Best of Philly 2005: Cheesesteak Nation

Who makes the best Philly cheesesteak outside Philly? After seven days and 8,000 miles, our man returns with an answer

Day 4
San Francisco
For whatever reason, Divisadero Street is the heart of cheesesteakdom in San Francisco, with two places barely a mile from one another. The first one I visit, the Cheese Steak Shop, has a bright yellow awning with a small, barely discernible logo. Instead of the shop’s name, the awning reads, in large block letters, CAUTION: MAY BE HABIT FORMING. Perhaps. The sandwich is good but not spectacular, landing in the meaty shank of cheesesteaks that are authentic and good but not iconic or ineffably awesome. At the other end of the spectrum, cheesesteak-wise, would be the other place I visit in San Francisco: Jay’s Cheese Steaks. When the incredibly scary-looking guy behind the counter asks if I want pickles, mayo, peppers, tomatoes and onions, I almost turn around and walk out. Pickles? Might as well put mustard on Cheerios. But in the interest of journalistic enterprise and fairness (and out of fear that the guy behind the counter wouldn’t think twice about beating me senseless with the least bit of provocation), I decide to try one. The sandwich tastes surprisingly not awful, but propriety prevents me from taking it seriously.

San Jose

Amato’s, in a strip mall (what is it with cheesesteak places and strip malls, anyway?) west of downtown San Jose, is best known for the size of its sandwiches. The reputation is well-deserved. The “shorty” is the size of a Pinto, and it’s stacked with a truly vast amount of meat, caramelized onions and melted cheese. The bread isn’t Amoroso’s, but it looks homemade, and based on presentation alone — and the eye-rolling superlatives I’ve read about Amato’s on the Internet for the past several weeks—I am all but ready to crown Amato’s the winner. But then I actually taste the sandwich. I don’t know if I got a bad batch of beef, or if I’ve simply gone way past the outer limits of advisable cheesesteak consumption, but instead of the gooey goodness of flavors—onions and meat and cheese—I’m left with a weird, rubbery aftertaste. I soon feel like a family of raccoons is nesting in my belly.