Ye Olde Cheesesteak Shoppe

At risk of being abused by Philadelphians, I have formed a definite opinion about the vaunted Philly Cheesesteak Sandwich. First a few confessions: I am not from Philly and do not ever plan to move there unless under duress. And second, Andrea and I have probably sampled a wider variety of Philly Cheesesteak Sandwiches than the vast majority of Philadelphians, each of whom has a well-formed opinion of what constitutes the best cheesesteak available. We have gone out of our way, sometimes very far off the beaten interstate, in pursuit of the ultimate cheesesteak. In that spirit, I share my conclusions: the Cheesesteak Sandwich is not rocket science, even though it may at times appear to be so.

This was reinforced by last Friday's visit to the Cheesesteak Shop, a mere one block up from the UCSF Cancer Treatment Center at what used to be called Mount Zion Hospital. We're feeling good about that newly-erected, modestly-sized sign in the lobby of UCSF that you pass on the way to the down elevator: "One of the Top Ten Cancer Treatment Facilities in the United States." Or so it has been recently voted. On this particular Friday Andrea headed in for the final of the dry runs, where you are positioned on the device and they make sure that all their metrics and programming actually line up with your physical being. Short and sweet. But since we had arrived with not a ton of time on our hands, we sought a nearby place that could produce lunch on short notice. And the Cheesesteak Shop delivered, since we previewed the menu online, and called in our order when we were about 15 minutes away on our drive into San Francisco from Marin. Our order was up by the time they got around to taking Andrea's money at the counter.

The 'not rocket science' part comes down to this: there is not a whole lot of complexity to one of these sandwiches. A soft roll. Meat. Provolone or Cheese Whiz; sweet or hot peppers; grilled (fried) onions. Or not. That's about it. And most places do not tolerate the newcomer lightly; you're expected to know what you want by the time you're at the front of the line.

But where it gets sticky is how you  provision each of these ingredients, most notably, the roll. A quality roll can be summed up in one word: Amaroso. This brand from Philadelphia defines the genre, and although it might seem easy to produce a slightly puffy, white-bread, soft, slightly sweet roll, the truth is quite different. Even though Cheesesteak Shop is located 2,500 or more from the factory, they go the extra mile or thousand to order Amaroso rolls. Other than that, it's largely a question of meat. The last time I was at the Cheesesteak Shop I watched them remove a solid piece of nearly-frozen, nearly fat-free, deboned rib-eye from the cooler and throw it on the grill. By virtue of a lot of horizontal chopping with the spatula and a number of minutes of cooking, this was rendered into a simmering heap of lean, well-cooked meat. Some separately-grilled onions were shoveled in, and a slice of provolone, garden-variety deli stuff, was placed on top and allowed to soften. Then about half of the meat and onions were neatly folded on top, and the whole concoction neatly swept onto the spatula and dumped into the waiting roll. The desired accouterment were added, and in my case a splash of very yellow all-American mustard completed the toppings. There is no end of debate about the right way to season a cheesesteak. My take on it is: put on what you like and leave off the rest. One of the beauties of the genre is that each sandwich is in fact custom-made. The antithesis of McDonalds!

Since the Cheesesteak Shop has gone to the trouble of doing everything according to common practice and proven tradition, the result is quite authentic, and is all the more remarkable for capturing the flavor and feel of Philly a coast away. That being said, like a true Philadelphian, I am always looking for a great deal, and it is not like they overwhelm you with meat; for under five bucks you get a satisfying meal, seven inches of steak sandwich with goodies, but not one that leaves you stuffed for hours. They offer no end of upgrades, so if you're willing to throw down a few bucks more, you can achieve a state of groaning saturation. That is still far less expensive than booking a trip to the East so I can get a bigger portion.

As far as decor, there is a reason I have held off on this aspect for so long. There simply is none, but the layout is practical. They have tables. Napkin dispensers are everywhere, even wall-mounted as well as on tables. There are seats. Water is readily available. Everything is clean, if not sparkling. That's about it. Not a place to linger for hours, and no table service. But Wadda Ya Want  - - dis ain't French Food!