The venerable Vienna Beef company bears primary responsibility for the Chicago style hotdog. They also produce Italian Beef, carpaccio thin slices of roasted round, served in an au jus that’s au-somely seasoned to perfection; not too salty, not too spicey. Typically, this beef and jus is served piled high on a Gonnella Bread french bread chunk. Another company synonymous with Chicago, Gonnella‘s Italian style bread is authentic to its name with a crispy outer shell and tender, moist, yeasty interior. Once it’s paired with the beef and soaked to your personal level of drench with the jus then garnished with mandatory roasted sweet green peppers, well, you’ve got yourself the "Saturday after the haircut" special.
Almost anywhere that serves Vienna Beef franks also serves Italian beef sandwiches. But, like with most things, some beef is better than others. My personal favorite is on Erie and Grand, Al’s Italian Beef. Like most great dives, it’s been there forever. In an area of revolving door restaurants known as River North, it stays put and forever true to its roots.
River North, a former warehouse district turned artists’ haven, is prime real estate so there’s not much parking. Al’s six or seven spaces are notoriously filled. If you sneak park down the street at Rock ‘n Roll McDonald’s (where they can somehow afford to offer tons of parking) and walk a few blocks, you can enjoy the unique interior ambiance of Al’s.
Businessmen stand at the little ledge along the window careful to have flipped their tie over their shoulders before indulging in a sure stain-maker. Girls from the offices arrive in groups, giggling or griping and young artists and athletes abandon their lofty health goals temporarily for soul food. If the weather stinks (fancy that in Chicago!) and walking even a few blocks seems treacherous, just make a quick left before the corner, navigate the extremely tight turn of the drive-thru window, and give the gum-smacking blond your order for Italian beef with extra jus, double sweet peppers, and sack of fries.
Everything is cooked to order. So while you wait,
count the bumper scrape marks on the brick wall caused by less skilled drivers. As the cookers and deep fryer at work inside the small storefront blast their steam onto the windows, notice the bright paint adorning them. Al’s special of the week! (always the same), "Polish!, Hamburger! Chicken Breast!
proclaimed in red, yellow and blue, bubbles, stars and frames attempt to sell you something else. But no amount of window hype can convince me to order anything but Italian Beef at Al’s.
Well, here’s your lunch now. Bet you don’t make it through the stoplight before you’ve reached into that little brown bag, heedless of the greasy splotches smearing abstracts on the paper and warnings about saturated fats threatening to spoil your moment. By the time you reach the expressway, wanna bet they’ll be gone?