There's often an inverse relation between the dinginess of a restaurant and the quality of the eats. Moon's Sandwich Shop, with its sagging ceiling, rickety security bars and patchwork brick, confirms this rule. The interior is a patchwork of shabby neglected elegance, but the scratched rich wainscoted walls, the dull metallic deco strips, the faded red vinyl stools, and the stainless appliances provide a glimmer of the vibrant early history.

Despite the detritus, the atmosphere is radiant. Moon's is the culinary equivalent to the African-American barber shop. It's a community touchstone, where the whole neighborhood seems to drop by for lunch and a bit of conversation. Line cooks, some wearing vintage boat-shaped paper hats, wield spatulas like swords slinging hash browns across the griddle while white puffs of smoke rise from steam drawers.

Moon's lean, moist corned beef piled high in pink beefy pillars on airy rye, with a drizzle of mustard, crunchy lettuce and zingy pickles, may be the best corned beef sandwich in Chicago. Moon’s chili has a richness that's reminiscent of a New Orleans-style red beans-and-rice without the spice. Though, if you taste the house-made meatloaf, bundled in white bread and dripping in American cheese, you might not try anything else.

Centerstage Reviewer: Michael Nagrant