Al’s does sandwiches the Chicago way, and that’s a good thing

No, it wasn’t intentional; in this case, I didn’t know until I got there. But if you’re going to use an old 5 &Diner for anything — besides, you know, a diner — a Chicago-style beef place is a pretty good fit.

And yes, this is the Al’s from Chicago, founded in 1938. It’s a franchise, but the Al’s folks take the reputation of their restaurants very seriously, so much so that they have a little note on the takeout menu that asks you to let them know if things aren’t up to snuff. But after having been to the newish local outlet, I don’t think I’ll be making a call anytime soon.

If you’re not familiar with the concept of Chicago-style Italian beef, it goes like this: The meat is thinly sliced and stacked on a sort of sub bun with a respectable amount of heft. You can get it dry, dipped or wet, and with hot giardiniera or sweet peppers, and provolone, cheddar or American cheese.

The dry-dipped-wet thing is pretty much just as it sounds. Not being a big fan of the dry style — it’s sort of, well, dry — I went all the way to wet, and as I expected, it was soggy, but in a good way. The entire sandwich (I got a Regular Al, $6.35; a Big Al is $7.90, plus they have extra-meat options, and the peppers and cheeses are 50 cents extra; I had sweet peppers and provolone) had been dipped in the signature “jus.” It was indeed wet, all the way through, which made it slightly messy to eat but awfully good, with beefy flavor throughout, the peppers providing a fairly pungent flavor note, the melted cheese a very subtle one.

Although Al’s offers Italian sausage, tamales, beanless chili, chicken sandwiches, salads and wraps in addition to Italian beef, it has a tempting array of hamburgers as well (Spicy Buffalo Burger, anyone? Nacho Burger?). My friend was intrigued by the Drive-In Burger ($6.30), which struck us as about as classic-American as it gets: cheddar or American cheese, mustard, ketchup, lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, red onion and kosher pickles. The burger itself had the hallmarks of having been cooked on a flat-top grill and the toppings were right out of a ’50s backyard; they could call this the Nostalgia Burger as well. And again, a bun that was equal to the task.

Al’s also specializes in a variety of adorned french fries, as well as some unadorned ones. They come in two sizes; we got the smaller portions and were grateful we did. The Loaded Fries ($4.35/$5.85) were clearly designed to evoke a loaded baked potato and they did, but they also evoked ball-park nachos, covered — and I truly mean covered, up and down, and all around — with a whizzy cheese sauce, with a bunch of sliced scallions and lots of bacon in largish pieces sprinkled on top. There was a big packet of sour cream on the side, too, which we overlooked, and that’s probably a good thing.

The Blue Cheese Fries ($4.35/$5.85) had been blanketed with blue-cheese dressing and liberally covered with crumbled Gorgonzola. That was kind of a problem, though; my blue-cheese-loving friend could only handle a few bites of the strong flavors before needing to clear her palate. And here was another issue: Although these fries are no doubt delightful to those who appreciate such exercises in excess, I have to say that the potato part was pretty much unidentifiable, serving only as a delivery system for the cheese. So if you’re a fry purist, the Homemade Fries ($2.55/$3.85) are the way to go.

As I said, Al’s is in a former 5 &Diner — one of those big silver classic-diner things — and wears it well. The interior is brightly lighted, brightly colored and neat as a pin, and there was an employee walking around whose sole job seemed to be ensuring that the tables were clean, which he was doing quite nicely.

Al’s is a counter-service place, with much better service than most. Looking at the packed parking lot we expected a line, but it moved so quickly we were at the register in minutes. The young man there was both well informed and patient, repeating our order so there would be no mistakes, asking us if we had a frequent-buyer card, remaining unfazed when we made a change. And when the woman at the next register asked if they could slightly grill her sweet peppers and got a negative answer from both the woman who was with her and the person at her register, and said, “But they do it in Chicago,” our guy assured her that it could indeed be done.

Just like in Chicago.

Las Vegas Review-Journal restaurant reviews are done anonymously at Review-Journal expense. Email Heidi Knapp Rinella at Hrinella@reviewjournal.com, or call 702-383-0474. Follow @HKRinella on Twitter.