Where’s the Beef?
In Chicago, the answer is everywhere.
If you told me Mr. Beef was Chicago’s most popular tourist attraction of 2024, I’d believe you. Having never been to the River North stand (I’m a Johnnie’s or Al’s gal), I decided to join the line of folks who had flown into town and proceeded directly, suitcases in hand, to the restaurant on which the one in The Bear is based.
Despite all the questions (“What am I supposed to get here?” “What’s ‘hot’ ”?), the line moved quickly. (I noticed the cash-only policy has disappeared.) I could hear everyone ordering the Bear, so I did, too. Here, that means juicy, hot and sweet.
Watching these tourists got me thinking about what the Italian beef sandwich means to Chicago. Of the three foods most synonymous with this city — hot dogs and pizza are the other two, of course — Italian beef is the least known outside our borders. Though it has analogues, like a French dip or beef po’ boy, it’s entirely possible visitors here may have never had anything closely resembling this wet-bread sandwich. So through The Bear, folks are being initiated into a secret Chicago club — one that requires a special lingo for ordering.
Italian beef originated here in the 1920s, in Little Italy, as an affordable option for immigrant wedding receptions. But it has since spread to every neighborhood, appearing at not just beef stands but pizza joints, Vietnamese spots, chef-driven restaurants — and beyond our borders. These days, you can find Italian beef in New York, Seattle, Houston, and even Florence, Alabama.
Why do we love it so much? This is a very democratic sandwich. It’s cheap. It’s filling. It’s satisfying. It’s also incredibly messy, so you have to lean into its lowbrow nature. Italian beef belongs to the people of Chicago, and we’re ready to share.
Chefs’ Picks
Rick Bayless
Frontera Grill, Topolobampo, Bar Sótano, Xoco
The place
Johnnie’s Beef
The order
Combo, dipped, hot and sweet (plus a hot dog chaser from Gene & Jude’s nearby)
Stephanie Izard
Girl & the Goat, Little Goat Diner, Cabra, Duck Duck Goat
The place
Portillo’s
The order
Wet and sweet
James Sanders
Sanders BBQ Supply Co.
The place
Al’s on Taylor Street
The order
Double dipped, hot and sweet
Brian Enyart
Leña Brava, Cruz Blanca
The place
J.P. Graziano’s late-night window
The order
Hot (“the giardiniera is the best in the city”), with extra jus on the side
Erick Williams
Virtue, Daisy’s Po-Boy and Tavern, Mustard Seed Kitchen, Top This Mac N’ Cheese
The place
Johnnie’s Beef
The order
Dipped, hot and sweet
Chris Curren
The Graceful Ordinary
The place
Mr. Beef
The order
Combo, hot, with jus on the side (“I like dipping the sandwich on my own terms”)
How to Eat an Italian Beef in Five Easy Steps
If you’re a neophyte, follow these rules to experience the sandwich right.
Hey, The Bear viewer: Congratulations! Thanks to an excellent TV show made by at least some actual Chicagoans, you now know that actual Chicagoans don’t eat deep-dish pizza but, instead, the delicious, unique regional delicacy known as an Italian beef. Still, tasting one in real life must be done correctly. Here’s a step-by-step guide.
1Pick a legit place. Many establishments offer Italian beef along with hot dogs, sausages, and gyros, but for this, you want a specialist. I indulge only at Johnnie’s in Elmwood Park or Al’s — that is, the original one on Taylor Street. If you insist on visiting the place featured in The Bear, be aware that Carmy et al. do not actually work at Mr. Beef. They are fictional characters.
2Have your order ready. You will join a long but fast-moving line if you arrive at lunch or dinner time, so do not dally when you get to the counter. This is no moment to gaze at the menu, tap your chin thoughtfully, and say, “Hmm, what’s good?” This is what’s good: “A beef, wet, sweet and hot.” You will get a sandwich soggy with the delicious, garlicky juices that the thin-sliced beef has been marinating in, topped with both roasted sweet peppers and an oily mix of marinated hot peppers known in Cook County as giardiniera. If you cannot tolerate spice, you are allowed to skip it, but know that the experience will be diminished. Do not, at least the first time, order a “combo,” which features a roasted Italian sausage as well as the beef. You want it pure. And do not ask for cheese. This is not Philadelphia.
