Notes from Chicago: Mr. Beef

AC and I were in the Windy City this past weekend for a most fabulous wedding at The Four Seasons. In fact, the food at the wedding alone is worth a post, and we'll certainly get to that. But it would be wrong and, frankly, impossible, for us to do a post about Chicago without talking about a couple of great indigenous finds during our short time there.

Sure, pizza and hot dogs are a no-brainer in Chi-town, but we decided, ultimately, that we need to do two things: 1. have Italian beef at Mr. Beef (Jay Leno's favorite) and 2. find at least one wacky (preferably ethnic) thing that we've previously been missing from our culinary repertoire. And, folks, we did both. I will regale you with our beef tale, while AC will discuss the finer points of Lithuanian cuisine in a future post. Here goes:

Fresh from unpacking, we immediately headed out to the bus that would take us to Orleans Street, where the famed Mr. Beef is located. A small, old-timey, oddly clean shack, Mr. Beef is a spare space with a long ledge for stand-up eating in the main area and an "elegant dining room" in the back. We went for the ledge, which turned out to be a great method for Italian beef, as this sandwich is the messiest thing I've ever had to manhandle in my life. One needs two hands and a lot of leverage to keep things under control.

Ordering our meal was a no-hassle experience. First, we knew what we wanted; no menu-reading necessary. "Two Italian beef, please," blurted AC. "Two beef...peppers?" "Yes." "Sweet or hot?" "Both...and lots of 'em," say us. "[In the direction of the sandwich assembler] Two beef, sweet hot peppers. "[To us] Fo' heah?" "Yes." Upon reflection, we couldn't believe taking these sandwiches to go was even an option, as it would clearly result in a cold mess at home. The sandwiches come swaddled in parchment, and upon unwrapping them, they ooze jus, peppers and jardiniere fall everywhere, and the meat—tender, thinly sliced, and powerfully delicious—just doesn't want to stay in the baguette. In other words, eating this thing is about as dainty of an undertaking as it is to mow down a turkey leg at a Renaissance faire.

But even though we were up to a napkin-to-bite ratio of 1:1, indulging in the Italian beef experience was one of the most satisfying fast-food adventures there is. The soaked bread meshes with the thin slices of beef delightfully, while a crunch of celery and a sliver of roasted red pepper sneak in every now and then. Mostly, though, it's a lot of meat—lean, plentiful and juicy. Another surprise is that they don't overfeed you at Mr. Beef. Though it seemed like a lot of food at first glance, we didn't find ourselves lumbering back to our hotel with heartburn; the beef gave us ample fuel for our walking tour of Wicker Park.

Notes on atmosphere: Like many celebrated, classic fast-food joints, Mr. Beef has the requisite wall of fame with the likes of Jay Leno (oddly pictured with about half a dozen other celebs he must have run into while picking up some beef), Robert de Niro, Siskel and Ebert, a few obscure rock bands, and some oddities like Laurie Metcalf from "Roseanne" fame and news anchor Lester Holt, who, in his picture, was sporting a hilarious stache. Laughing and pointing at the wall is a great way to pass the time while constantly keeping the jus from running down your chin.

Get yourself to Mr. Beef at:

666 N Orleans Street
Chicago, Illinois
(312) 337-8500

—AK