The Italian combo my dad would have loved

institutional beef

Hi, everyone!

Holy crap, there’s so much to say today. Before we get into the food, I wanted to direct your attention at a bunch of media mentions I received in the past few weeks:

First off, I was quoted as a hot dog expert by writer Carlie Hoke (God, I’m going to have to live with this reputation forever) for the website Mashed, which is a sister site for the site I write for, The Takeout. The piece explains the difference between hot links and hot dogs.

Secondly, here’s another hot dog quote from me, this time in The Washington Post, for a piece about America’s greatest regional hot dogs written by my friend Allison Robicelli. I throw down for why I think Chicago-style hot dogs are the best in the country.

And lastly, here’s one you can listen to: I made a podcast guest appearance for TASTE. The episode is called “This Is TASTE 423: Fart Sandwich Artist with Dennis Lee.”

If you don’t know me well, the episode goes into why I’m referred to as “Fart Sandwich.” Previous guests on the show are much heavier hitters than I, like Phil Rosenthal (of Somebody Feed Phil), chef Jamie Oliver, and Giada De Laurentiis. You can listen to the episode on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or right through your web browser. As you can imagine, my head is absolutely spinning.

Today’s newsletter would originally have been on the paid schedule, but this one’s particularly important to me, so I wanted to make it public. Please consider subscribing to support the newsletter, but otherwise, I’ll skip the pitch today.

That’s because there’s something timely I need to address, and this subject’s really tough. For those of you who have a difficult time with the subject matter of depression and suicide, please scroll now, and skip past the image below to get to the food. No judgment here, and I love you.

There’s no easy way for me to sugarcoat this, but a few weeks ago, my father took his own life. He had struggled with depression during his entire existence, and after wrestling with it for so long, his fight ended. He would have been 77 in just a few days. I am grateful that we had him for so long, but we wish he’d been here for much longer.

After the event my family and I became busy with notifying family, funeral services, and grieving, which is why I didn’t post last week. I went deeply into how I’m feeling on my other newsletter, so you can read how I’m currently doing there.

Today’s newsletter does pertain to my father, which is remarkable, considering that most of the time, he wasn’t a food person. For some context, Dad immigrated from South Korea to the Chicago area in 1975, married Mom a few years after that, and they stayed here permanently.

In his nearly 50 years in Chicago, it was inevitable he’d adopt some Chicago-specific habits. Davida caught him saying “a couple-two-three” once (if you know what I’m talking about, this is the funniest thing ever), and he grew to love one food in particular.

He fucking loved Italian beef. But not just any type of beef, he loved the Italian beef combo. You know, the one with both Italian beef and Italian sausage stuffed into the same French roll. I’d all but forgotten about this until my uncle brought it up during his eulogy, because in his later years, Dad had adopted lighter eating habits.

Dad’s favorite was from a place called Scooter’s in Lake Bluff, Illinois, which wasn’t terribly far from my parent’s house. Since Scooter’s closed a few years ago, we couldn’t visit for today’s newsletter, but Davida suggested that in honor of Dad that we go find a proper Italian combo.

So that’s why we finally made it out to Johnnie’s Beef in Elmwood Park.

I’m somewhat ashamed to say I’d never been to Johnnie’s, but that’s okay.

At least we saved the experience for an important occasion. I have a feeling many of you have already been to this Italian beef institution, but since this visit had some emotional weight behind it, I’m glad we went when we did.

And man, does this place buzz. I knew how popular it was; Johnnie’s consistently makes it to the top of the Italian beef rankings I’ve read, which would explain the long line. But it moves impressively fast, and we were in and out of there with our food in about 15 or 20 minutes.

If you’ve never been, I would highly recommend you figure out what you want before you get to the register, because once the cashier rings you up, your food will be ready instantly.

Since I can’t shake this whole hot dog thing, I figured I might as well order a hot dog. You know, for science.

Johnnie’s offers a single and a double dog ($4.70, includes fries). I opted for the double, because I noticed that when a hot dog stand offers a double on its menu, that typically means their single dog is small.

My assumption in this case was incorrect. Johnnie’s serves a regular-sized hot dog, which means the double is pretty damn big. It’s topped depression-style, with yellow mustard, onions, relish, and a pickle spear, with fries wrapped on top. Note the lack of sport peppers.

The dogs are skinless, but they’re still good. The pickle spear, I noticed, is also interesting—it’s substantial, which makes it more like a pickle you get at a deli. If you’re with someone who’s somehow averse to Italian beef, the hot dog is a perfectly solid option, but it’s nothing you haven’t had before.