3Get a side of fries. If you think french fries are delicious now, wait till you try them soaked in Italian beef jus.
4Eat immediately. Like the people who indulge in them, Italian beef sandwiches decline with age. Most legit places do not have much seating, offering instead a narrow counter. To eat your beef, assume the Stance: standing back, leaning forward, propping yourself on your elbows. This will prevent the inevitable drips from staining your shirt, blouse, or tie.
5Mourn the years of your life you spent without knowing of this gustatory glory.
Italian Beef by the Numbers
Italian Beef, Hold the Bread
These chefs take inspiration from the sandwich for other foods — and even a cocktail.
Italian Beef Bao
BiXi Beer
Slagel Farms beef is braised, then dipped into jus made with roasted bone broth, onions, and Sichuan chiles. It’s topped with fermented giardiniera featuring Sichuan chiles and peanut oil. Fusion at its finest. Logan Square
Italian Beef and Giardiniera Pizza
Vito & Nick’s Pizzeria
Shaved beef mingles with melted cheese and marinara, while hot peppers add extra crunch to the crispy thin crust. Ashburn
Italian Beef Egg Roll
The Egg Roll Factory
Chopped beef is loaded into a flour wrapper with giardiniera, mozzarella, and American cheese before a trip to the deep fryer. The result is an oozy, spicy, beefy flavor bomb. Humboldt Park
Italian Beef Tamale
Santa Masa Tamaleria
For this secret menu item, Danny Espinoza and Jhoana Ruiz mix roasted top round into fresh masa, then steam it in grilled banana leaves. They finish it with an escabeche-inspired giardiniera and jus with ancho and pasilla chiles and Mexican oregano. Belmont Heights
Italian Beef Empanada
Roma’s Italian Beef, Sausage and Pizza
All the little bits of beef that fall to the bottom of the pot get scooped up, tucked into dough, then fried and served with a cup of jus. Old Irving Park
Italian Beef Bloody Mary
Adorn Bar & Restaurant
With spicy giardiniera blended into the tomato mix, beef-fat-washed vodka, and a wagyu pastrami garnish, this drinkable version is a $30 splurge. Gold Coast
Top Five Pop Culture Moments
The sandwich had starring roles well before The Bear.
A Food Writer Tries Italian Beef for the First Time
I have a bad habit: I avoid finishing things. There’s one James Bond movie I’ve never seen, and a single unwatched episode of Star Trek taunts me from a DVD on my shelf. I’m not educated enough in psychology to know why I do this, but it probably has to do with being terrified of things being over. When confronted by friends aghast at this, I pass it off as wanting to save something special for a bad day.
This applies to food, too. Despite having worked in Chicago dining media for nearly 20 years, I’ve never been to Alinea or Girl & the Goat. And I’d never had Italian beef. There are many of you who probably want to take away my pen and brand me a fraud. After all, Italian beef is one of those Chicago things that define our culinary identity. So I tried one. But you’ll probably want to beat me with the same pen when you hear what I thought of it.
To get the true experience, I went to Al’s. I ordered the Italian beef with jus on the side because I was taking it somewhere else to eat. And despite what you may think of me at this point, I am a real Chicagoan, so I got it with giardiniera.
Here’s the thing: It was … fine? It had a hearty beefy flavor and a nice kick of spice, and it made for a satisfying, if greasy, mouthful. The jus added a welcome hit of salt, though the soggy bread didn’t do the sandwich any favors. It was neither revelatory nor crave-worthy, and I only got through about half before giving up. Maybe this is why I don’t finish things: The expectation is often more enjoyable than the reality.
So debate all you want over the best Italian beef in town or wet versus dry. The next time I go to Al’s, I’m ordering a Polish. Getting what your heart desires — that’s what a real Chicagoan does.
