of one-off sandwiches I’ve tried at obscure local haunts over the past couple of years, I have a backlog for this topic already.
However I’m starting with this sandwich my friends Suzy and Randy told me about recently, the Guido Special from D&D Foods in Chicago Heights, a little Italian deli owned and run by the Damiani family for decades. Damianis make the sausages, slice the meats, assemble the sandwiches, and run the cash register. On any given day, you will find several generations of Damianis in the store; standing out among them though is the genial Guido.
Walk into the store and you’ll likely be greeted by Guido, around whom the place seems to revolve, despite his soft-spokenness. If you’re a local or a regular, he’ll ask about your family. If you’re a first-timer, he’ll ask your name, and I’ve been told he’ll remember you the next time you come in as well. Take a look around the store and you’ll find Guido’s hand everywhere, from the reproductions of his album covers hanging above the aisles, to the sign for his namesake sandwich adorning the wall behind the deli counter, alongside various other signs, photos of family, and a pushpin map of all the places D&D’s customers have traveled with the house-made sausages and meats.
Randy had business in the store–he’s doing luthier work in his spare time and was returning a guitar he’d repaired for Guido. After chatting with Guido for a bit–Suzy introduced us, I told him I’d been born in the hospital down the street, Guido asked my parents’ names, trying to fit me into his mental map of Chicago Heights society), we ordered four of his signature sandwich and browsed the store while we waited.
The store smelled of an Italian beef roasting in the corner, tended by one of the many Damianis on hand. The meats and cheeses all appeared to be the highest quality, and when Guido was shaving translucent slices off a prosciutto or wedges from a round of cheese, everyone within arm’s reach would receive a sample. The atmosphere was gentle chaos, with people crowding around the deli counter and being served in no particular order. Someone in a hurry may have found the setup frustrating, but it appeared that the more rushed patrons called in their orders ahead of time (but still generally found time to chat up the checkout girl on their way out).
After a time, we received our sandwiches and checked out. As there’s no seating in the deli, we returned to Randy and Suzy’s place and, after a pause to pay the requisite attention to their excitable but friendly dogs, turned to our prize: the Guido Special.
The method they use to slice the bread is the first unique thing about the Guido Special. They take an Italian loaf and slice it lengthwise, rather than vertically. The slices are roughly the same thickness as a regular slice of bread, but longer, and any given sandwich might have one “regular” slice and one heel.
The second unique thing about the Guido Special: they really stack it high.
The bread gets a drizzle of olive oil, then they stack ham, mortadella, spicy capicola, salami, pepperoni, and sharp provolone, making each bite a challenging but flavorful mouthful. The olive oil soaking into the bread helps keep the sandwich from being too dry, but I couldn’t help but think that some kind of vegetable matter–roasted peppers, giardiniera, pickled onions, even tomato/lettuce/vinaigrette–would have helped cut through the predominance of cured meats.
Still, these were high quality cured meats, in abundance, and while I may have been thinking of ways to improve the sandwich, I devoured it, along with half of Mindy’s. There was a delightful fennel flavor from the capicola, and the softer ham and mortadella helped mitigate the dense chewiness of even thinly sliced hard salami and pepperoni. The stronger flavor of the sharp provolone is a better choice to stand up to all this spicy salty meat compared to standard provolone.
It’s really quite a combination, and D&D Foods itself has a lot of character. This is just the kind of place I love to visit, and while I felt the sandwich could have used something, the fact is that this stack of meat is not random; it’s a well-curated collection of some fine salume, and nicely showcases some of the better products on offer at D&D. It’s worth a try if you’re in the area, and if you think it’s too much sandwich for you, they charge by weight so it shouldn’t be too much of a hassle to get a smaller portion.
So does anyone out there have a favorite local establishment selling a sandwich that you think the Tribunal ought to know about? We’re dying to hear about it! Leave us a comment, or use the Contact Us link above, and tell us all about it! Sooner or later, we will eat all the sandwiches.
I like sandwiches.
I like a lot of other things too but sandwiches are pretty great
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