I’d heard the Italian sausage ($4.65, plus $0.70 for sweet peppers) at Johnnie’s was particularly good.

I watched the line cooks preparing them behind the counter. These guys had the operation down pat; it’s both awe-inspiring and exhausting to watch. The sausages were jabbed on a massive skewer and grilled over charcoal.

You can tell by the blackened portions that this thing has some real char to it, and though it looks as if it has the potential to be dry, it isn’t. The sausage is well-spiced and makes for a great standalone sandwich, and the sweet peppers are a perfect addition—they’re soft and in thin slices, which makes them read more like a condiment rather than a filling.

But most people come for Johnnie’s namesake Italian beef ($6.72, plus $0.70 for sweet peppers, additional $0.70 for hot).

I’ll be the first to admit it, Italian beef sandwiches don’t exactly photograph well. They’re a huge mess, and since I love getting them dipped (at Johnnie’s they call them “juicy”), they look even gnarlier on camera. No matter how much I cleaned my hands in-between handling of the sandwiches and photos, my phone got greasier and greasier. I’ll take that one for the team.

The beef here is true to form, and seasoned with the Italian blend of herbs and spices you’re all familiar with like oregano. One thing I noticed is that it’s not shaved paper thin, but rather has a slight chew to it. I became an immediate fan, and I’d count it now as one of my favorites.

One thing I noticed is that the hot giardinera has some actual kick to it. Most giardinera, I’ve found, is only on the moderately spicy side, but Johnnie’s has a noticeable amount of heat to it. I’d have purchased a jar if they sold any to take home.

Davida enthusiastically proclaimed that Johnnie’s has the best Italian beef she’s ever had, which is the highest of praises coming from her.

But man, the Italian beef combo ($7.28, plus $0.70 for hot peppers), is the true hero.

It’s easy to think that the very recent loss of my father has colored my vision of the sandwich, but honestly, I think this thing would be fantastic no matter what. This is coming from someone who almost always avoids an Italian beef and sausage combo, because they’re always so damn heavy. In this case, Johnnie’s doesn’t overdo the ratio.

Johnnie’s combo is humble and substantial, which are both qualities in food Chicagoans (and Midwesterners) love, because it’s not overly complicated, plus it’s filling. This is an exception where I’d easily order the combo over a regular beef, and Davida is emphatically of the same opinion.

Dad, I think, would have inhaled this thing. That’s another high compliment.

The fries ($2.14) are only okay, which is fine.

They’re the same cut as McDonald’s fries and are barely salted, but for that price, you get a wild amount of them. I mean, look at that photo.

Most people we saw eating at the tables outside had a cup of lemon Italian ice ($1.96), which we ordered sort of as a “why not” kind of thing.

I’m not a sugary drink or slushy person, but don’t skip the ice. This is going to sound ridiculous, but it acts like a sweet and tart palate cleanser between a few bites of sandwich. This means that when you dive back into your food after a sip, it’s like you’re reliving that first bite all over again.

Considering it’s summer, I think you owe it to yourself to visit Johnnie’s on a nice day. Their parking lot is a shitshow (we parked a few blocks away on the street), and the place seems to be perpetually busy, but the line moves quickly. Oh, and it’s cash only.

I am going to ask you for one thing. I know that most of you don’t know me or my family personally, but next time you find yourself at a place that serves Italian beef, please think of my dad. And when you return home to a loved one, tell them how much you love them, that you’re proud of them, and that you appreciate everything they do for you.

Just as importantly, if someone tells you those very same words, accept them into your heart and believe them. That’s one thing my father had trouble doing.

In that very spirit, I love you all. I appreciate that you’re here reading the newsletter, because that affirms the love I have for the home my parents picked for us when they came to the United States. My father was as much of a Chicagoan as he was a Korean, and I’m proud of being both too.

I love you, Dad. Every time I see an Italian beef combo, I’ll think of you.

Johnnie’s Beef (one additional location in Arlington Heights)
7500 W North Ave
Elmwood Park, IL 60707
(708) 452-6000

---

Thank you all for reading The Party Cut. This level of grief has been difficult to grapple with, but thankfully so many of you reached out to me upon seeing my announcement on social media and on my other newsletter. Every message has helped lift my spirits.

Here’s the button for newsletter support:

Take care of yourselves and each other. I love you very much.