Proclaimed America's most obese city in 1999 by a USA Today study, Philadelphia finds itself compelled to reconsider its beloved cheese steak's central cultural role. After all, had Jared -- of Subway fame -- opted for the "cheese steak diet," he probably would still be really, really fat. Yet, despite the cheese steak's potentially dangerous health repercussions, many Philadelphians cling to it -- if not for its health benefits (protein, and lots of it), then at least for its scrumptious taste and significant cultural legacy.

Cheese steak devotee and 25-year-running employee of Geno's Steaks, Louis Maiorano, makes a poignant argument in favor of the popular sandwich. Addressing the pesky obesity controversy, Maiorano responds, "That's a bunch of bull, that's a bunch of bull. People eat fatty food everywhere."

And Maiorano is one such person.

"I've been working at Geno's since I was 13, for the past 25 years, and I eat cheese steaks all the time. When I was 16, I used to eat a cheese steak just about every day, and I haven't gained a pound since I was a young man. You know, I don't have cholesterol problems or anything like that. If you eat properly [and] keep to a decent diet, having a cheese steak every once in a while really isn't going to make a difference."

Pat's General Manager Tom Francano also attests to the cheese steak's innocence: "I think the mayor has said we are one of the fattiest cities, but I mean, Philadelphia is known for good food. You can go to every corner and there's a restaurant. There's just a lot of good food."

Penn nutritionist Lauren Hudson agrees that the cheese steak is an acceptable delicacy -- but only in moderation.

"I wouldn't say that Philadelphia would be better off without the cheese steak. It's an important part of the culture," Hudson says. "It's one of the things that Philly is known for, and I wouldn't say that there is any problem with Philadelphians eating cheese steaks. It's really a matter of frequency. I think it's a great treat. I eat them myself, but I don't think anyone should make it a staple part of their daily diet. Everything needs to be eaten in moderation. You need to incorporate it into a diet that includes healthy foods. It's a great thing for the city -- it attracts tourists, and I don't think Philly would be better off without it. We just need to watch the amount we eat of it."

Still, citizens of Philadelphia don't seem too concerned about following Maiorano's cheese steak-a-day diet. In fact, they don't even seem embarrassed to be gracing "fattest city" lists and openly embrace their title as a sign of their passion for Philly culture. Take John Armetta, a Pat's customer and self-proclaimed Philadelphia cheese steak king, who champions this mindset.

"My doctor says I have a few health problems. So what?" he says. "I still look good. I'm the best looking 300-plus something pound man in this city. Look at this," he adds, pointing to his belly. "I'm proud of this. It shows just how much I love Philly."

And love Philly he does.

But there's a distinct lack of love between Geno's Steaks and Pat's King of Steaks. Located within a block of one another on Ninth Street and East Passyunk Avenue, these two famous cheese steakeries pose yet another difficulty for the rabid cheese steak consumer: which to choose? "There's definitely a rivalry," Maiorano says. "We made the cheese steak better, we made it nicer. I mean, just come down, look at Pat's, and then see what we look like. It's really a choice between the Taj Mahal, and you know ... Pat's looks like it's some shack somewhere."

It is a pronounced contrast. Whereas Pat's exterior decoration probably looks something like it did in the 1930s when Pat's first opened, Geno's bright signs and neon lights rival those of Times Square. Still, when it comes to cheese steaks, Geno's serves the same hearty, no-frills chopped meat and cheese-whizzed bun you can get down the block -- add the condiments for yourselves, customers.

Even those who enjoy the glamour and spectacular visual indulgence of Geno's storefront say that they are attracted to Pat's for its remarkable history. After all, Pat's invented the cheese steak.

Pat's general manager Tom Francano describes the cheese steak's conception with, "Pat's started back in the 1930s. It actually used to be a hot dog stand at the time. That's where it all started -- we used to sell hot dogs. Some of the guys got tired of eating hot dogs everyday, so they went to a butcher and got themselves some sliced meat. They grilled up the meat and put it on a bun."

But the sandwiched steak might have been just that, had a local cabbie not happened by.

"A cab driver came by while they were eating and said, 'Hey, do you think I could get one of those?'" Francano continues. "These guys are hungry, so they start to say, 'Hey, look that's my lunch. I've got to eat too.' The cabbie said, 'Yeah, but it looks pretty good,' so they gave him some."

Sampling Pat's inspired snack, the cabbie made what was to become a historic declaration -- "Hey ... forget 'bout those hot dogs, you should sell these."

Needless to say, Pat did exactly that.

"And there you go," states Francano. "The steak was born in the 1930s, but the cheese didn't come until the '60s."

The later addition of cheese to the sandwiched steak was like the marriage of George Washington to young Martha -- turbulent and divine.

