Image | Formats | Eliott At Large

Today, the worst thing I could imagine happened: my beloved Little Joe’s Italian Beef has closed. No more beefs. No more grease-resistant fries. No more Vienna Beef hot dogs. No more true-to-form Chicago thin pizza. There is now no good place to get pizza from. This is a catastrophic event.

I will not express my disdain for the taste of Sarasota’s residents in this post (you know you’re horrible already). Instead, I will focus on the good times.

I remember how easy it was to get to your storefront.

I remember when I had your BBQ beef and was pleasantly surprised.

I remember when you bought ovens and started making pizza.

I remember when you sold me two boxes of Vienna Beef hot dog buns just because I asked nicely.

I remember when you said you were going to start making a deep dish later this year, but, sadly, that day never came.

May you rest in peace, Little Joe’s Italian Beef.

Despite the absolute dread I felt when peering into the locked glass doors of Little Joe’s this evening, seeing the tables stripped from the floor, the cash register gone from the countertop, and boxes of beer stacked way past the rim of the garbage can, fortune actually smiles upon me, for I will be returning to my hometown of Chicago in two weeks’ time.

For a no-sleep 4-day period, I will consume all of the city’s edibles. I will eat pizza in the morning before brushing my teeth. I will have a mid-morning small deep dish sausage to keep me going until lunch, at which point I will share a large deep dish amongst friends. As an afternoon snack, I will grab an Italian beef with extra juice, just to keep me hydrated for those long hours in between meals. For supper, I will dine on the finest deep dish pizza in the world. And for dessert? Deep dish with a cherry on top.

You New Yorkers can suck it. Suck it long, and suck it hard.

So may the Pizza Gods smile fondly upon you, Little Joe’s Italian Beef. You served them well, and will not be soon forgotten.

See you soon, Chicago.