At last, the Italian beef is having a moment. While deep-dish and Chicago-style hot dogs long ago achieved national fame, the Italian beef was one of those dishes with only limited appeal outside of Chicagoland. But now publications like The New York Times and the Los Angeles Times suddenly care about our beloved soggy sandwich.
We have “The Bear” to thank for this, the FX show that follows a fictional hotshot young chef who unexpectedly leaves the fine-dining world to take control of his family’s classic Italian beef stand. Fellow Tribune food critic Louisa Chu was able to chat with star Jeremy Allen White a few months ago about the portrayal.
While happy to see interest coming from the coasts, no one knows beef like Chicagoans. The Chicago Tribune has been covering this messy, meaty sandwich for years — here’s everything you need to know.
What is an Italian beef?
At its most basic, the Italian beef is a thinly sliced roast beef sandwich served with juices derived from the roasting process. (Depending on the stand, this liquid is called jus, juice or gravy.) This makes it the rare sandwich where a liquid plays an integral role in the finished product, and also explains why words like “mushy,” “wet” and “soggy” are often used to describe an Italian beef.
In that way, the Italian beef shares many similarities with the French dip, but unlike that Los Angeles creation, the jus isn’t served neatly on the side in a little cup for you to dunk in at your leisure. Instead, the bread is often briefly dipped or emphatically dunked in the juices.
What’s referred to as French bread is mostly used. Commonly, this is made by Turano Baking Co., a large bakery based in suburban Berwyn.
Of course, this still doesn’t quite nail what people love about the sandwich so much. As I wrote once before, “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.”
When was it invented?
This is contentious. In a 2014 Tribune article by Kevin Pang, culinary historian Bruce Kraig explained the dish’s origin story is “fuzzy at best.” But three stories come up often. The first is that Pasquale Scala invented the sandwich in the 1920s as a cheap option to serve at weddings. Shaving the beef and serving it with the roasting liquid helped “stretch the limited meat” that people could afford at the time. Scala would go on to found the Scala Packing Co., which sold Italian beef to numerous restaurants until very recently going out of business.
The second story is nearly identical, except that it was Tony Ferreri. His grandson, Chris Pacelli Jr., told Pang: “He’d roast the beef and slice it paper thin so you can see through it and put it in sandwiches. So now 15 pounds of beef would serve 50 people instead of 20.” Ferrari’s son, Albert Ferreri, eventually opened Al’s Bar-B-Q in 1938, which later changed its name to Al’s #1 Italian Beef.
The third option comes from the late Sun-Times food critic Pat Bruno, who believed it wasn’t invented until 1948 or 1949, and that it was directly inspired by the French dip. But a cook, who is only referred to as Tony, thought the recipe for the French dip was too boring, so he added more garlic and herbs.
Where to find the best Italian beef?
Back in the middle of 2020, I visited 50 Italian beef spots to come up with my top 20. Personally, I love the spice profile of the original Al’s #1 Italian Beef on Taylor Street. Rounding out my top five are Johnnie’s Beef, Bob-O’s Hot Dogs, Portillo’s, and Jay’s Beef of Harwood Heights.
Where are the new Italian beef stands?
Great question. Most of the best Italian beef stands have been around for decades. But that doesn’t mean chefs aren’t experimenting with the concept. As I found a couple of years ago, chefs at restaurants like Gibsons Italia and Tempesta Market have tried using different cuts of beef and very untraditional types of bread, though usually they are only available as specials on occasion.
How to order an Italian beef: Dry, wet or dipped?
Like most beloved regional sandwiches, an ordering shorthand developed over time to quicken the transaction. Don’t stress out about it. You won’t get kicked out if you screw up or ask a question. This isn’t like trying to get ketchup on your hot dog at Jimmy’s Red Hots. But the lingo is helpful because it helps you easily customize the sandwich. Start by just calling it “a beef.” There’s no American beef or Norwegian beef vying for your attention.
As explained above, the jus, or cooking liquid, is integral to the sandwich. How much of the beefy juices come along for the ride depends on how your order. (While there is a general consensus about these terms, some stands use their own language.)
