In my mind, I can already see my adoring wife Tracie P rolling her gorgeous green eyes: yes, even though I’m two nights into an “eat ’til we drop” tour of the U.S. with my buddy and client Paolo Cantele, I just had to have a cheese steak for lunch in Philadelphia.
So how’s your pancia doing? she’ll ask me when we speak later today.
Those are the fried pickles that went along with the cheese steak.
I know… I know… With the many epic meals in my near past and future (still working on my post on Vetri, one of the best meals I’ve ever had, period), I shouldn’t be throwing caution to the wind (literally).
I wish I would have taken a photo of the dude at Nick’s (in the Old City) who served me the sandwich. With his tattoos and 50s ‘do, he was straight out of central casting.
In Philly, they just call it cheese steak.