The thing about cheesesteaks
As I mentioned earlier, today is Bash Philadelphia Day in the local papers.
I’ve got plenty of beef with Phillies fans, but I’m not going to rehash what’s been covered a billion times. And there are probably at least a couple of Phillies fans out there that are decent human beings, and I know plenty of people from Philadelphia have read this blog, so I’ll spare the city my vitriol.
But what gets me is the ridiculous pride over cheesesteaks. Here’s the thing about cheesesteaks:
Cheesesteaks are delicious, but I have had cheesesteaks outside of Philly that were better than the ones served at Pat’s or Geno’s. It’s not really a tough art to master: You slice steak really thin, grill it, cover it in cheese and put it on a hero.
They have decent cheesesteaks at the weird corporate food bar on the ground floor of my office building, and absolutely everything else at that place sucks.
That’s how easy it is to make cheesesteak. Almost all cheesesteaks are good because they’re filled with steak and cheese, and steak and cheese are really good.
Pizza-making is a delicate art form, and one not many have mastered. Same for bagels and knishes. I couldn’t make you any of those things to the New York standard unless I spent a whole lot of time practicing, and maybe apprenticing with good purveyors of the foodstuffs.
Cheesesteak? Give me a ride to ShopRite and 25 minutes and I’ll make you a delicious cheesesteak.
And what’s worse, places like Pat’s and Geno’s pride themselves on being rude. Awesome. So you’re entitled to act like a jackass because you’re willing to purchase Cheez Whiz in unreasonable quantities? We’re all very proud of you, guy.
And I’m supposed to revere Pat, the King of Steaks, because he invented the cheesesteak? Ooh, meat and cheese on bread. What a brilliant innovation! Who would have thought of that if you hadn’t, Pat? Oh, that’s right, the cheeseburger guy. Also the burrito guy, technically. And probably Bobby Valentine too if no one else got to it first.
Color me unimpressed. I’ll gladly eat your cheesesteak, but please don’t try to pass it off as a regional delicacy. Call me when you can make a knish.
