The Cheesesteak Primer
Everything you need to know about the humble mascot sandwich of the Philadelphia area
I grew up in the Philadelphia area my whole life. You will few greater devotees of this region’s quirks and culture than me, and the reason is plainly simple. This area is weird and wonderful in ways that make it one of the most uniquely American and yet insular and belligerent from the rest of this country areas in the world. If this area, which consists of five-or-so counties in Pennsylvania, Cecil County in Maryland, New Castle County in Delaware, and the western half or so of Southern New Jersey, were to have an emblem emblazoned on a flag, it would be a simple yet hard-to-master sandwich consisting of beef and cheese on a long roll.
The cheesesteak is associated with Philadelphia more strongly than anything else the area could possibly offer. Not the Liberty Bell nor Benjamin Franklin or angry fans at sporting events can really supplant the sandwich in the national psyche as totally and authentically Philadelphian. Whenever national sporting telecasts are in town, they show b-rolls of cooks at the griddle, furiously chopping large piles of chipped steak or slapping slices of cheese on them. A cheesesteak order in Philly can make or break a Presidential candidate. If you don’t believe me, ask John Kerry, who ordered a cheesesteak with lettuce and was roundly mocked for it for weeks after. Never mind that kind of thing is ordered all the time from pizzerias locally as a “cheesesteak hoagie;” the old, staid cheesesteak stands to which tourists flock as canon have strict rules on what ingredients to put on a sandwich and how to order them. Pat’s and Geno’s are the self-proclaimed standards, but they are not the ones who earned their stripes through prolonged quality over the years.
Of course, it’s not like Pat’s doesn’t have a major claim to stake in cheesesteak lore. Legend has it that the founder and namesake, Pat Olivieri, wanted to branch out from the hot dogs he sold from his South Philly stand in the 1930s, so he bought some cheap beef, chipped it up, and griddled it alongside some onions. A local cabbie smelled it and thought it appetizing enough to try. He started spreading the word after eating it, and thus a Philadelphia legend was born. Much in the same way that Dr. James Naismith, the inventor of basketball, would not last a single second in the NBA if he somehow were to be time-traveled into the present, the cheesesteak game has passed Pat’s and its cross-corner rivals Geno’s by. (Geno’s didn’t get started until the ‘60s and only muscled into the national conversation due to proximity. Founder Joey Vento was also HELLA racist.) Some people still swear by those South Philly stands, but really, the game has evolved so much from South Philly and around the area.
In typical Philadelphia bullheadedness, denizens of the area tend to be spartan in their treatment of the sandwich. There is some truth in the elitism. While Guy Fieri has proven that cuisine travels and has highlighted some good-looking steak sandwiches on his show Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives, the general rule is that once you get out of a certain radius from the William Penn Statue at City Hall, your odds of finding a decent cheesesteak, let alone good, become longer than that of a Sun Belt Conference team of making the college football playoff. I have some anecdotal, empirical evidence of this. The worst cheesesteak I’ve ever had was when I was at Georgetown University for a summer program between junior and senior years of high school. The bread was stiff yet fragile. The meat had more gristle than anything, and it was oily as hell to boot. It was so unpleasant that the first thing I did when I got back to the area was order a proper sandwich as I was wont to do during lazy summer days. I’ve had mediocre cheesesteaks locally, Pat’s and Geno’s being closest to that culinary Mendoza line. I’ve never had one as dreadful as that one.
But what makes a good cheesesteak? To answer that question, one must ask what makes a cheesesteak altogether. That is why, my friends, I am going to give you a primer on the mascot of the Philadelphia area, the sandwich that defines the region, the cheesesteak.
What Is It?
A cheesesteak is a sandwich, one that has three ingredients at base: meat, cheese, long roll. It doesn’t need to have any other components in order to be called a cheesesteak. One can order it without the cheese and simply have a steak sandwich, but only those who don’t like cheese or who are lactose intolerant don’t have some kind of cheese product on there. Cheese feels like a default ingredient given how few people are in either camp, and for those in the lactose intolerant camp, there are vegan options that melt just as well as dairy cheeses do.
National interpretations of the sandwich have made it seem like onions and peppers are standard. They are wrong and are just trying to put their own spin on the sandwich to make themselves seem more authentic than their competitors, who are decidedly NOT local purveyors of the sandwich. A cheesesteak does not need onions or peppers or mushrooms or sauce or whatever other accoutrements someone thinks it needs. The primal level dictates only a protein (it actually doesn’t have to be meat), cheese, and a long roll. You theoretically could have chip steak and cheese on a kaiser roll or hamburger bun, but it would feel all kinds of weird and unwholesome, like wearing sunglasses at night or walking a cat.
What Are Those Ingredients?
