Best of Philly 2005: Cheesesteak Nation

Day 3
Denver
Because I have so little time in Denver, I decide to bag my rental car and just take a cab into town. This turns out to be a bad idea. Near as I can figure, Denver International Airport is actually in Kansas, and so my cab ride actually costs as much as my flight to Denver.

My destination, Taste of Philly, sits in a strip mall near the University of Denver. It offers a few tables, as well as the requisite accoutrements of conspicuous Philly-ness: Eagles paraphernalia, a map of the city, posters of the Art Museum and for Rocky, etc. The meat is good, the onions are grilled perfectly, and the bread is competent. A good, not great, sandwich, nestled in the vast second tier of the nation’s cheesesteaks.

Seattle
Though there are a couple of Philly-related items on the walls at Seattle’s Philly Fevre, the one sign that stands out announces that you can get scrapple, which is a pretty low-key way of saying “We’re totally legit.” Even so, I am not here for scrapple, and the Fevre’s cheesesteak is on the greasy side, with the bun a soggy mess by the time I get to the last bites. On the other hand, Philly Fevre’s onion rings are so good, you may have to steady yourself against the furniture after taking a bite.

As part of this stunt, the sadists in the art department of this magazine want me to get photos of myself with cheesesteaks in front of iconic civic monuments around the country. So in Seattle, joined by an old friend who lives in town, I head over to the Seattle Center, home of the Space Needle. There, while posing for a photo that the people in the art department probably won’t even use, I encounter the biggest, most ferocious-looking seagull I have ever seen, which I only notice when it begins to eye the half a cheesesteak I’ve set for a moment on a park bench. When my friend and I finally realize what is happening, the seagull makes its move, and all three of us—me, seagull, friend—start a mad three-way dash for the cheesesteak. It is at this point in the trip that I begin to wonder whether my employer’s health-care policy covers cheesesteak-related injuries.