
I always thought it was a Southern thing, outside of the camaraderie fo a “Cheers” type establishment, of course. Never did associate it with the Northern climes -- until Tuesday morning.
Not that I was opposed to this. Grav had talked up Carm’s for over a year to me, along with a restaurant called Hot Doug’s that we missed out on thanks to a family vacation (they were closed the week of Memorial Day, darn it). When we were in Park Grill having a magnificent top-end restaurant burger he was plugging the flat patties of Carm’s; when we were grabbing a dog at Max’s To Go and I was exclaiming my joy over the best dog I’ve ever eaten he told me “well, you haven’t had Carm’s yet.” This place meant a lot to him.

Yeah, I laughed. So did he. Didn’t matter that he’d grown out his hair and beard and shown up in an entirely different outfit from what he wore during his Chicago days, Mom recognized him.

She grinned. “You know how it’s done!” she laughed.
“I taught her well,” Grav said. Then he asked me about the sandwich. I’d planned to come in and try the Italian Beef sandwich -- heck, I had a commission to write a story about an Italian Beef sandwich and this was my last opportunity. But really, what a deal on those dogs and fries, right?
In the interim, while Grav had been conversing with Mom, we had somehow agreed that I still had to have that Italian Beef sandwich. I didn’t know where I’d put it -- it was just about 11 in the morning and I’d already consumed a chocolate filled croissant from Leonidas’ Chocolate CafĂ© along with a brown sugar latte… the dogs were going to do it for me. But then again… you only live once. Besides, road food was a good idea, right?
I watched Mom put the beef in the broth in the special cooker I assumed was just for that beef. I anticipated a damp sandwich. But I was hungry. She did ask how I wanted it dressed, and I just told her however it came was good for me. I wanted a dog.

I’m not much on peppers, but the bright and crispy little peppers seemed to be necessary to the proper consumption of this dog. It was just as important as the liberal dosing of celery salt that had been applied. The fries were also good and were the only thing that touched ketchup that day.


They were good juicy patties that melded completely with the cheese to form a hot bite of soft meatiness with a little salt-and-pepper kick. The juice had softened the bottom bun and imparted that great beefy flavor to it. A truly great burger that played like a smash-burger -- though it started out flat. Awesome.
So by this time the Italian Beef was out, and we were asked if we were going to eat it there or take it to go. We thought about it and asked to take it to go, but to let us shoot it first. And I had to try it. I mean, I’d never had an Italian Beef sandwich in Chicago, and it was supposed to be different, right?
And it was. The bun itself was a crusty Italian bread cut, nice and soft on the inside and soaking up all that moisture from the meat. It was less salty than I would have figured, just beefy but not too savory. The condiment was giardiniera, a combination of peppers and onions and carrots pickled together in such a nice way. It took something that ingredients-wise could have been the start of a roast beef sandwich and made it specifically Chicagoan.

But were we done? No, of course not. Grav wasn’t letting us leave without an ice. He was talking with Stevie Devino, Mom’s son and the ice makin’ man. He comes back over with this chocolate ice that just stood out of the top of the cup. I’ve had ices before at Chicago O’Hare (or was it Midway?), always lemon.
It was getting late. We had a very long trip ahead of us. We went over and shook Stevie’s hand and gave our salutations to Mom. As we were heading out the door she hollered “how do you say it? Y’all come back now, you hear?”
“Bless your heart!” I laughed. So friendly!

Before this trip, I had only been in Chicago to change flights headed somewhere else. Now I’m going to have to make more trips up north, and when I do I’ll have to stop in at Carm’s. I wonder if Mom will ask me where the hell I’ve been. I think I’ll try the pineapple ice next time, or maybe a half-and-half with the cantaloupe, which I didn’t hear about until I got home.
You’ll find Carm’s in Little Italy in Chicago, at the corner of Polk and Carpenter. It’s open every day except Sunday. Been around forever… since, like, 1929, when it was a grocery store. I know I’m not doing the place justice. If you’re local, call (312) 738-1046. Do check out their website.
I really like what you're doing with your blog, very visual and informative... keep it up!
ReplyDeleteAnd now, I am craving a burger, fries, and in particular, a chocolate ice from Carm's. The perfect dinner after a walk through downtown Chicago.
ReplyDelete