Protein – I say the word “protein” rather than “steak” because over the years, people have tried every single kind of meat or meat substitute in the sandwich and have made it work. The most popular example is chicken. You will find chicken steaks alongside beef on every pizzeria menu in the city and surrounding area. Dedicated cheesesteak places, ironically enough, are a lot less lenient in that department. They demand you order beef or get out of line. Again, there’s this weird totalitarian attitude among cheesesteak hardcores that feels both distinctly Philadelphian and totally off-putting. Jason Kelce said during his infamous Super Bowl parade speech “no one likes us and we don’t care.” That is totally not true. Philly people are bullheaded and belligerent to a point. We will generally yell at you that we’re doing things our way, but once you start writing truthfully about those experiences, we will start talking about the UTTER DISRESPECT. Nothing encapsulates that more than the Soup Nazi-esque way that you must order at Pat’s or Geno’s. But I’m veering too far off the track.
For as many different options as I’ve seen, from the sensible ones like seitan and kielbasa to the out-of-leftfield options like duck and salmon, beef/steak is still the default option for a reason. It is assertive enough for you to recognize its flavor, but it plays nice with other ingredients enough that it can be a sandwich all-star. The way it cooks makes it the preferred option as well. The way the Maillard reaction works with beef gives the well-done outer surfaces such a pleasing texture with flavor concentration the way it rarely happens to chicken without major doctoring. With a cheesesteak, the beef is sliced so thin that you can theoretically get the best of both worlds, the flavor burst of the well-done surface and the tender chew of the interior, in combined and glorious bulk in every single bite without the effort of needing to chew a large hunk.
The protein is less valued for flavor and more for texture, generally, anyway. It’s why, at least in my opinion, old school places like Pat’s and Geno’s fall behind. They insist on keeping the steak slices whole rather than chopped up. Leaving it whole ends up allowing gristly portions to dominate, decreasing the ease of chewing and just making things unpleasant. Flavor then becomes more of a “tiebreaker” between mediocre and excellent steaks. For beef, it’s a matter of seasoning, accentuating the natural notes existing in the meat itself. If you’re using corn- or grain-fed beef, you might need to be a little more creative or aggressive in seasoning to make it stand out. Grass-fed beef offers more of its own assertive flavor. Of course, you can be like the intrepid folks at Gaul and Co. Malt House (at the corner of Gaul Street and Clementine Street, across from where I lived from 1982 to 1989!) and use kielbasa, which has absolutely no problem asserting itself. Either way, it’s weird to say that the protein in a sandwich might be the least important of the major ingredients, but in many ways… it is. Still, it’s not insignificant.
Cheese – In my humble opinion, the cheese is the most important ingredient of a cheesesteak, and it’s not close. It’s the main flavor-driver. It’s what makes you remember the sandwich. It is the exact reason why the default choice, cheese sauce or “Cheez Wiz,” is so inadequate. Wiz tends to pool at the bottom of the roll, leaving only a little residue on the actual meat. Depending on how much meat and other toppings are on the sandwich, the amount of wiz may not add enough flavor to every bite, which is annoying as shit. Then it has the problem of being liquid and thus able to be absorbed by the bread. That tendency makes the impulse to compensate by adding more cheese sauce to the sandwich dangerous to the integrity of the bread.
A solid, melting cheese, however, does not have that problem. For this reason, American is the best kind of cheese to put on a steak sandwich because it replicates the ooey-gooey texture wiz promises while giving the distribution of flavor that wiz cannot. Deli-sliced American, white or orange, is better than the plastic-wrapped Kraft single variety, which is the opposite of my experiences with cheeseburgers. I cannot explain why scientifically, but for as much science is involved with the culinary arts, they are at the end of the day still arts. Just because American is the best kind of cheese doesn’t mean it’s the only adequate one. Philly Italians SWEAR by provolone, and for good reason. Mild provolone gives an extra layer of creaminess that American doesn’t, but sharp provolone is really where it’s at. The stinky variant packs the most flavor per ounce. I’ve had steaks with cheddar, bleu, and mozzarella cheeses as well. Basically, you can experiment with whatever you want, but be prepared to receive the stink eye from militant Philadelphians who think putting Swiss cheese on a steak is as foreign a concept as rooting for a team that contends to win a sports title every year instead of once a decade.
Bread – Militant cheesesteak nerds will angrily say “The bread is the MOST IMPORTANT PART of the sandwich,” and though they’re not right, they’re not necessarily wrong either. Flavor-wise, cheese is the most important part, but eating a sandwich requires that the sandwich holds up structurally. Nothing is worse than eating lunch in your car or at a park bench or somewhere else where kitchen support is not available and the bread starts falling apart, spilling the innards all over the place. So you need to have a *extremely Elizabeth Warren “big structural Bailey” voice* good structural bread. That doesn’t necessarily mean you have to have a crusty bread, even though my favorite go-to cheesesteak roll is baked by Philly-famous Sarcone Bakery on 9th Street.
