Cheesesteak Tally

Pat's: 6
Geno's: 0
Delassandro's: 2
Steve's: 1
Street Meat: 4
Other: 10.5
Total: 23.5

As of late, I'm either too busy or too boring to maintain this damn blog, but at least I've been able to find the time to eat cheesesteaks (two in the "other" row since last time). The first of the two "other" steaks came from Fiesta Pizza in Chestnut Hill. It didn't suck at all. The movie we watched, "Rachel Getting Married," was a different story. I'd like those two hours back.

"Other" steak number two came by way of an increasingly rare late night run to Chubby's, one which might have been a little safer on foot (although the sub-compact rental car handled great in the Manayunk hills despite the BAC of the driver). Mushrooms (from a can) are starting to make their way into my steaks these days. The brine adds the appropriate amount of saltiness, and since they've been sitting in a can for Jeebus-knows-how-long, the fungus taste is muted (and then further muted by my heavy handed hot sauce/mayonnaise one-two punch) to a volume just above a whisper. That's all for now. Buen provecho.

Cheesesteak Tally

Pat's: 6

Geno's: 0

Delassandro's: 2

Steve's: 1

Street Meat: 4

Other: 8.5

Total: 21.5

One must lower their expectations when it comes to ballpark food. Case in point, the Tony Luke's in left field at Citizens Bank Park. Steak-umm quality meat that tasted boiled, not grilled, and less salt than a sugar factory. I wish I would have opted for "The Heater" over at Campo's (cheesesteak with hot sauce and pepper jack, I think), but by the time I saw the 6'x3' airbrushed sign, the cheesesteak runners were already pretty far up the line and not very patient. It's a very good thing, then, that the night would inevitably lead to multiple cabs to Pat's, where the line wrapped around the building almost twice thanks to the Dead concert (aren't hippies supposed to be vegetarian?). Entirely worth the wait, especially when you're brown bagging Schlitz and discussing with Al Roker's brother whether or not you think touring without Jerry is sacrilege. Buen provecho.