Battle of the Philly Cheesesteak: Geno’s VS Pat’s

When you think of Philly, what is the first thing that comes to mind? The Liberty Bell? The Flyers? Ben Franklin maybe? Hell no, cheesesteaks!

I have always wanted to come to Philly for one reason and one reason alone, to eat the hell out of some cheesesteaks. Who doesn’t love cheesesteaks? Even vegetarians and vegans love cheesesteaks. In fact, I heard the National Council for the Advancement of Veganism offered up a ten million dollar prize to the person or entity that could create the perfect vegan cheesesteak.

Alright, that’s a blatant lie. But I digress. Cheesesteaks = heaven.

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And so, after spending nearly a month in Philadelphia on business, it was time for me to venture out into the forbidden badlands known as South Philly in search of this mythical creature… the original Philly Cheesesteak.

There is in fact a vivid history behind the cheesesteak, a blood feud between two families akin to the bad blood between the Montagues and Capulets. And that night, my mission was to consummate an unholy bond between the two, and breed their bastard child in my belly!

To get there, a buddy of mine and I had to walk a many mile down dirty alleyways and past shady street corners full of scraggly toothed hookers and their angry pimps lurking in the shadows. We ventured yet further and further, with only the dim light of an iPhone to lead the way, until finally we arrived at our Mecca… our place of pilgrimage.

And so it was time for the battle, the brutal smack down of the cheesesteaks.

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I sat the cheesesteaks side by side, staring each up and down, carefully studying the characteristics of the meat, the consistency of the wiz, and the crispiness of the bread. The fatty steaks glistened in the dim fluorescent lighting of the poorly lit, gaudy restaurant.

I stared around at my fellow patrons, dozens of us chowing down on delicious fatty meat covered in “cheese-like” substance. The restaurants lay literally wedged in the middle of a rundown neighborhood, almost a ghetto, and it was dark outside, really dark. What the hell was I doing here.

And finally, I took the plunge. My first bite was of the original, Pat’s. The salty meat and fake cheese hit my tongue in a flavor explosion! “Oh beautiful, disgusting deliciousness, take me to be yours forever!” I proclaimed to myself. And next came a bite of Geno’s! An equal, nearly identical explosion of disgusting deliciousness… oh yes!

And so, within a few moments the cheesesteaks were gone, making beautiful love in my belly, creating an unholy union. Which was the victor? Which was the true King of the Cheesesteaks? That’s hard to say. Choosing would be like having to choose a favorite child. It’s just too damn hard.

Here is to you, disgusting, fatty, overrated cheesesteak! Yes you were delicious, and the journey to find you was delightful… but you weren’t exactly fine cuisine!

Pictures was shot with my handy Galaxy S3 smartphone.