Rax Roast Beef: A Testament To 1980s Excess, Animated Pitchmen With Vasectomies, and a Gastronomic Ghost in The Shadow of Joliet Prison
“Well, hello, Mr. D again. Our subject: value express combos at the Rax drive-thru. These tasty delights are priced in low, even-dollar amounts so there’s no change.
That’s just grand because Mr. Delicious just had some rather delicate surgery. If there’s no change he doesn’t have to squirm so much to put it back in his pocket, now does he? He just grabs his combo, and drives ever-so-slowly over the speed-bump. Dickety-dee.” — Mr. Delicious, Rax Spokesman, on his way home to ice down his testicles and dig into some Roast Beef.
Ah, Rax. It’s almost the stuff of legend. A mythical chain restaurant hailing from a bygone era; a restaurant that was a pioneer in many ways and one that ultimately influenced Wendy's, Arby’s and many others with a more refined, elevated dining experience. Dining room solariums that aimed to mirror glass-ceiling dining cars on luxury train liners, a plethora of adult-oriented options that complimented their roast beef offerings like baked potatoes, salad bars, and a full service dessert station to satiate one’s sweet tooth. In the 1980s Rax was on top of their game with 504 locations nationwide, including two in Guatemala. By 1992, Rax had filed for bankruptcy.
Originally, Rax was named Jax Roast Beef after its founder Jack Roschman. Beginning in early 1967 in Ohio, Jax Roast Beef changed hands among various ownership — most notably General Foods — a few times over the following decade, and that included a few rebrands and renames to the restaurant itself. The burgeoning chain eventually bottomed out to just ten remaining stores, which were promptly bought out and absorbed by J. Patrick Ross and his Restaurant Administration Corporation which, of course, resulted in a return to the name Jax, then RAC Roast Beef, before ultimately settling on the moniker Rax Roast Beef because who needs brand consistency? As it turns out, numerous changes and an all-consuming identity crisis would be the only consistent thing about Rax. While Rax did have a bit of success in the 1980s, it sadly was short lived.
Perfectly encapsulating the phrase, “Jack of all trades, master of none,” Rax never really knew what it wanted to be. At its core, the roast beef was the focus but in an attempt to diversify their menu offerings they began throwing shit at the walls just to appeal to every demographic and potential customer base they could grab. Seemingly random menu offerings and continual overhauls to their interiors pushed away their established everyday customers, infuriating their franchisees while bewildering the market. Baked potatoes? Sure. How about some random Chinese options? Everyone knows Rax is where you go for a wonton. You want some vegetables? Here’s a full salad bar for you to paw at. Is that a car driving passed us to go to Pizza Hut? GET YOUR HOT PIZZA HERE! Now let’s completely renovate the back-half of each location with wall-to-ceiling glass like the pyramid at the Louvre in an attempt to usher in the Age of The Solarium. Want to gorge yourself on some South of The Border flavors? WE NOW HAVE A TACO BAR, MOTHERFUCKERS. Rax was as lost and confused as the very customers they were aiming to attract. Even worse, competitors like Wendy’s and Arby’s were able to pick apart and successfully implement some of the options Rax attempted, like the baked potatoes, while serving limited fresh-focused options like individually packaged salads.
Rax’s PR and Advertising strategies were just as manic and flung together as their menu overhauls. In an attempt to appeal to children, they trotted out Uncle Alligator, an innocuous reptile with a disarming smile and all the warmth a focus group-approved mascot could muster. Never one to leave a demographic uncovered, Rax had to run the inverse of a children’s ad campaign with one that would appeal to adults. Enter: Mr. Delicious.
Mr. Delicious is a modern cautionary tale to advertisers and the most bizarre move by Rax in its history. Mr. Delicious — Mr. D, for short — is essentially a low rent Ben Stein without the humor or charm. A divorced forty-something with a simmering, smoldering salaciousness often associated with sex offenders and serial killers that dismember female joggers with reciprocating saws, burying the limbs and torsos under the floorboards while wrapping and packing the heads in a meat freezer as mementos. Offering monotone dialogue in TV spots about what Rax thought most adults would identify with, Mr. D would regale the viewer about his day to day mishaps like being overextended on credit lines, how he doesn’t like the noise of children or “commotion” while eating his Rax because, as his psychiatrist says, it brings out the “violent and hostile side of Mr. D,” and, most famously, lamenting his inability to dig deep into his pockets for change due to the vasectomy he just had performed. Get in line, ladies, because Mr. D is shooting blanks which is somewhat of a good thing since child support is bleeding him dry.
