Best of Philly 2005: Cheesesteak Nation

Day 1
Chicago
My first stop is the Hoagie Hut, a little joint at the corner of Sheffield, Wrightwood and Lincoln, just north of the city. As its name implies, HH focuses mostly on hoagies, but it also makes cheesesteaks — or at least, something it likes to call cheesesteaks. Nobody who knows anything about Philly cheesesteaks will call an HH cheesesteak a cheesesteak, though. First, there’s the matter of its name, listed on the HH menu as a “Philly Cheesesteak Hoagie,” which is akin to walking into McDonald’s and asking for a Big Mac Whopper Chalupa. Also, the cheese offerings are limited to provolone, and the bread is toasted. It was a fine sandwich. But a cheesesteak, ’twas not.

Less than a mile from the HH is Philly’s Best, which has just moved to a new location on Belmont Avenue a few blocks south of Wrigley Field. This turned out to be one of the nicest cheesesteak establishments I encountered anywhere — all exposed brick, white-on-black menu boards, and stainless steel tables and chairs. And the steak was very good. The meat was well seasoned and flavorful, the cheese was nicely melted, the onions were grilled to perfection. Indeed, it was as good as or better than many of the cheesesteaks served up in Philly.

Not that I took a lot of time to savor the experience. Because it was so hot, and because I have a tendency to sweat like a fevered swine, I spent much of my time waiting for my sandwich at Philly’s Best walking around fanning myself. Then, when I tried to take notes on the restaurant’s atmosphere, I noticed that my normally trusty Uni-ball pen had busted and was leaking bright blue ink all over my hands and — no surprise, given my propensity for dishevelment — face. I looked like I’d just been in a knife fight with a member of the Blue Man Group. When I asked if I could take a couple of pictures inside the place, the employees clearly thought I was either an FBI agent trying to infiltrate the shady cheesesteak netherworld — or a crazy homeless person with access to a very nice digital camera.

Milwaukee
The Philly Way sits amid a desolate strip of buildings on the wrong side of the Milwaukee River. In keeping with the rule that the quality of regional food is inversely proportional to the pleasantness of the neighborhood in which it’s located, I take this as a good sign. Inside the Philly Way, there are just three tables, and the de facto decorative motif is similar to almost all the cheesesteak shops I will visit: Eagles green and white, accented by the odd Sixers jersey or Phillies pennant.

The sandwiches, however, are markedly better than almost everywhere else I go. The meat is sliced and cooked perfectly, the cheese is just right, and the bread would make Mrs. Amoroso jealous. The man responsible for this is owner and former Philly resident Dave London, who opened Philly Way three years ago, after a career in radio landed him in the Midwest. Milwaukeeans should count themselves blessed. To get the roll right, London went to 30-odd bakeries before he found one that could make bread to his specifications. He is equally picky about the meat he uses. Says London, “I always wanted to show people out here what a real cheesesteak was like.” He has.