Your roll can be soft, but it has to be soft and hardy. Amoroso and Liscio Bakeries locally have perfected the cheesesteak roll in this regard. The rolls are soft but they’re chewy. They can stand up to the various liquids that might destroy a lesser roll, like grease, cheese sauce, or moisture runoff from extraneous toppings.
What Else Can Go on a Cheesesteak?
Earlier, I mentioned national outlets love to put onions and peppers as a default on a cheesesteak, and it’s not borne out of misunderstanding fiddling with an already-perfect product. As also noted earlier, the original steak sandwiches at Pat’s were griddled next to onions, and the fried onion is almost the default fourth ingredient. Onions, especially cooked ones, have been paired with beef for as long as humanity has cultivated both agriculturally. Italians eat everything with peppers as well, and again, while not as classic a combination, beef and peppers do pair well.
Mushrooms, pizza sauce, and bacon are other common cheesesteak toppings. Mushrooms and beef form another formidable culinary tag team. In fact, I would argue mushrooms more than onions are the platonic cheesesteak topping ideal. Onions either need to be raw or totally caramelized in order to affect flavor. If they’re just fried to translucence, they’re a texture center and nothing else. Mushrooms actually don’t need to be cooked that long in order to have their deep, earthy flavors develop, and a cheesesteak is meant to be fast food at heart. Pizza sauce usually combos with mozzarella cheese for a pizza steak. The flavors generally are on point, but honestly, adding that much wetness to the sandwich might end up submarining the structural integrity of the roll. Bacon, while in theory is a good topping, often gets lost in the shuffle. The amount of bacon one would need to make a difference would end up making it more a bacon sandwich than a steak sandwich. I would recommend against the bacon steak.
One quirky topping the Italians in Philly have grown to clinging to is broccoli rabe, which is less like its namesake vegetable and more like a green. Think Swiss chard or spinach, only a little more bitter. The topping was actually popularized for a chicken cutlet sandwich at Tony Luke’s at Front and Oregon, but it has made its way over to the cheesesteak. The Cheesesteak Italian generally has broccoli rabe blanched first to remove some bitterness and then sauteed in olive oil and garlic as well as sharp provolone, served on a crusty and seeded Italian roll. Given that the cheesesteak is more or less an Italian-American invention, it might be the most elemental form of the sandwich.
Other than those common toppings, one might be tempted to try anything as an add-on to the iconic sandwich. I say experimentation is good, but it’s also not really as flexibly welcoming for a different addition as the cheeseburger is. What has been established usually is what works, but you’re welcome to try things. How else would you get the Tandoori chicken cheesesteak from Little Sicily II in South Philly on Columbus Boulevard? I just want to note that experimentation often ends in failure, but failure isn’t a bad thing. Failure is how you learn.
Where Do I Get Cheesesteaks?
Well, unfortunately for non-Philly readers of this here newsletter, it’s hard for me to say where at outside of Philly you can get a good cheesesteak because I never try to order a cheesesteak outside of the area. The closest I ever got was ordering a “Cleveland Cheesesteak” at Melt Bar and Grilled in Cleveland, OH, but that was just a grilled cheese sandwich with brisket. It was phenomenal; I think about that sandwich every once in awhile and smile. But it’s not a cheesesteak. Until that fateful day at Georgetown, I took the idea of that sandwich for granted. That being said, the slow osmosis of people moving across the land over time has generally laid the foundation for that perception to change. My challenge to you is to try and see where you might be able to find a good cheesesteak outside of the confines of the Philadelphia area.
However, if you want a good cheesesteak IN the Philadelphia area, well, I am your fucking cheesesteak Sherpa. Truth be told, you can get a good baseline at any local pizzeria. Baseline is baseline though, and there are several places where the sandwich stands out. I will give you a few here, in this issue of the newsletter, so that if your post-COVID-19 travels ever have you landing in Philly, you can get a great sandwich and memories to take home with you.
Woodrow’s Sandwich Shop – Woodrow’s Sandwich Shop is a little eatery on South Street, the original hipster magnet area-turned-commercialized over the years. This little place at 630 South Street serves up a sandwich called the “Wiz Wit,” a play on the ordering code at Pat’s or Geno’s (wit’ or wit’out being the code for whether you want onions or not). It is a slightly fancier version of the cheesesteak. The cheese sauce is truffled, for starters, and it comes standard with cherry pepper mayo. I generally frown upon mayo on most sandwiches, but the truth is that while regular mayo can be gross, it can be easily gussied up and made palatable. Woodrow’s succeeds in this department. What you get is a flavor bomb that is unmatched. It may not be for a beginner, not because it’s daunting, but because it might just ruin cheesesteaks for you from every other vendor.
