I Tried Arby’s New Cheesesteak So You Don’t Have To

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We here at Philadelphia magazine tend not to pay much attention to whatever chain restaurants are doing, much to the dismay of the countless publicists who try to get us to write about them on near-daily basis. We’re here to support the locally-owned and operated establishments that make up our fab dining scene with features like the just-released Best of Philly Food & Drink package and 50 Best Restaurants – and, when warranted, we’ll call out local spots that are woefully overhyped or detracting from that scene. But sometimes, a restaurant chain will do something that makes us take notice, as Arby’s has done with the Arby’s cheesesteak.

Arby’s has toyed with the cheesesteak before and did a pilot program in select markets in 2025. But last month, the Georgia-based company that is estimated to take in more than $4 billion annually went all-in on the Arby’s cheesesteak. They’ve permanently added it to all 3,400-plus Arby’s locations nationwide (fun fact: Pennsylvania has the eighth-highest number of Arby’s locations in the country, with 140) and rolled out a veritable bombardment of advertising for the sandwich. Those ads encourage all fast food-guzzling Americans to “put down those burgers” in favor of the Arby’s cheesesteak and promise “the best cheese” and “the best meat.” The commercials end with the one and only Ving Rhames, in his unmistakeable voice, proclaiming, “Arby’s: We have the meats!”

As for that cheese, Arby’s uses the cheesesteak fromage du jour, Cooper Sharp, which no one talked about five years ago. But now, trying to find a cheesesteak purveyor in the birthplace of the cheesesteak that does not offer Cooper Sharp is no easy task. The public has spoken.

When it comes to the meat, Arby’s proudly declares that they are using “100-percent Angus steak.” That might sound impressive, but any beef expert will tell you that the term Angus merely refers to a breed of cattle and is by no means a guarantee of quality. The American Angus Association does allow some products that meet certain established guidelines to use the phrase “Certified Angus Beef” in advertisements and marketing; Arby’s notably does not make that claim.

So how is the Arby’s cheesesteak? Naturally, I had to find out, so I ordered two sandwiches online from the Arby’s location closest to me, which is in Delco. The ordering process gives us some foreshadowing about how seriously we should take this cheesesteak.

While you can decline the “caramelized onions” that come on the sandwich, you’ll immediately notice that the Cooper Sharp is not an option – it is a requirement. For people, like my son, who insist on a steak and not a cheesesteak, you’re out of luck. You cannot substitute another cheese, but you can add an additional cheese, which, honestly, I’ve never thought or heard of anyone doing before. (Is a provolone-Whiz wit’ a thing somewhere in South Philly?)

Alas, provolone is not an add-on choice at Arby’s. You can get “natural cheddar” added to your Arby’s cheesesteak. And what is your other cheese option? Drum roll, if you would be so kind… the cheese that made presidential candidate John Kerry a laughing stock in our city: Swiss. And not just one type of Swiss cheese, but two. Arby’s has you covered whether you want Swiss cheese or big-eye Swiss cheese — or, what the hell, both. Back in the Aughts, Arby’s tried a different version of a cheesesteak, one they regrettably called The Philly and that was topped with Swiss cheese. Did they consult no one in Philly?

To this modern-day version, you can also add raw red onion, which just seems wrong. And for the cheesesteak hoagie folks out there, you can tack on lettuce and tomato for an additional fee. The sandwich is served on a “sesame seed sub roll.”

I ordered mine without any add-ons or substitutions — one large, which they refer to as the “half-pound cheesesteak”, and their less-big option. (The standard starts at $8.49 and the half-pound at $15.48.) And then I proceeded directly to Mickey’s Tavern, a friendly Delco dive bar that seems to have a large concentration of people who work in the food industry and folks who love to eat and cook serious, slow food.

Just before we unwrapped the cheesesteaks, one of those Arby’s commercials actually came on TV during the Phillies game (it would later come on a second time), and one of my dinner invitees remarked that the commercial makes it look like “cat food.” A bit cliché of a critique, but not without sound reasoning in this case. It doesn’t not look like cat food. Another remarked upon seeing the commercial: “Um, maybe this whole Arby’s cheesesteak thing isn’t such a good idea.”

We unwrapped the big boy and were presented with an impossibly wet, gooey mess in a pool of grease. Now, any true Philadelphian knows that grease is an essential component in any good cheesesteak, but, as with so many things, moderation, balance, and ratio are key. They say we eat with our eyes, and, well, does the following unwrapping tempt your eyes and, by extension, stomach?

You may notice that at the end of that video, a woman, whose name is Nina, took a bit of meat and cheese that had fallen onto the wrapper. What’s not on screen is that she stuck it in her mouth, the way you might when you snag a delightful burnt-end morsel of a roast from the pan before presenting dinner to your guest. Chef’s treat. But a treat this was not, and she immediately proceeded to walk to the back of the bar and spit the bite out into a trash can:

This did not bode well for the rest of the tasting, but we had a job to do, dammit. Despite her revulsion to that tiny bite, Nina, badass that she is, insisted on being the first one to take a full bite:

Gristly.

Next came Nina’s friend, Meg, who, I learned earlier in the evening is actually a fan of Arby’s for their roast beef sandwiches. I’ve tried to consume those things on a couple of occasions, and while Arby’s swears that their roast beef sandwiches are literally just roasted beef that has been sliced, the meat has always seemed a bit suspect to me, much in the same way that when you order a Chicken McNugget you feel like you are getting something very, very far removed from anything that once clucked.

Here’s Meg digging into the Arby’s cheesesteak:

Once again, gristly. She said there’s not much flavor. Of the flavor, Nina chimed in in the background: “No, just no.”

Next came my turn. Professional that I am, I went in for three bites. Oddly, I didn’t taste anything that was reminiscent of beef. What I did taste was grease, lots of salt, and that melted Cooper Sharp. Like Nina and Meg, I found the Arby’s cheesesteak to be mercilessly gristly, which would have to be my biggest complaint. Second? The strange metallic aftertaste, because it makes me wonder what’s in the food that caused it. The roll? We all know that so much of a sandwich comes down to the roll that is used and I would equate this roll to what you get at Subway—i.e. it’s trash, and certainly cannot hold up to the mess it contains.

But we needed another opinion, one from someone who regularly partakes in American fast-food culture. That was Sarah. And I’ll just let her speak for herself. I could be wrong, but she seemed to be suppressing a gag reflex at one point:

The bartender, Dan, turned down my offer of some of the Arby’s cheesesteak, but, then, Dan is a vegan, and I can’t think of many things more revolting to a vegan than the idea of an Arby’s cheesesteak. Obviously, there was a question that needed to be asked, and ask I did in this video:

Who has a grand to make this happen?

While all of this was going on, two gentleman down the other end of the bar who looked like they knew a thing or two about cheesesteaks expressed interest in our little experiment, and one said he was a huge Arby’s fan. So I took that regular-sized Arby’s cheesesteak and bestowed it upon them:

Appalling!