For some true believers, an Italian beef sandwich can never be too wet. The beef is slowly roasted, sliced thin, deposited in a spicy, garlic-enhanced broth made from the roast drippings, and simmered. When finally the beef is heaped on the bread, a ladle's worth of liquid invariably comes along.
Before relish is added — sometimes sweet peppers, for me a spicier giardiniera — a native Chicagoan would probably have the whole thing dunked in the broth. "Wet," in such case, is a term of art that reportedly signals restraint; "soaked" puts the bread to the test. (Compare this torta ahogada, "drowned" in a spicy sauce.) My sandwich ($10) simply received the pour-over treatment, which was plenty messy enough — especially when I swabbed the caddy to clean up the last of the liquid pooled at the bottom. Next time, one more ladle.