Chicago's Gravy Bread: A Love Letter to the Unassuming Sidekick of Italian Beef.
As I stepped out into a seven-inch snowfall, cursing the ghost train that had left me stranded under the platform heater like a Costco rotisserie chicken for sixteen extra minutes, my mind drifted to Al's Beef. It was there that I'd rediscover a culinary treasure often overlooked in Chicago's food scene: gravy bread.
This humble sidekick to the Italian beef sandwich is neither Instagrammable nor refined. It's beige, stodgy, and unapologetically itself - characteristics that might make it seem like an afterthought, but ultimately contribute to its charm.
Growing up outside of Chicago, I've always learned cities by eating my way through them. This time around, however, I was determined to do an edible survey of the city in a more authentic way. I started at the outer ring of tourist catnip and made my way inward, taking note of the little gems that can make or break your understanding of a place.
One such gem is Al's Beef, where I'd finally try this so-called "soaker" - a dollar or eighty cents for a taste of pure comfort. The staff there doesn't sugarcoat anything; it's just bread dipped in gravy and served with a side of hunks of meat that run from fatty to caramelized.
The chef behind the counter, however, has other ideas about what makes great food. "They're not always on the menu," he shrugs, "but any Italian beef joint with bread and gravy will make one for you." His words were a refreshing respite in a world obsessed with rankings.
It wasn't until I tried this soaker at Al's that I realized how much had been missing from my food journey. It was more than just a carb fix - it was an honest taste of the city itself. And when shared with someone who knows its ins and outs, like a local bus driver turned friend, the experience takes on a whole new level of meaning.
Now, for me, gravy bread isn't just about trying something new; it's about returning to that same sense of community and comfort I discovered in my food journey. It's no spectacle, just a simple pleasure - warm, heavy in your hands, and impossible to resist.
As I stepped out into a seven-inch snowfall, cursing the ghost train that had left me stranded under the platform heater like a Costco rotisserie chicken for sixteen extra minutes, my mind drifted to Al's Beef. It was there that I'd rediscover a culinary treasure often overlooked in Chicago's food scene: gravy bread.
This humble sidekick to the Italian beef sandwich is neither Instagrammable nor refined. It's beige, stodgy, and unapologetically itself - characteristics that might make it seem like an afterthought, but ultimately contribute to its charm.
Growing up outside of Chicago, I've always learned cities by eating my way through them. This time around, however, I was determined to do an edible survey of the city in a more authentic way. I started at the outer ring of tourist catnip and made my way inward, taking note of the little gems that can make or break your understanding of a place.
One such gem is Al's Beef, where I'd finally try this so-called "soaker" - a dollar or eighty cents for a taste of pure comfort. The staff there doesn't sugarcoat anything; it's just bread dipped in gravy and served with a side of hunks of meat that run from fatty to caramelized.
The chef behind the counter, however, has other ideas about what makes great food. "They're not always on the menu," he shrugs, "but any Italian beef joint with bread and gravy will make one for you." His words were a refreshing respite in a world obsessed with rankings.
It wasn't until I tried this soaker at Al's that I realized how much had been missing from my food journey. It was more than just a carb fix - it was an honest taste of the city itself. And when shared with someone who knows its ins and outs, like a local bus driver turned friend, the experience takes on a whole new level of meaning.
Now, for me, gravy bread isn't just about trying something new; it's about returning to that same sense of community and comfort I discovered in my food journey. It's no spectacle, just a simple pleasure - warm, heavy in your hands, and impossible to resist.