A Shark's Tale on Real Chicago Hot Dogs

Today my wife and I were Christmas shopping checking items off our list and trying not to let the holiday madness turn us into those snarling shoppers you see on the evening news. As we were driving down Addison Ave the unmistakable red-and-white glow of a Portillo's hot dog restaurant appeared on the horizon. I shuddered. My wife glanced over, knowing full well my feelings about that place.

“You want to stop?” she asked, with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“Why would anyone willingly go to a chain hot dog restaurant in Chicago? The city’s practically paved with yellow Vienna Beef stands!”

Let me tell you why Portillo’s sucks. First, it’s the McDonald’s of hot dogs. They’ve got a big red and white sign on their plain brick buildings with some ugly nostalgic nods to Chicago decor inside, and the food itself? Overrated. You’re basically paying a premium for what feels like a corporate imitation of the real thing. And don't even get me started on the crowds. It’s like everyone from the suburbs decided to make a pilgrimage, thinking they’re getting an “authentic” Chicago experience. Spoiler: they’re not. Meanwhile, there are countless independent stands serving up dogs that snap when you bite them, wrapped in greasy paper and served with a side of real Chicago grit.

As we passed, I turned to my wife, a mostly non-encased-meat eater (I know, shocking for someone married to me, but opposites attract), and asked the question that every hot dog purist dreams of asking at just the right moment: “How about Gene and Jude’s?”

To my astonishment, she said yes. My lucky day.

Gene and Jude’s, for the uninitiated, is the holy grail of Chicago hot dogs. We pulled into the parking lot, which was predictably packed. This isn’t some tourist trap. It’s a pilgrimage site for people who understand that a true hot dog doesn’t need to be buried under a mountain of pickles, ketchup, and tomatoes. No, these are Depression Dogs—just mustard, onions, hot peppers, and a handful of perfectly greasy fries piled on top. No ketchup. Ever. If you so much as utter the “K” word here, you’re sent to the back of the line to think about your life choices.

Speaking of lines, Gene and Jude’s is a masterclass in efficient chaos. The line snaked out the door, but it moved faster than a shark chasing a school of fish. Inside, it’s all business. The menu is simple (I will never understand the tamale), the orders come quick, and the cash-only rule keeps things old school. It’s like stepping back in time, but with the added bonus of a piping hot dog and fries in your hand.

When we got our paper bag of dogs I couldn’t help but grin. We walked to the car and turned up the heat as we sank our teeth into that perfect dog surrounded by fresh cut fries. (Everyone eats in the car!) My wife even had one as we waxed poetic about the beauty of a place that sticks to its roots and does one thing—and does it spectacularly well. No frills, no gimmicks, just great food.

Greenland Sharks eat what’s alive, and we’re drawn to places with life, soul, and authenticity. Whether it’s a hot dog stand like Gene and Jude’s or an independent restaurant with a unique vibe, there’s something special about supporting the guys who stay true to their craft. Portillo’s might have its legions of fans, but for me, it’ll always be about the places that keep the spirit of Chicago alive—one mustard-slathered Depression Dog at a time.