Midwest Comfort Foods Everyone Needs To Try At Least Once

We've talked about unique regional foods across the U.S., but today, we wanted to focus on that certain kind of edible alchemy that belongs to Midwestern comfort food in particular. It's the kind of culinary magic that exists only among rolling hills, vast plains, and the Great Lakes, don't ya know? Just like the folks who hail from here, kitchens across the prairie are known to be warm and welcoming. These are sacred places, where slow cookers simmer from sunrise to supper, and the counter is cluttered with pieces of Tupperware.

And what's that Tupperware for? That leftover casserole (excuse me ... hotdish), of course! And maybe a rogue buckeye or two that somehow survived the first of serving. From church potlucks to weekend fish fries, and all the county fairs in between, the Midwest has built its iconic regional rolodex of recipes around its central core characteristic: heart ... and heartiness, too, come to think of it. It's that unique pairing of meals made with love, yet born out of practicality, that somehow makes Midwestern cuisine sing.

From cheesy hotdishes to crispy pork tenderloins hanging off buns, a Midwestern comfort meal has the uncanny ability to transport us, with just one bite, to crowded kitchens with everybody and their cousins waiting for mom to dish out that familiar favorite. Speaking of familiar favorites, here are the Midwest's most iconic comfort foods everyone needs to try at least once.

Ope! Watch your step, because once you tumble into the wondrous world featuring Springfield's treasure trove of comfort food, there's no going back. You will certainly be forever forced to compare all other subpar feel-good fare to these tasty finds. Case in point? The horseshoe sandwich, which folks from around here talk about the way some people wax eloquent about Elvis, or Mother Theresa even. Call it awe, call it reverence, call it whatever you like, but when a sandwich gets its own plaque placed in its hometown, you know you've crossed from mere lunch-menu item right into legend territory. 

The horseshoe sammy was first brought to life in the late 1920s, right inside the Springfield, Missouri's historic Old Leland Hotel. What began as an attempt to give the lunch menu a little pep soon became the launching of an absolute rockstar across the entire region. This skyrocketing to fame is totally understandable when you hear what it's made of.

We're talking thick slabs of Texas toast, a hearty pile of meat that could be anything from a classic hamburger patty to pulled pork or fried chicken, then add a proverbial mountain of fries, followed by an absolute avalanche of melty cheese sauce. Every eatery seems to have its own spin on the sammy, so the next time you are "going into town," grab yourself a 'shoe.

Midwest foods are starting to spread across the country, so it is pretty shocking to think this next pick hasn't taken off across the U.S. yet. Imagine the best, most buttery, decadent, and comforting grilled cheese you have ever made, then multiply that richness and coziness by about a bazillion. That is exactly what you get with the Cheese Frenchee, the Midwest's answer to the run-of-the-mill grilled cheese sammie. Linked to Lincoln, Nebraska as its birthplace, the Cheese Frenchee is further proof that Midwesterners love, love, love their fried foods, and will use any excuse to crisp and sizzle whatever they can get their hands on. 

Case in point? The OG grilled cheese. Pretty perfect, right? Not so fast, because the Midwest clearly said that's boring, baby. It was specifically King's Food Host restaurants that flipped the sammy script, taking two pieces of white bread, slathering them with mayo and a generous stuffing of melty American cheese, and trimming the sandwich into triangles. And then? These triangles get dunked in batter, rolled in cornflakes (really), and fried until crispy, crunchy, and oh-so-melty.

Local eateries still keep this tasty tradition alive, and if you grew up around Lincoln, odds are good this sandwich starred in your most cherished mealtime memories. And yeah, some folks might say this sammie's "a bit much," but Midwesterners would probably reply (in between bites), "Well, bless your heart, that's the whole point."

You know you're up North, or at least in bona fide Midwest hotdish territory, when someone casually mentions having tater tot hotdish for dinner, and the whole room lights up with anticipation (and a non-verbal hope that an invite to supper is soon on its way). This Midwestern staple is at every potluck. It's a snowy evening essential, and a "don't you dare call it casserole" regional masterpiece earning near royalty status.

Every household has its version, and you better believe it is the gold standard by which to judge all others. Some Midwest chefs line up tots strictly in neat rows, like tiny little potato soldiers standing at the ready to warm you to your toes. Others toss those tots on willy-nilly because, well, life's short and the hockey game starts in ten minutes, don't ya know?

Some folks reach only for cream of mushroom, while others are perfectly fine using whatever can is within arm's reach. But at its core, hotdish follows a simple recipe. Start with ground beef, add a creamy binder and some veggies, and then ... toss (or carefully place in exact rows) the crowning glory of golden tots (on top, mind you!), and maybe even some melty cheese if you're feeling real fancy. You can tweak it and zhuzh it up, or keep it plain as plain can be. Just don't dare call it the "c" word, because yes, there is a difference between hotdish and casserole!