Despite Maiorano's avowal of a heavy rivalry between the two adjacent cheese steak restaurants -- in light of Pat's glorious history -- it's no surprise that Francano retorts, "People really think that there's a rivalry between us, but that's not really true. We don't really care about Geno's so much. We don't even talk about him, it's just like there's nobody there. He has his customers and we have ours, so we're happy, he's happy ... it's the way it is."

So Geno's may not have a history of Great Depression innovation, nor over 70 years of quality service under its belt, but the cheese steak neophytes are doing their best to make up for lost time.

As Joey Vento, founder of Geno's, explains, "I built the place first and then along came my son, so I named him Geno. I opened the store in 1966. My family was always in the food industry, but the guy down the street was considered the cheese steak king at the time."

But Vento is not one to shy away from competition.

"I thought to myself, 'If I'm going to open up a steakhouse, I might as well open one on a block where people eat steak already," he says. "So that's how that happened. I was gonna name it 'Joe's Steaks,' but there was another steak restaurant by that name at the time on the other side of the block from Pat's. This building that I have now, that was a broken down, busted-up place at the time, had the name Gino scribbled on the door with an 'i,' instead of 'e,' so I said, 'That sounds good.' At the time, there were all these places called 'Gino's Hamburgers,' so I said to myself ... I'll make the 'i' into an 'e.'"

Thus, the great competition arose. As Vento describes his scrumptiously triumphant cheese steak, "It's really very simple: The bottom line is it's rib-eye steak, thinly sliced. Then you've got the quality of the steak, and on a one to 10 scale, I believe my steak is number 10. You cook it up, place it on a nice Italian role -- not too hard, mind you. You have a choice of your cheese, which would be whiz, American, and provolone. You melt it onto the steak sandwich, and you have yourself a cheese steak. It's not too complicated -- I think a lot of people get tripped up in execution, [but] you have to be consistent day-in-and-day-out, or in my case, year-in-and-year-out."

Most importantly, Vento's thriving family business remains within the Vento family.

"I work seven days a week. I don't miss a day," Vento says. "I love it. I'm gonna die here. When I get old, I'm gonna be propped up on a beach chair here and greet everyone like in Weekend at Bernie's."

If anyone has ever wondered why there is a store with an enormous collection of Harley Davidson bikes across the street from Geno's, just ask the man himself -- "I own the motorcycle shop across the street," he explains. "We don't sell 'em, they're my bikes personally. I'm 64 years old, [and] I got into the bikes at the age of 57, believe it or not. I had never rode a bike in my life. Now, I ride all the time."

In fact, he's getting ready to take a bike trip to Myrtle Beach this May.

So Pat's has its history, and Geno's has its motorcycles, and both have a reputation to uphold. Nevertheless, there is some tenderness shared between the two legendary steak vendors.

"Sure there's a rivalry, but I think a lot of people try to make more of it than there is," Vento asserts. "Actually, I'll tell you, when I pass his place everyday, I thank him. If it wasn't for his arrogance and stupidity, I never would have gotten where I'm at. It's the truth. I'd like to see someone open up next to me and take my business ... it won't happen. I won't allow it to happen. That's just the way I am, I'm that type of guy. I'm 64 years old and still doing seven days a week."

Despite the popularity of this peculiar one block stretch of Ninth Street, there are many other exciting and extremely delicious cheese steak vendors in Philadelphia. Many declare Jim's Steaks, opened in the early 1940s by Jim Vento -- Joe Vento's father and Geno's grandfather -- the purveyor of the tastiest cheese steaks of all. Located on South Street, Jim's Steaks attracts Philly natives from far and wide, a fact to which the often long line attests. Then, certain Penn students -- who are feeble of limb -- declare local hotspot Abner's, or even Houston Market, fine dealers of the cheese steak. It's an enormous city full of talented and passionate individuals. Who knows. Perhaps the most profound cheese steak virtuoso has yet to open up shop.

Despite its dubious nutritional benefits, it looks as though the cheese steak is here to stay. Even Philadelphia McDonalds' locations are catching onto cheese steak madness and adding a promising new sandwich called the McCheesesteak to their menus.

"I know people like to say, 'Whiz wit' now for a steak with [cheese] whiz and onions, but I always correct them," Vento says. "There is no word, 'wit' in the English language -- it's 'with.' We don't go for that slang, or else people would come down to South Philly and think we're all idiots, or goons, or whatever you want to call them."

But dialect aside, Vento invites all.

"There are times when people tell me they don't feel like a steak sandwich, they want to have Chinese food, but they come over here, park here, get like a soda and French fries, just so they could be in this pleasant atmosphere. I like a lot of lights. This place looks like Las Vegas at night. I think I did a lot for Philadelphia."

So did the cheese steak.