A search for Chicago’s best Italian beefs led through more than 50 restaurants and Italian beef stands. (Nick Kindelsperger/Chicago Tribune)During the first few months of the quarantine, when my attention darted between work, homeschooling a first grader and mindlessly scrolling through memes of a disapproving Mayor Lori Lightfoot, outrageous cravings for an Italian beef began to flood my mind. Perhaps I was comforted by the idea of a quintessential Chicago sandwich during such a stressful time. Or maybe I was just immeasurably hungry and tired of cooking at home. Regardless, the Italian beef started to represent what I loved so much about a city from which I suddenly felt so isolated. After all, this is a sandwich that starts with a heap of humble ingredients, which are transformed, by pure engineering skill, into one of the meatiest and messiest sandwiches on earth. As soon as Illinois moved into phase four of its COVID-19 reopening plan, I couldn’t wait any longer. I drew up a list of more than 50 restaurants, and then set off to find the ultimate Italian beef in the Chicago area. Considering the times, I wore a mask wherever I went, and ate all the sandwiches in my car, placing a half-sheet pan on the passenger seat as a sort of countertop. My poor car will forever smell of beef and giardiniera, but what a small price to pay. For those unfamiliar with Chicago’s Italian beef sandwich, it initially can sound like an enigma. It’s sort of a roast beef sandwich, albeit one where beef broth plays an integral role. This makes it similar in spirit to a French dip, but it’s both more extravagant and less polite. No one would ever confuse the two. It’s made by roasting a relatively lean and tough cut of beef, usually round or top sirloin, that’s loaded with herbs and spices in liquid (usually water and beef bouillon). When cooled, the meat is cut into paper-thin slices, and mixed with the pan juices, also called gravy or au jus around Chicago. This leads to meltingly tender meat that is intricately seasoned and disproportionately beefy considering its origins. From there the meat is loaded onto a squishy roll, usually made by Turano Baking Co., so that some of the liquid soaks into the bread. But the real metamorphosis happens if you ask for the sandwich to be dipped. That’s when the whole sandwich gets dunked into the container of beefy juices, leaving the roll with the custardy texture of a Yorkshire pudding. An Italian beef at Johnny & Tony’s Italian Beef & Pizzeria sports the classic bun and some of the typical toppings of sweet peppers (green bell peppers in this case) and hot peppers (giardiniera, really). (Nick Kindelsperger / Chicago Tribune)Toppings are usually limited to what are called sweet or hot peppers (though shredded cheese and tomato sauce have become increasingly popular).
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