Until one month ago, I was a vegetarian. It started senior year of high school when, on a whim, I watched PETA videos instead of doing college applications. Little did I know that this would end my meat–eating career for the next three years. I firmly believe that any decent person could not pick up a hamburger or, even worse, a Chicken McNugget, after watching one of these clips. If you don’t believe me, give it a try. Or, if you believe that ignorance is bliss, don’t!
While I thoroughly enjoyed my time as a vegetarian and acting slightly pretentious to those who consumed meat, it got to the point where I was literally salivating at the smell of bacon and dreaming about chicken fajitas. So, one day, I stopped. I sat down at Tap House and I ordered a hamburger. I suppressed my morals, gave way to the evils of the meatpacking industry and chowed down. Though it may sound dramatic, a euphoric bliss ensued. Hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken, bacon… I suddenly became a full–blown carnivore. The one realm I had yet to conquer: STEAK. Cheesesteak, in particular.
A Philly staple, I had never experienced the sodium (and cholesterol) overload that a Cheesesteak provides to so many hungry (and/or obese) Philadelphians each year. Though I had tagged along on drunken excursions to Pat’s, Geno’s and Jim’s, and even held a cheesesteak while someone assembled a “South Street Special” (a cheesesteak wrapped in a slice of Lorenzo’s pizza), it was time to get one for myself.
After consulting several experts (also known as frat boys), I decided that I wanted to be as authentic as possible (and avoid verbal abuse), so I headed down to Jim’s on South Street. While I ordered a cheesesteak with onions and provolone (so gourmet!), I convinced my companion to order one “wit wiz” in the name of art. We grabbed a couple of sodas (I figured we might as well go big or go home), heaped on the condiments and got down to business.
From the first bite to the last bite (yes, I finished it all), I was in heaven. The melted cheese, the “artisan bun,” the grilled onions and — most importantly — the greasy–but–not–too–greasy steak were all to die for. While I’m aware that I don’t have much cheesesteak experience and have absolutely no basis for comparison, if I only went to Jim’s for cheesesteaks for the rest of my life, I’d consider myself a very lucky person. Cheese wiz, on the other hand, is a whole other story.
***Order it Right***
So you don’t offend any locals
The order of the order: How many? Cheese? Onions?
Whiz : Cheese Whiz. It’s the questionably colored, processed interpretation of cheese. And it comes in a can. People swear by it.
Wit’: Drop the “h” and pronounce like a real Philadelphian. It means that you want onions with your steak. If you don’t want ‘em, say “wit out.”
Example: A cheese steak with Cheese Whiz and onions = “One, whiz wit”
