The Standard-Bearer

If there’s a Mount Rushmore of Italian Beef, Al’s carved the first face. Open since 1938, the Taylor Street stand is where a lot of people learn what the sandwich is supposed to taste like: beef shaved whisper-thin, soaked in a gravy that’s gone heavy on the black pepper and oregano.

Order it dipped, get the hot giardiniera, and eat it standing up over the counter with your elbows out. That’s the move. There are no chairs and you won’t want them.

The bread is the unsung hero here — it holds up to a full dip without disintegrating into mush, which is the whole ballgame. You take a bite and the jus runs down to your wrist. Good. That’s the point.

The verdict

Five peppers. This is the platonic ideal, the one every other joint on this map is quietly measured against.