If you ever have occasion to ride your motorcycle all around North America, as I have, I’d suggest you avoid the eastern seaboard. With the exception of Boston and Manhattan, it’s just a giant Kluster with a capitol K and the bad attributes outweigh the good. There are too many people, litter, too much traffic, constantly honking horns, bad toll roads, hazy skies, odd smells, mostly bad weather, and homeless squeegee-people everywhere. Additionally, every cop and fireman out here is in hot pursuit of something; I’m not buying that every emergency response unit is lit-up responding to emergencies 24/7. In short, it’s a horrible place to ride. Riding less than 4 miles through the Bronx onto the George Washington Bridge took more than an hour and the heat and humidity was oppressive, particularly with my bike’s heat issue. After my tender bits were thoroughly toasted, I pulled-off at the Vince Lombardi rest stop on the NJ Turnpike and chugged a quart of Gatorade. The good thing was cheap gas; $2.48 for regular; Later I filled-up near Philly for $2.41/gallon. I passed by Newark, NJ and hit the throttle to pass by as quickly as possible, as this is the ugliest place I’ve seen in my travels; even the sky is ugly and the stench of garbage and chemicals is palpable.
When I arrived in Philadelphia, my first order of business was to find a motel and take a cold shower. Fortunately, I found a decent place for $39.99 and it has free 19” color TV with HBO and ESPN, but no NFL Season Ticket or porn. The shower was heaven sent and afterwards, I chugged another quart of Gatorade and basked in the A/c for a couple of hours, before snapping a few pictures of the most magnificent sunset of my trip.
Philadelphia is truly a hardscrabble town and I saw plenty of boarded-up buildings and closed factories. But I came to Philadelphia for one thing and one thing only. To see a Philly’s game? Nope; See the Eagles play with a convicted felon at the helm? Nice try, but not even close; See the Liberty Bell? I was tormented in front of the bell when I was 12 as my mother shoo’d-away a bunch of Japanese tourists so she could take pictures of us in front of it. No, I came for an authentic Philly cheesesteak hoagie at Dalessandro’s. I did my homework and Dalessandro’s is the best in town because they’ve followed the 5 key steps to making a perfect Philly Cheesesteak for the past 50 years:
1. Ingredients -The most frequently debated point: Cheez Whiz vs. actual cheese. When it comes to cheese, the only acceptable option is provolone.
Second point of debate: What meat to use: Only USDA Prime rib-eye steak is acceptable.
Finally: the meast must be chopped so finely you could snort it like snuff. The other option is to throw pre-sliced frozen chunks on the griddle and then slap them in the roll so that when the customer bites into the sandwich, stringy bits of meat pull out like a magician’s handkerchief. The benefit of this approach? Like Cheez Whiz, it’s cheaper and faster.
2. Location - The word “charm” isn’t often used in conjunction with “Philly” or “cheesesteak,” but there’s a certain charm involved with a cheesesteak, the level of which is inversely proportional to the size of the steak shop. What you want is a place that used to be a townhouse and has enough room for five seats, so everyone eats while leaning on the windowsill or sitting outside on the sidewalk. Just walking to the counter to order is a complex dance with strangers, everyone contorting to avoid eye contact and the accidental brushing of bellies. To properly understand what it means to eat a Philly cheesesteak, in short, you need to shoulder with the people of Philly, staring into the open kitchen, in which is piled a mound of cooked meat the size of a Shar-pei. The open kitchen offers a glimpse into the process of making the steak, and it also grants you permission to gorge yourself.
3. Avoid Tourist Traps - I’m not saying all tourists are bad, after all I’m a tourist, but if you find yourself somewhere where more than ten percent of the customers at any given time are tourists, you’re in the wrong place. You want to be where the locals are, because there you’ll find an essential sense of community. You’ll sit down next to a mustached guy with calloused hands who says things like, “It don’t get no better than this,” and, “It’s an honest living,” and, “What we need is we need Frank Rizzo back,” and he will simultaneously defy and reinforce all of your expectations of Philadelphians. Regulars will wear the shop’s official shirts when eating, like fans wearing jerseys to games.
4. Self-Awareness - The cheesesteak is a populist food, not fit for gourmet. Still, some steak jockeys have deluded themselves into thinking they’re actual chefs, which leads to abominations like the cheesesteak cordon bleu hoagie. Toppings are fine, but stick to the standard options: sauce, onions, mushrooms, peppers. Anything else is extravagant, maybe too decadent. You should be able to order without looking at the menu—you’ll have what he’s having, and what she’s having, because everyone’s having the same basic thing, and everyone likes it.
5. Time - Although I understand the ostensible appeal of the drunken cheesesteak run at midnight; However, in the morning, you will have the junkie’s remorse. It’s a short-term minor benefit with long-term consequences, especially since all the late-night ingredients are stale and dry. No, the best time to eat a cheesesteak is at dinner time on a day when you’ve been doing serious motorcycle riding for many weeks.
While enjoying my loaded cheesesteak and a local beer, I met newlyweds, Christina and Ryan, who were celebrating their one-month anniversary; they were married the day I set out on my odyssey. I truly enjoyed my meal at Dalessandro’s and chatting with Christina and Ryan.
Been planing for Dalessandro’s for over a year, maybe on my next trip.
ReplyDeleteRex