Dry: The meat is transferred to the bread with very little of the jus coming along. If you hate a mess, this is the way to go. Of course, you’re also missing out on most of the excitement. One way to solve this is by ordering a cup of the jus on the side, though you’ll often have to pay extra to do so.
Wet: This is the slightly soaked option, with just enough liquid to soak the bread, but not to the saturation point. Some places, like Portillo’s, ladle on some of the jus to get the desired effect. A few places politely dip the cut side or one end of the bread into the jus before adding the meat. This is a great middle ground, especially if you’ve never tried the sandwich before.
Dipped: The beef is added to the bread and then a part — or all — of the sandwich is dunked in the jus. This is, frankly, a tad gratuitous and very messy, since there’s no way to eat this without coating your hands in beefy juices. That said, this is my preferred style, because you get the full punch of flavor from the beefy jus, since it saturates the bread. Just make sure to eat immediately, or the whole thing will turn to mush. Occasionally, this style is referred to as getting your beef “baptized,” though some believe that “dipped” refers to a slightly more restrained dunk, while “baptized” indicates a more forceful soaking.
What goes on top of an Italian beef?
This isn’t like Subway or Chipotle, where you can load up on a dozen different toppings. Honestly, if you find lettuce or tomato on an Italian beef, I’d ask for my money back. Most places limit the additions to sweet peppers or hot peppers, which you can refer to as sweet and hot (or get both). But there are a few other toppings you might run across.
Sweet peppers: Thankfully, they’re mild peppers, not sugary ones. Sautéed or roasted green bell peppers are by far the most common choice, though occasionally places like Jay’s Beef of Harwood Heights use roasted red or yellow bell peppers (though not always). It’s common for places to cut the peppers into wide strips, though Johnnie’s Beef in Elmwood Park chops them into smaller chunks, a move I think more places should adopt. They don’t add any heat or much flavor, but they also never get in the way.
Hot peppers: Also known as giardiniera, the quintessential Chicago condiment, this is made with loads of hot chiles and a few chopped vegetables like cauliflower, celery and carrots. This mix is pickled, drained and then submerged in oil. Spiciness ranges from pleasantly punchy to genuinely hot. Giardiniera is essential, helping to cut through the heaviness with a shock of heat and acid, and I refuse to eat one without it.
Cheese: Cheese is becoming an increasingly common Italian beef topping. Standard options include mozzarella, provolone, cheddar and cheese sauce. A good argument can be made that gooey, melted cheese overwhelms the flavor of the beef, but if you like it, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
Marinara: This is even rarer, but a few stands allow you to add a thick and well-seasoned tomato sauce to your Italian beef. Having never experienced this variation, I tried the saucy beef from Buona (formerly known as “the Rizzo way,” for Anthony Rizzo), which includes tomato sauce and mozzarella. This works surprisingly well, even if it reads more like a meatball sub.
The Combo: Most Italian beef stands also sell grilled Italian sausage sandwiches, which are delicious in their own right. Of course, this inevitably led to the combo, where you’ll get a sausage and beef in the same sandwich. The result is obviously thunderous overkill, but if you’re in the right mood, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Johnnie’s Beef is the reigning champ of this specialty.
Gravy bread: You can also ask for no toppings and no beef, leaving you with a piece of bread that’s dunked in the juices. I doubt anyone prefers this to one with beef, but it’s also much, much cheaper.
Plant-based Italian beef: But what if you replace the meat with a plant-based substitute? This is a relatively recent addition to the scene, but this “beefless” or plant-based Italian beef can be found at Buona Beef and Can’t Believe It’s Not Meat.
Can you make an Italian beef at home?
Sort of. Tracking down the toppings and the right kind of bread, especially in the Chicago area, is a breeze. You can also easily roast the beef, and the Tribune has posted a few recipes over the years. But the trouble comes when you try to slice the meat. Italian beef shops utilize an electric deli slicer, which allows them to get those incredibly thin slices. Few people have one of those at home, which means you’ll have to make do with a very sharp knife. I’ve tried this on a number of occasions, and I’m never able to maintain consistently thin slices. This doesn’t mean that people don’t serve Italian beefs at home — but why not leave it to the pros at a local Italian deli. The real fun’s in the eating.
nkindelsperger@chicagotribune.com
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