The Philadelphia Cheesesteak

You thought people are passionate about BBQ

Cleaver’s Cheesesteak

I recently had the opportunity to return to Philadelphia for a work event.

I am a fan of Philly.

It is one of those cities where, if you’ve never visited, your perception is probably shaped by sports talk radio, viral videos, and the nightly news.

The city gets portrayed as rough.

Angry.

Maybe even a little unhinged.

The sort of place where batteries might be considered a food group and climbing greased light poles is a legitimate civic activity.

Then you actually go there.

You walk the streets.

You spend time with the people.

You stand in the shadows of buildings that were already old when the rest of the country was still figuring itself out. Like really old for our young country.

And you realize Philadelphia is pretty awesome.

This is the birthplace of American independence. A city where Benjamin Franklin walked the streets. Where the Declaration of Independence was debated and signed. Where history isn’t locked behind museum glass but woven directly into the fabric of everyday life.

The people remind me a little bit of the city itself.

They’re direct.

They aren’t interested in wasting your time.

They might not immediately wrap you in Southern hospitality and offer you sweet tea, but they’ll tell you exactly where you stand.

There is an authenticity to Philadelphia that I genuinely appreciate.

The city knows exactly what it is.

And one thing Philadelphia definitely knows is cheesesteaks.

Now, I grew up in Atlanta.

I’ve spent years around BBQ competitions, pitmasters, and food obsessives.

I’ve witnessed heated debates over brisket wrapping techniques, sauce styles, wood choices, and whether ribs should be fall-off-the-bone or have a proper bite.

I thought BBQ people were passionate.

Then I started talking to Philadelphians about cheesesteaks.

Holy hell.

The cheesesteak isn’t just a sandwich.

It’s an identity.

It’s neighborhood pride.

It’s family tradition.

It’s a citywide argument that has apparently been raging for nearly a century.

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The origins of the cheesesteak trace back to the 1930s when brothers Pat and Harry Olivieri operated a hot dog stand in South Philadelphia. One day they grilled some thinly sliced beef and piled it onto an Italian roll for lunch. Legend says a passing cab driver smelled it, demanded one of his own, and the cheesesteak was born.

The cheese came later.

The arguments followed shortly thereafter.

And judging by my conversations with locals, those arguments are still going strong.

The first thing you learn about cheesesteaks is that ordering one is part of the experience.

Do you get it “wit” or “witout”?

That’s with onions or without onions.

Do you go with Cheese Whiz?

Provolone?

Cooper Sharp American?

Seeded roll?

Unseeded roll?

Everyone seems to have an opinion.

Most of them delivered with the confidence of a Supreme Court ruling.

And whatever you do, be ready when you reach the counter.

Have your order rehearsed.

Know exactly what you’re getting.

Do not freeze.

Do not panic.

Do not suddenly decide you need more time to think about cheese options.

Because there is a very real chance the person taking your order will simply move on to the next customer while you’re still trying to process your life choices.

The only thing I have experienced that compares was ordering from the Varsity back in the 80s.

“What’ll ya have? What’ll ya have?”

Have your order in your mind and your money in your hand.

I still may have a little unresolved trauma from those experiences.

As for my own cheesesteak journey, I do not have enough reps to consider myself any sort of authority.

I am merely a student of the game.

To keep things consistent, I standardized my order:

“Cheesesteak. Witout. Whiz.”

Simple.

No variables.

No distractions.

Just me versus the sandwich.

So far, here are my rankings.

Cleavers

By far my favorite so far.

The seeded roll added a great layer of texture and flavor. The ribeye had enough flavor to stand on its own without relying entirely on the Whiz for support. Everything felt balanced.

The Whiz was hitting exactly how I wanted it to.

Plus they had waffle fries.

I like waffle fries.

Geno’s

I appreciated that they don’t chop the ribeye.

That immediately triggered flashbacks to my childhood and Steak-umm sandwiches.

The meat had a little more texture because of it, which I enjoyed. The roll was solid. The Whiz did its job.

Whether Geno’s ends up being your favorite cheesesteak or not, it feels like one of those places you simply have to experience at least once.

Pat’s

I know.

I know.

Before the angry emails start rolling in, hear me out.

Pat’s was my first cheesesteak experience in Philadelphia. At the time I had no frame of reference whatsoever. Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe I caught them on an off day.

Maybe I simply need another visit.

But on that particular day, it was good.

Just not life changing.

The beauty of Philadelphia is that the cheesesteak journey never really ends.

Every local has another recommendation.

Every recommendation comes with a passionate defense.

Current additions to my hit list include:

• Angelo’s
• Del Rossi’s
• John’s Roast Pork
• Joe’s
• Dalessandro’s
• Skinny Joey’s

Honestly, some of these names sound less like sandwich shops and more like people you meet in a Scorsese movie.

I feel like I need a mob nickname.

“Fast Eddie is headed over to Angelo’s to pick up the package.”

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The more I travel, the more I realize every great food city has its sacred cow.

In Austin, it’s brisket.

In Kansas City, it’s burnt ends.

In Memphis, it’s ribs.

In Chicago, it’s deep dish.

In Philadelphia, it’s the cheesesteak.

The sandwich itself isn’t really the point.

The point is pride.

It’s neighborhoods planting their flag and declaring, “This is how we do it here.”

It’s families arguing over dinner.

It’s coworkers debating lunch spots.

It’s locals passionately defending their favorite corner shop against all challengers.

Food is just the vehicle.

Community is the destination.

And based on the recommendations I’ve received so far, I can confidently say there are houses divided all over Philadelphia on the subject of cheesesteaks.

Families.

Friends.

Coworkers.

Potentially marriages.

And honestly?

I respect it.

Philly can be incredibly complex and incredibly simple at the same time.

It gave us the Declaration of Independence.

It gave us Rocky.

It gave us the cheesesteak.

That’s a pretty solid resume.

If you ever get the opportunity to visit this great city, spend some time exploring the history.

Walk the old streets.

Talk to the people.

Then go find yourself a cheesesteak.

Order with confidence.

And prepare to discover that Philadelphians care about sandwiches with roughly the same intensity that Texans care about brisket.

Which is saying something.

-Ed