A Moveable Feast

Author’s Note:  This is my last post until Sunday, August 26.  I’m sorry, Dear Readers.  I’m heading out of town and then when I get back, I’ve got some personal obligations that will keep me away from the computer for awhile.  I beg your indulgence and hope that you will miss Letter From Elba while I’m away.

…So a couple of weeks ago, TBF was visiting me in Chicago.

On a Saturday.

A rare occurence.

Rare because, most of the time, I am at his house on the weekends.  Early in our relationship, we had vowed to split the commuting duties, but you see, he has this dog, Bailey, and she’s a good dog and she’s old and …well, you know.

Dog lovers will need no explanation.  TBF hates to throw her in the kennel every other weekend and I have to agree.

Anyhow, as Fate would have it, he was here in Chicago and I wanted to make the most of it before we both drove back to his house in the western suburbs.

A brainstorm hit me.

“You know where we have to go today?” I asked.

“Mr. Beef!”

TBF, being from Pittsburgh and all, is a little challenged in his knowledge of Italian Beef.  He likes Portillo’s version well enough but here he was at the nexus of great “Mom and Pop” Italian beef stands.

This was his golden opportunity.

He agreed but as we walked to his car, he was having second thoughts.

“It’s getting kind of late for lunch, isn’t it?  (It was around three o’clock.) “If we eat now, won’t that mess up dinner?”

My taste buds were all primed and ready for Mr. Beef and by now, I was starving.  I was really disappointed but I saw his point.

“You’re right,” I reluctantly agreed.  “And it’s probably better if we get this show on the road.  Traffic will be awful by now.”

And sadly, I was right,  Traffic sucked.

Jackson was closed down due to some summer fest/event thing and so we had to inch our was at a snail’s pace to the Dan Ryan.

But as we started to get on the entrance ramp, TBF could see that the cars were at a complete standstill.

So he made an executive decision and pulled a hard right- and bye bye highway.

And after a few turns, hello Taylor Street!

Two minutes later, I saw it.

“Stop!” I cried.  “Look there’s Al’s Number One! We’ve just got to eat there now.  It’s fate.”

So he parked and we dashed in.  Three o’clock on a Saturday is not prime time so I waltzed right up to the counter and placed my order.

“One beef, dipped, hot and sweet, one order of fries and a large Diet Pepsi, please.  And can you cut the sandwich in half please?”

They complied.

It wasn’t Mr. Beef but it was great.  The giardiniera was a little different- it had a slight hint of “red sauce”  in it.  And the fries rocked.

CAUTION:  The author only endorses the original Al’s on Taylor Street.  She has been mightily let down at other Al’s outposts so if you want to try this yummy sandwich, get yourself to Taylor Street.  They have a parking lot so it’s pretty easy and the great Italian ice stand, Mario’s, across the street makes for a perfect finish.

By now, we were both ravenous.  But even though the beef was generous and the fries were a hefty portion, TBF and I gobbled down our half sandwiches with ease.

“Want to get another one?” I asked hopefully.

“Nope.  I’ve heard Johnnie’s in Elmwood Park makes a pretty good sandwich.  Let’s go there and order another one.  Okay?” TBF suggested.

“Okay!”

So we headed down North Avenue and faster than you could say, “Mama Mia!” there we were at Johnnie’s.

I stepped up to the counter and placed the same order- without the fries, though.  (I had taken special notice of them as we eyed the diners eating at the picnic tables outside.  They didn’t look like anything special.)

Round Two Review: Johnnie’s is very close to Portillo’s in feel and look.  Better quality of beef but the exact same jarred giardiniera- and way too much of it.  My mouth was burning.  They also charged $.39 for both the hot and sweet peppers.  It was pretty good but I won’t be going out of my way again any time soon.

So now we had had done our comparisons and we headed to his house.

But a funny thing happened on the way.

As we were driving down York Road in Elmhurst, I spotted a joint I’ve always wanted to try.

“OMG!  There’s Hamburger Heaven!” I cried happily.

“Do you want to try it? ” TBF dared me.

“You betcha.  You know I can never say no to a hamburger.”

We moseyed on up to the order window.  But before I could open my mouth, TBF rang in.

“Order me a cheeseburger.  I want my own.”

“A cheeseburger with just mayo, onion and pickle and your special hamburger with everything on it.”

“We only have double patties,” the girl told me helpfully.  “But they’re not real big.”

Sold.

“And a root beer.”

   

Omg!  My burger was just like a Richard’s Drive In California Twin Burger- a glorified Big Mac.  It was YUMMY.

And believe it or not, there was one more course to our moveable feast that day.