Cincinnati chili is like a cheeky Midwest twist on the standard fare. It's basically the whole region saying, "Take a hike" to all standard culinary confines, and striking out on its own wonderfully quirky route. People outside Ohio may look at this bowl of spaghetti topped with chili and cheese, and ask with genuine flabbergastery, "What in the world?" But locals know what's up.

The kooky Midwest chili was first dreamed up by Greek brothers in the 1920s, who blended their cherished Mediterranean cuisine with American chili variations. And voila! Enter the Midwest icon we now know and love. The difference? Instead of a thick Texas-style chili, you get a silky, semi-sweet sauce with cinnamon, allspice, and sometimes even a hint of chocolate. And that spoon Texans grab for? Nah. Around these parts, you're going to need a fork (we did mention the spaghetti in the mix, right?).

Ordering it is an experience in itself, as you'll have to choose among three-way, four-way, five-way ... you get the drift. And yes, folks around here will argue 'til they are blue in the face about whether Skyline or Gold Star is the GOAT. Regardless of which side you fall on, the absolute necessity of the whole kit and caboodle being topped with an insane amount of shredded cheese is something everyone seems to agree upon. So the next time you're fixin' to try something unexpected, grab yourself a fork and some Cincinnati chili.

Newsflash: The Midwest's greatest sandwich is the breaded pork tenderloin! In fact, if there's one sandwich that screams "Hoosier hospitality," it is indeed the legendary breaded pork tenderloin sandwich (BPT). Fair warning, though, this Midwestern sweetheart sammie is not so much a looker as a lover. Its proportions are ... how do we say it kindly? Unique? Let's just say, your first glimpse of the BPT might take your breath away, but not because it's a beauty!

Midwesterners know all too well that comically oversized golden disk of pig, hanging off a teeny little bun that you feel like you should rescue, but always end up just devouring on the spot. You could say the BPT is peak Midwestern ingenuity in its most impressive form. Think on it: They already had the schnitzel, so why fanny about with a fork when you can slap that golden beauty between a bun and literally call it lunch?

And whether you choose to take the classic route and top it with mustard and pickles, or lean toward lettuce, tomato, and mayo, all are acceptable. However, sources confirm the line is drawn at blanketing a BPT with cheese.

If Nebraska had a state love language, a warm Runza (also known as a Bierock) would be the locals' most romantic word. And in all seriousness, Midwesterners do indeed adore these cozy, cute-as-can-be little pastry pockets.

Call it the Midwest's go-to for portable comfort food, created out of both time-honored Old World tradition and modern-day Cornhusker pride. Picture soft, pillowy dough wrapped around a steamy mix of beef, cabbage, and onions. Talk about an edible love connection that can get your heart racing! It's basically a big ole' Midwestern bear hug in pastry form. And the fact that it's fried only further cements the Runza as a no-brainer for being the ideal object of affection around these parts of the prairie. You know Midwesterners love their fried foods!

Historically, these little pastry pockets of joy traveled across continents before settling in Nebraska, where they immediately became part of the required potluck rotation. Every Nebraskan has a core memory of that first Runza devoured, and the near-endless (but wholly welcomed) army that followed thereafter. Runzas have been hailed as Nebraska's hearty answer to a hot pocket, and we don't know about you, but that is one description of this Midwest delicacy we can certainly get behind.

When it comes to toasted ravioli, it appears this now-beloved Midwestern sensation was actually born out of an absolute oopsie. Basically, a St. Louis chef said, "Ope!" after accidentally dropping ravioli in oil, then threw his hands in the air and proclaimed, "Guess we invented a classic!" And don't ya know, the rest is delicious, crispy St. Louis culinary history. Toasted ravioli (lovingly called "t-ravs" by those in the know) are proof that the Midwest can turn even a kitchen slip-up into a regional showstopper.

The dish consists of plump little ravioli coated in breadcrumbs, then fried until they're golden, then sprinkled with cheese. Add to this already diabolically delicious mixture a mouthwatering savory marinara dip, and suddenly you're living your best life on The Hill (the iconic 'hood where it all started). About these t-ravs, every local family has an (often intense) opinion, from who exactly invented them to who makes them best, and even which version deserves that coveted spot on the holiday table. 

And Lord help the soul who even attempts to argue they're "just fried ravioli!" Clearly, they have no idea the cultural weight these little guys carry. So, let us toast to these toasted bundles of fried, belly-filling goodness together, before enjoying every single square inch of them.