Both ad campaigns were diametrically opposed in their messaging of who the hell Rax’s desired customer base actually was. Uncle Alligator wasn’t memorable to children in the same way Ronald McDonald was and Mr. Delicious seemed to be courting the “I hate eating around children” demographic so Rax, in its attempts to appeal to everyone, appealed to no one. Rax began its rapid descent into downsizing and multiple bankruptcies over the following decade until it only had eight locations across three states in the Midwest. A quick look at their evolving slogans over their existence really illustrates the amount of fucks the company gave with each new iteration: “All the right stuff” gave way to “Fast Food with style” which morphed into “Gotta get back to Rax” which evolved into a rhetorical musing with “I’d rather have Rax, wouldn’t you?” only to settle on the ever so appetizing yet incredibly literal, “You can eat here.” I have a feeling that “Eh, it’ll do” didn’t quite soar through the approval process. Rax was — and still is — on the ropes after multiple mergers, takeovers, and sell offs, resulting in the eight remaining locations, all franchisee-owned, to go it alone in an Omega Man existence. Marooned and rudderless, Rax is more of a memory to people than an actual dining destination.
When I learned that one of the few remaining Rax locations was 52 miles south of Chicago down in Joliet, I knew I had to try it.
The restaurant itself sat on a weather-cracked stretch of Jefferson, the remnants of its once proud solarium looking more like an arbor greenhouse than a culinary artifact from the 80s; the sign alerting us to the return of their bratwursts which I’m sure the citizens of Joliet have been waiting for with bated breath. The parking lot sparsely filled and a sharpie-drawn sign letting patrons know that the lobby closes at 7pm, the hot beef beckoned.
The first thing I noticed when walking in was that the restaurant and dining room itself is immaculate. Well maintained, if not relatively spartan, the carpeted seating area was incredibly orderly. Spaced out in the age of Covid, the tables and chairs in the dining room gave off more of an AA Meeting vibe than the warm hearth of a family restaurant, but the framed pictures of cows adorning the walls served as a gentle reminder of why you’re there which, of course, is to get down on some roast beef.
The service is incredibly friendly and the fact that they’re serving as a “Last Knight of The Templar” among other fast food options wasn’t lost on them. Auto-slicers cranking away like timber shavers in the glory days of the Pacific Northwest, the employees assembled sandwiches for the drive-thru and in-house customers with an efficiency developed over years of no corporate oversight muddying their processes with ever-revolving new and seasonal items. This was a well oiled machine kicking out the classics. We had to go with a few regular Rax sandwiches, a Rax BBQ beef that was on special, some of their proud, prominent potatoes, curly fries, and a couple Cokes.
The sandwiches themselves were pretty indistinguishable from Arby’s, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I have a feeling since there isn’t really any corporate commissary or stock to pull from that it wouldn’t shock me if they struck a deal with Arby’s themselves for product. The Regular Rax was pretty standard, with the their version of horseradish packets to squirt on layers of translucent beef ribbons, if one should please. The buns were incredibly fresh and not overly inflated with air like most fast food buns (looking at you McDonald’s and Burger King), giving them a solid semblance of structural integrity which, of course, means more horsey sauce. The BBQ Beef was simply a Regular Rax on a seedless bun — also fresh — absolutely doused in the finest barbecue sauce I’m sure Restaurant Depot had to offer. Not bad, especially if you enjoy nondescript flavor profiles of neither bold nor flat barbecue sauce. Think K.C. Masterpiece on some deli beef. It’s agreeable, especially at its price point of $2.
I have to say, the baked potato offerings were pretty damn delectable. The chili and cheese one had a late night, 3am college dorm room, 7/11 stoner-food attribute to it that really worked. You can’t really argue or even go wrong with butter, pepper, greasy chili, and cheese sauce poured over a tater. This would absolutely kill as stadium food at a Boise State game. Hungover? This is what you crave with a tall, ice cold Coke out of the fountain to clear your bleary, bloodshot eyes. The broccoli and cheddar baker was fine but if you’re going for a loaded spud, you have to go all out like that unapologetic chili and cheese bad boy. I get what they’re going for with the broccoli and if the chili seems a step too far, the broccoli may assuage whatever quilt you might have while powering down a side dish touting a calorie-count that would have any nearby cardiologist clutching their chest. Either option you choose to go for, a Pepcid or handful of Tums may be in order afterwards. Mr. Delicious wouldn’t have it any other way.
If you happen to be driving downstate on the I-55 in Illinois and wish to visit a relic of the past, you could do far worse than one of the last remaining Rax outposts. Sterling service and simple gratification from a staff and franchisee going it alone in an ever-changing fast food landscape, the Rax of Joliet operates with a consistency and simplicity that seemed allusive to their parent company nearly forty years ago. Delivering on the promise of affordable food in a strangely comfortable environment, the DIY ethos and attention to customer service of this forgotten antiquity manages to achieve what the corporation itself could not. Smaller, focused menus and a lack of ever-changing mascots far better serve a restaurant than any focus group or boardroom full of executives could. If stalwarts of stability like In-n-Out have shown time and again that simplicity and quality succeed then hopefully Rax itself can act as a warning to other fast food empires that attempting to appease all tastes will usually result in customer alienation. Keep it simple; keep it lean.
Godspeed, Rax of Joliet.
