Philadelphia is a grand old city. It is chock full of history. History with a big crack down its middle. History that can be viewed in art form and misunderstood. History full of rolling hills and lazy arthritic deer. Black history. White history. But there is only one kind of history in Philadelphia that can be smothered with onions and cheese and devoured to the accompaniment of beer. That is the Philadelphia cheesesteak.
I remember the first time I had a Philadelphia cheesesteak. It was four years ago and I had just arrived in this city, hungry, scared, broke and with a car full of plastic rectangles I had purchased in Walmart and didn't want to throw away when I moved. I had been unemployed for four months and had forgotten what meat looked like. Or cheese.
That is why when the city embraced me with open arms and handed me a big cheesesteak, I did not know what to do with it. I held it against the light and it was beautiful. I sniffed it and it smelt of happiness. I grazed my lips against it and it tasted of sunshine. I placed it on the carpet and knelt in reverence. I kept it on paper and traced its outline. I sang to it. I fixed it a bubble bath and lowered it into the bathtub. It sank to the bottom. That was not a smart thing to do. I went and bought another.
I ate this one. Anyone who's ever eaten a Philly cheesesteak can never have amorous relations with an ordinary sandwich with the same passion again. The combination of thinly sliced ribeye steak, cheese, onions and sometimes mushrooms, depending on whether you are gay or not, on a long roll is something every person on this planet needs to experience at least once during his lifetime.
This is historic Pat's King of Steaks, the place in South Philadelphia where the first ever cheesesteak was invented by Mr Harry Olivieri and his brother, Pat. I once biked 30 miles from Valley Forge to Pat's Steaks and back. It was my pilgrimage, my homage to this extraordinary sandwich that is virtually a food group for most Philadelphians, along with pizza, beer and hookers.
Rest in peace Mr Olivieri. Thinly sliced. Smothered in onions. And drizzled with cheese, of course.
7 comments:
Well written !!!
mouth watering !!!!
R.I.P Harry
I have been tempted to try a Philadelphia cheesesteak, but I've been leery. It seems a long way to import cheesesteaks from Philadelphia to California and I've been worried how the taste would hold up.
Do you have any suggestions?
I had this amazing cheesestake just outside philly airport. Some ramp people took me. I don't know what they do to those crushed onions, divine. And it's not the same anywhere else. Yes, in SFO, they do add the filthy mushrooms, wierd!
This is the place I experienced my first real Philly Cheesesteak! It was a divine experience. At least I got to share mine with one of my best friends. We asked around about where the best cheesesteak came from and more than a few said Pat's. RIP Harry.
One more to go and I will have finished a dozen at Rick's - then I will get my free one! with cheesewhiz of course!!
What about Pretzels? I thought that was supposed to be Philly! You historians are always promoting your favourites. For once, try writing an unbiased eulogy.
anonymous : Thank you
robroy : Yes, the only solution is to create a cheesesteak long enough to stretch from Philly to the west coast. And it is only a matter of time before they do it because of the weightage Wall Street bosses place on Guinness Book entries in the resume.
dna : ramp people?yes, we grow our own onions here in Philadelphia. It is the ozone that makes them so delicious.
lumi : yes pat's is the best apparently. there's geno's right opposite but geno doesn't like the brown folk as much.
llsa : rick who? yes cheesewhiz is the best.
anurag : when they start making pretzels that are drippign with grease, loaded with cheese and are made from something that used to have a mother, i will write about pretzels.
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