To any north-sider who might think for a second that this city’s fundamental segregation problem doesn’t touch his life in ways both trivial and monumental, I’d like to pose this question: Have you ever eaten a Chicago sweet steak sandwich?
It’s puzzling that the purveyors of a bona fide Chicago delicacy get scant foot traffic from outside their neighborhoods and little love from the local food media, unlike, say, the Indian restaurants along Devon or the Vietnamese spots on Argyle. But what’s especially maddening is that in a city supposedly crawling with so-called foodies, I’ve met precious few in my three decades here who know the supreme pleasures of the steak sweet.
