Brandon’s splendid new Portillo’s space is a Chicago Prohibition-inspired fast-food theme park. It has an assembly line that would've made Henry Ford proud on display for all to see. Imagine being inside a human beehive or anthill.
You arrive and are promptly met by a smiling greeter who hands you a tri-fold menu and directs you to the right. There, you join a two-line queue to order, dictating your fast-food dreams to a smiling teenager scribe. The well-trained order taker annotates the back of a takeout bag with secret shorthand code in different quadrants to record your sandwich, salad, sides, drink and dessert preferences.
If you reach the front of the line before your order is finished, you are ushered to a register to complete your transaction. Once you receive an order number, you continue to the left to join the undulating scrum awaiting delivery. As you face the assembly lines of diligent workers putting orders together, an expediter is at the counter calling out numbers — not in numerical order, but as tickets (large and small) are completed. Through a Madonna-style ‘80s headset, the orders ready for pickup ring out: “2-1-1, your wait is done; 1-9-7, hot food from heaven,” and so on and so on. In 10 minutes, we’re ready to go.
Char-grilled Maxwell Street-style Polish sausage is prepared as it was historically, with mustard and grilled onion. It’s the best of the link-and-sandwich items we try. The char-broiled chicken, showcased on a “perfectly baked buttery, golden brown, flaky croissant,” is nothing like the real deal. Nestled inside an old-fashioned toasted bun, the char-broiled “1/3 pound of juicy beef with mayo, crisp lettuce, a ripe red tomato slice, sliced red onion, pickles and ketchup” (plus our cheese add-on) tastes better than I expect, considering it’s only available well-done.
The forgettable Caesar salad is drowning in bland dressing and features boiled egg and tomatoes that don’t belong.
Chicago’s No. 1 Italian beef on “perfectly baked French bread” comes dry, with extra gravy or dipped. Ours, with a splash of gravy, is salty and one-dimensional; better is the combo that highlights the same beef on a char-grilled Italian sausage.
Lightly battered and hand-cut, the halibut fillet sandwich with tartar sauce and more crisp lettuce is cold and unappetizing by the time our order is ready. And though the chicken noodle soup we order is missing, I decide it’s not worth returning to battle the scrum.
The restaurant’s sides include decent, crisp crinkle-cut fries; thin, unmemorable onion rings; and, strangely, a tamale wrapped in aluminum foil instead of a corn husk or banana leaf. It seems tamales were part of founder Dick Portillo’s original menu at his 6-by-12-foot Dog House back in 1963. Considering the Anglification of the side, it’s palatable in a mild, inoffensive mid-20th century sort of way.
Portillo’s offers three desserts. An eclair cake that lacks choux pastry and is essentially layered filling with a chocolate top; the famous chocolate cake that’s got a soft crumb and gooey icing; and a trifle-like strawberry shortcake, which is more angel food cake than anything traditional but nonetheless tastes pretty good.
What’s top-notch are the drinks. We sample a large chocolate cake shake, vanilla malt and banana smoothie that’s on the sweet side. These transcend the typical fast-food shakes available in most of the market.
Portillo’s is in the great tradition of American icons like The Varsity in Atlanta, Pink's in L.A., Geno’s vs. Pat’s in Philly, or the “fabulous” Beacon in Spartanburg, South Carolina, where Interstate 26 and I-85 meet at the “crossroads of the new South.” I’ve been to all of these and left with the same sad feelings I had at Portillo’s. These are relics of the past; the U.S. has moved on from glorifying mediocre food if you just take the time to seek it out.
Sure, fast food remains a multibillion-dollar industry. But even with the decline of the middle class over the past 30 years, a funny thing happened. We discovered real cheese instead of Velveeta. We learned lettuce is more than iceberg, and that there are delicious alternatives to the fluff of classic Wonder Bread white. Still, healthy food choices remain beyond the reach of large swaths of our population.
So, for a food critic compelled to assign a star rating, Portillo’s presents a distinct challenge.
First of all, my opinion makes absolutely no difference to the hundreds of people streaming into the new Tampa Bay location (the first in Florida at that) on a regular basis.
However, there are local mom-and-pop establishments producing better comfort food at affordable prices; they’re not quite as quick or cheap, but the food and dining experience is in a totally different league for just a few more pennies. Up your game, if you can. Don’t choose the easy default and eat just to live. Live to taste deliberately and really enjoy the ride.
Jon Palmer Claridge dines anonymously when reviewing. Check out the explanation of his rating system.
