This Is Why I Hate Your Food, Philadelphia

Cheesesteaks are overrated and a tiresome rite of passage for politicians every four years.

This was fine.

Few aspects of American culture encapsulate our country’s excess and gluttony like our food. Ridiculous regional cuisine can be found in every corner of the United States, and nearly all of it will kill you. French fries on sandwiches. Chili on spaghetti. Pizza pies that look like tomato sauce swimming pools. Some of it is great to eat, but all of it is great to make fun of. Welcome to This Is Why I Hate Your Food, a series that goes across the United States explaining, well, why your food sucks.  

It’s only fitting that Philadelphia, the city where the United States Constitution was signed, is also home to a sandwich with massive political connotations. Much like politics, said sandwich is overhyped and often underwhelming. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Philadelphia cheesesteak. Which, mind you, is the same as a cheesesteak you get in any other city. There is no cheese or steak native to Philadelphia. If there was, you probably wouldn’t want to eat it anyway. The only true difference is that when you get one in Philadelphia, no matter where you go, someone will yell that you went to the wrong place. And no matter how you order, you will be told you didn’t order properly. And even if you pick the right cheesesteak, you didn’t say the order properly.   

No one is safe. Least of all, politicians. Nothing endears (or more commonly, ostracizes) a presidential candidate to Pennsylvania’s largest city like ordering a cheesesteak.  

The City of Brotherly Love’s signature sandwich was once again in the news at the end of August. Republican vice presidential nominee J.D. Vance visited Pat’s King of Steaks, one of the city’s most revered cheesesteak spots. A viral video clip made it seem like Vance had put his foot in his mouth (as he is wont to do) and asked if they had Swiss cheese for their cheesesteaks. This would have offended Philadelphians to no end — Switzerland may be known for neutrality, Philadelphia is known for volatility.  

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But Vance wouldn’t have even been the first politician to make this fromage faux pas. Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry infamously ordered a cheesesteak “with Swiss” in August of 2003 and was soon more reviled in Philly than Terrell Owens. Did Kerry lose the 2004 election because of George W. Bush’s confounding post-9/11 popularity, or because he got the wrong cheese on a sandwich? Who can say.

It turns out we’re not giving Vance enough credit (I’ll take “things I thought I’d never write” for $1000, Alex) because he wasn’t actually ordering a cheesesteak with Swiss cheese. He was just asking why Philadelphians got so mad when Kerry did. I hate to admit it, but that’s frankly a good question. 

Because I hate to break it to you, Philadelphia, but you’re being entirely too precious and prideful. There may be no more overhyped sandwich than the Philadelphia cheesesteak. 

This isn’t to say cheesesteaks aren’t good. They’re delicious! It’s just hilarious to hang your culinary hat on such an obvious and logical food combination. You don’t exactly need to fly a kite with a key in the middle of a thunderstorm to discover that putting steak and cheese on bread has tasty consequences. I’m sure Benjamin Franklin would appreciate them — though the turkey-loving son of a gun unfortunately missed the greasy delicacy by about 150 years.

A quick crash course in cheesesteak-ordering. There are two acceptable cheeses to order on your cheesesteak: One is Cheez Whiz, the molten nuclear yellow sauce from Kraft that is so processed it probably belongs in a fallout shelter. The other is provolone, the Owen Wilson of cheeses. You’re not mad to see it, you know there’s a time and place for it, but it’s not exactly exciting. Ask for any other type of cheese and you risk someone throwing a battery at you. No, seriously, Phillies fans once threw batteries at an opposing player [I was at that game! — Charlie]. I wonder what kind of cheese he ordered. 

Once you’ve avoided the capital offense of requesting the wrong cheese, you have to use the right verbiage. Order a “whiz wit,” which the leading linguists tell me translates to “cheesesteak with onion.” Don’t want onions? Order a “whiz witout.” Want provolone? Provolone wit or witout. Ordering this sandwich feels more like trying to say the password to get into some weird social club.

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A post shared by @genossteaks

Deciding where to make this convoluted order is even more confusing. Every Philadelphian has a different answer. Pat’s is the best! Geno’s! Steve’s! Dalessandro's! Pat’s and Geno’s are a pair of tourist traps right next to each other on South Street. Once as a dumb gluttonous college kid I had both back-to-back. The only discernible difference was Geno’s onions were cut bigger, and the stand has a history of xenophobic and racist signage. It was reportedly owner Joey Vento’s dying wish that the stand keep up the sign that read “this is America, when ordering, speak English.” You only get one dying wish, and this guy wasted his on being a racist prick!

I’ve had plenty of delicious cheesesteaks in Philadelphia. The last one I had in town, a late-night steak from Jim’s, was especially satisfying. But I’ve had countless fantastic cheesesteaks elsewhere since then. Know why? Because it’s almost impossible to make a bad one. It’s low-quality beef and lower-quality cheese on bread. Ordering this thing properly is probably trickier than making one. I grew up in New Jersey and had plenty of excellent cheesesteak options. Garden State native and food legend Anthony Bourdain even said the best cheesesteak wasn’t even made in Philly, it was across the river at Donkey’s Place in Camden. 

Even the worst cheesesteak is still pretty decent. Fancy sitdown restaurants make good cheesesteaks just as well as dingy bodegas. Hell, throw Steak-umms and American cheese on a roll at home, squirt some ketchup on it, and you’re in business. 

Okay, maybe that’s a bit much, but the point remains. Steak and cheese with onions isn’t exactly culinary rocket science. And every time Philadelphians get up in arms about how someone ordered a cheesesteak, I can’t help but laugh at a city taking such pride in one of the most obvious food combinations ever.

Jeremy Schneider is an Emmy-nominated food and culture reporter for NJ.com based in Jersey City, New Jersey. He has been canceled twice on Twitter, but only regrets the first time. Follow him on Twitter @J_Schneider and on Instagram @JeremyIsHungryAgain.