She didn’t end up eating much; I ended up getting heartburn because I didn’t want to let anything go to waste. It all worked out perfectly.

Later that day, after I caught my second-wind, I told a friend I’ve known since elementary school that my wife and I had lunch at the same spot where we used to eat after little league games.

“You took her to Portillo’s,” was all he said. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. He was repeating the facts back to me and I could hear the disgust in his voice. I wasn’t going to defend myself. I knew where my old friend stood and I wasn’t going to change his mind, so I quickly diverted the subject to anything besides having to defend Portillo’s again.

Cole Baptism Photo by Dan Goldberg

If you had to pick the things Chicagoans are most passionate about, encased meats and Italian beefs would probably rank somewhere near the top alongside sports and politics. Nobody ever likes the mayor (even though Chicago mayors sometimes stay in power for decades at a time), everybody knows Michael Jordan is the greatest ever, the Cubs fans think last year’s World Series win was the greatest miracle in the history of humanity, and White Sox fans think Cubs fans are annoying. All that, plus you you never put ketchup on a hot dog, and just about everybody has an opinion on Portillo's.

Founded in 1963, Dick Portillo invested $1,100 in a small trailer in Villa Park, a town originally developed as a home for the employees who worked in the Ovaltine plant. Called “The Dog House,” Portillo’s first place didn’t have a bathroom or running water, not really the way you see a hot dog empire starting. But sure enough, three years later, when they moved into an an actual space where people could sit down or use the restroom, something must have clicked.

Flash-forward to 2017: Portillo’s has over 35 locations in the Chicagoland area, California, Arizona, Minnesota, and Florida. It’s an institution. Where other locals like Wolfy’s and Gene & Jude's or Al’s Italian Beef stayed local, Portillo’s branched out, moved beyond the city limits, and in 2014, the company was sold by Portillo to the equity firm Berkshire Partners in a deal that was reportedly worth close to $1 billion.

To some locals, it confirmed what they believed all along: Portillo’s was always corporate, a tourist trap. They were just looking to sell out to the right buyer, and finally did when the price was right. To me, it was the same old place that I always end up whenever I go back home. I went to Portillo’s after hockey practice, on my way to my grandparents’ house, and to pick up my mom who worked there part-time for a brief period after her and my father divorced. Portillo’s was my dinner twice a week when I was a child, and I like to think I turned out okay. I’m not saying those hot dogs and crinkle-cut fries are my version of Proust’s madeleine, but they come pretty damn close.