Chances are, you have been among the multitude that has wondered: Why do cheese curds squeak? And more importantly, why do people love these squeaky curds so much? Well, let's get into it! Cheese curds are basically the Midwest's squeaky little love letters to the rest of the world. Think of them like tiny (quite vocal!) reminders that Wisconsin does dairy better than just about anyone. Just one bite of its curdy delicacies is like getting a salty, satisfying kiss that is sure to leave you weak in the knees. 

Ask a local, and they may even go so far as to assure you that you have not lived until a made-this-morning curd coos that signature squeak between your teeth. Apparently, that telltale EEK lets you know they're fresh. Cheese curds are the perfect road-trip snack, post–farmers market treat, or care package star sent to a homesick Wisconsinite hungering for a taste of home. Then, we mustn't forget that there's the fried version. Served at restaurants near and far in the region, chances are you'll burn your mouth because you didn't wait long enough before barreling in to that first bite. After all, these Midwest appetizers are just too good to keep your appetite waiting. 

Dip them in ranch, marinara, or whatever your heart calls for; in this case, it seems there are no wrong answers here, unless you forego the kiss of the Wisconsin curd altogether. That, my friend, would be a big ole' cheesy mistake.

Compared to the more outrageous and flashy fare on our list, the loose meat sandwich (also sometimes known as a Maid Rite, among other monikers) could be considered the humble Iowan hero of the Midwestern comfort-food world. There are no frills or fuss here — just seasoned ground beef piled high on a bun, waiting for you to take your first bite and be instantly transported to feel-good territory.

Still struggling to picture it in your head? Think of it kind of like an old school Sloppy Joe, but without all the ... sloppy? It's like a laced-up, neat-and-tidy version that still rocks your world, but without ruining your outfit or threatening rogue dribbles that demand a bib. Iowa has been serving up these comforting sammies for generations, featuring them front and center on every menu from Maid-Rite counters to tiny diners tucked in nondescript towns. The standard recipe showcases beef that's been lightly seasoned, spooned onto a squishy bun, and topped with items like mustard, onions, and pickles (of course, chefs seem to always have their "best" versions).

Loose meats are beloved in the Midwest because they're easy to feed a crowd with (looking at you, potlucks, post-game gatherings, and pretty much any other Midwestern gathering where anyone and everyone shows up hungrier than a bear come springtime). They're simple as can be, and tasty enough to make you go, "Well, whaddya know?!"

If St. Louis had an official edible welcome mat, it would probably be dusted with powdered sugar and slightly sticky in the center, because nothing says "come on in and stay while" quite like a hunk of gooey butter cake. It's rich, golden, and fairly flat. But despite its lackluster physique, it tastes absolutely divine, like somebody is whispering "treat yourself" with every single bite, and you are not about to argue.

Legend says this regional sweet was born when a baker made a big uh-oh with the butter ratio, but the way things turned out? Not one single Midwesterner seems mad about it. In fact, it was a rare case of a pastry snafu producing an even better product. The result was a mouthwatering mistake of a cake with a chewy base that clings to your fork like it's fixin' to stay awhile, and a gooey center sure to make you grin.

St. Louis folks grow up on slices passed around at birthday parties or slid across the counter at coffee shops, and chances are, if you throw a stone in the Midwest, you'll hit a pan cooling on a windowsill somewhere. And once you try it? You'll understand why homesick college kids bake it for dormmates, just to have a momentary pastry portal back home.

Ohio's sweetest claim to fame looks suspiciously like the nut you're not supposed to eat (looking at you, toxic Ohio state tree nut!) But fear not, these buckeyes bring nothing to the table but pure cocoa-peanut butter bliss, and a lot of Midwestern pride. There is not much you can fault about a generous dollop of soft, sweet peanut butter rolled into perfect little balls, then dipped (okay, drowned) in chocolate, left with just a peek of peanut butter still showing, almost as if to tease you. The temptation is strong, with buckeyes being so popular that they are assuredly the state's signature candy.

Don't believe us? Just ask any Ohioan, and they'll tell ya buckeyes are so much more than mere candy. To most, they are both a time-honored tradition and a cherished core candy memory. These cocoa-PB beauties show up everywhere, filling holiday tins, sweetening tailgate parties, adding grins to graduations, and putting the proverbial cherry on top of run-of-the-mill potluck desserts. In fact, buckeyes were the very first thing a Midwestern college boyfriend of one of our staffers practically begged his mom to make every weekend trip home. So, let's just say we know the attachment runs deep!

Making them takes patience (a whole confectionery dance of rolling, melting, dipping, swirling), but Midwesterners aren't afraid of spending a little more time in the kitchen if it means ending up with a treat that tastes like home. And in this case, it does.