Sandwich Sojourner in Philly: The Cheese-steak Body-Blow

Few foods seem to capture the essence of their origins as well as the Philly Cheese-steak. A gritty proletarian of a sandwich, the cheese-steak is a culinary street-fighter that can leave the first-time eater feeling like they've just taken a body blow from Rocky Balboa.

So, in the spirit of discovery, and taking a cue from the great anthropologist Bronislaw Maliknowski (who advised erstwhile students of other cultures to “awake to each morning though the eyes of a native”) I began a recent day in South Philly by setting out on Passyonk Avenue, where my trusty guide led me to the neighborhood steak shack. As we trudged by shuttered storefronts and sidestepped cars parked on the sidewalk, my South Philly informant explained that the icons of cheese-steakdom, Pats and Genos, were best avoided. Locals, he explained, wasted no time in the famously long lines of either establishment. Lines, frills, bells, whistles, and media attenion from Bobby Flay to Fox News are antithetical the cheese-steak's very being.

Enter Philip's Steaks. (Actually, since its a shack on a sidewalk, you kind of have to stand beside it). We may have been there before noon on a blistery December Sunday, but we weren't alone (South Philly locals know this place has it down). And for the record, yes, I started my day with a cheese-steak. I'll admit, however, that I was not completely faithful to tradition, as I opted for provolone with my meat and onions instead of cheez-whiz (the latter being the one thing I don't eat before noon). If this substitution tempered the power of the cheese-steak, however, I'm glad. The savoriness of caramelized onions combined with steak and creamy cheese on a bun is really good while its going down. It's just that it's hard to deny, however, that eating a cheese steak while wide awake (and perfectly sober) on a Sunday is the culinary equivalent of taking smelling salts while being 100% conscious. Cheese-steaks appear to be purpose built beer drinking food, so what I did was just nonsense. (and I won't even go into the implications of this meal taking place just before getting on the bus back to NYC.)

But the thing is, just a while after arriving in NYC later in the afternoon, I found myself hankering for another one (and believe me, it wasn't the smell of the bus station wetting my appetite). Perhaps like the City of Brotherly Love itself, the cheese-steak seems to have a magic magnetism which makes you yearn later, regardless of what kind of visceral effect it has when its right before your eyes.

Philip's Steaks is at 2234 W. Passyunk Ave, (between 23rd and Hemberger), Philadelphia PA