John’s Roast Pork – The little shack nestled on the corner of Snyder Avenue and Weccacoe Avenue near has been around forever, but it didn’t gain widespread notoriety until Craig LaBan of the Philadelphia Inquirer conducted a citywide search for the best cheesesteak and settled on them in 2002. I went for the first time the day after that feature ran in the paper, back when print media was still alive and kicking, and I waited for a damn near hour in a line that wrapped around the building to get my sandwich. It did not disappoint. The seeded Italian roll stuffed with flavorful beef and the stinkiest sharp provolone cheese you could ever dream of became the platonic ideal of a cheesesteak in my mind. The drawback is that it has arcane hours for visitors. It’s open Tuesday through Saturday from 10 AM to 5 PM, so if you wanted a cheesesteak for dinner, you’d be out of luck.
Claymont Steak Shop – Just past the PA/DE border is the Claymont Steak Shop, another longtime staple who counts Presidential candidate Joe Biden as its most famous patron. Whenever I have to work in Delaware, it is a must-visit for me. The original location is at 3526 Philadelphia Pike in Claymont, DE (US 13), but it has expanded into Wilmington on US 202 and into downtown Newark near the University of Delaware. They have the best cheesesteak meat, bar none. It’s worth the trip into the First State.
The Pepper Mill – The best chicken cheesesteak I’ve ever had is at this cash-only shop on the corner of Paoli Pike and PA 352 on the outskirts of West Chester, PA. The variant I love is the cordon bleu steak, which has chopped chicken with American cheese, hot capicola, and Dijon mustard, a play on the classic French dish. I treated myself to this sandwich on many a Friday when my work offices were located in West Chester and not where they’re currently situated. The beef cheesesteaks are good too, but this is the one place where you order chicken first.
If you ask 20 different locals where their favorite cheesesteak joint is, you might get 20 different answers. I am also willing to bet that none of their answers will be Pat’s or Geno’s. Those two are to cheesesteaks what McDonald’s and Burger King are to hamburgers in terms of quality even if they’re not widespread franchises. Other than that, I feel like you can experiment with various places. Those four above come with my highest marks, but I have been known to differ from the norms.
Can I Make Them at Home?
Of course you can make a cheesesteak at home. The cheese and the long rolls are readily available at any supermarket. Where you might run into some problems will be with procuring the meat. The temptation is to buy Steak-umm brand from the frozen grocer case. Maybe it’s my local snobbery talking, but man, that shit is rank. I don’t if the social media department finds this newsletter issue and roasts me on Twitter. You gotta love yourself more than to buy Steak-umm. Lidl around me at least had a frozen product that was a step above Steak-umm, but I’m not sure if it’s just in their local-to-the-Delaware Valley locations or if you can find it nationwide.
Regardless, you should be able to have your local butcher slice you some beef for cheesesteaks, whether it be ribeye, sirloin, or some other cut of beef. The only thing I would suggest is not to use a lean cut of beef if you’re going that route. Besides, the only person I know using filet as their cheesesteak base is Bobby Flay, and he’s on the half-bougie, guillotine-bait channel known as Food Network. Look, I love Triple D and Chopped, but one needs to admit what they’re watching there isn’t exactly 100 percent class-conscious, especially when it comes to Flay. He has fuck you money, and his show’s budgets have fuck you money.
Once you get ready to cook the steak, you want to use a larger flat surface, especially if you’re making for more than two people. Electric griddles are fairly inexpensive and can be used for a vast number of applications, not just for cheesesteaks. Cooking the steak itself will not take much time. It’s made to be cooked fast, fresh, and made-to-order. The fat content of the beef itself will dictate how much help you need from other kitchen lipids. Chicken steaks will definitely need to be cooked in oil or butter. Season liberally with salt and pepper at least. My dad, whose cheesesteaks are the best I’ve ever had, also uses Cajun seasoning. That might sound weird, but consider how much Italians bit off French cooking for their own cuisine, and think of how Cajun cooking is just French cooking, only way more proletarian. It actually makes PERFECT sense. If you don’t like Cajun seasoning or don’t have any, garlic powder is another fine way to beef up the flavor profiles.
The cheesesteak really is a simple thing to construct. It takes little time to go from prep to eating, and it’s a nice way to get a taste of Philly without needing to come here. That being said, it’s not like I don’t think you should come to Philly. The area really is rich in culture, whether historically or with its local cuisine even outside of the street food. I know that right now, it’s not feasible, and even when it is, sometimes, you just want a cheesesteak without hopping on a flight and waiting in line behind someone drinking an Arctic Splash iced tea whining about the Eagles in their most nasal Kensington accent.
All Photos Taken by Me, TH