You’re standing in line at Pat’s or Geno’s, or maybe a hole-in-the-wall in South Philly that doesn’t even have a sign. The air smells like scorched onions and rendered beef fat. You've got five seconds before the guy behind the counter yells at you to hurry up. If you want to know what goes on a philly steak and cheese, you have to understand one thing first: it isn't just a sandwich. It’s a localized religion with very specific commandments. If you mess up the order, you don’t just get a mediocre lunch; you get a side of judgment from every local within earshot.
Honestly, the "authentic" debate is exhausting. People fight over it like they’re defending their firstborn. But beneath the shouting matches about which cheese is king, there is a science to the construction. It's about the ratio. It’s about the steam. It’s about how the bread holds up against a literal flood of grease.
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The Meat: Ribeye or Nothing
Most people think "steak" is a broad category. It’s not. In Philadelphia, if you aren't using thinly sliced ribeye, you’re basically just making a hot roast beef sandwich. Ribeye is the gold standard because of the marbling. You need that intramuscular fat to melt into the griddle, essentially frying the meat in its own juices.
A lot of home cooks make the mistake of buying "sandwich steaks" from the frozen aisle. Stop. Those are usually a mystery blend of bottom round or flank that ends up tasting like wet cardboard. You want a well-marbled ribeye. Pro tip: freeze the meat for about 45 minutes before you slice it. It firms up the proteins so you can get those paper-thin, translucent ribbons that cook in roughly thirty seconds.
The cooking method is just as important as the cut. You’ll see two main schools of thought on the flat top. Some chefs "chop" the meat into tiny, pebble-sized bits. Others leave it in long, flowing ribbons. If you go to Jim’s on South St. (when it's open), you’ll see the chop in full effect. The goal is maximum surface area. More surface area means more browning, which means more Maillard reaction. That’s where the flavor lives.
The Great Cheese Schism
When asking what goes on a philly steak and cheese, the cheese is where friendships end. There are three—and only three—acceptable options. Anything else, like Swiss or (heaven forbid) cheddar, is a culinary hate crime in the eyes of a Philadelphian.
Cheez Whiz is the controversial king. It’s a processed cheese sauce that was basically invented for this sandwich. Why? Because it’s a liquid. It doesn’t just sit on top of the meat; it infiltrates it. It acts as a binder, holding the loose meat together so it doesn't fall out of the roll. It's salty, it's bright orange, and it’s unapologetically chemical. If you order "Whiz wit" (Whiz with onions), you’re getting the classic experience.
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Then there’s Provolone. But not the mild, waxy stuff you find in the deli section of a suburban grocery store. You want sharp, aged provolone. It’s got a funk to it. It’s pungent. When it hits the hot meat, it melts into a creamy, slightly oily layer that cuts through the richness of the ribeye.
Finally, American cheese. It’s the middle ground. It’s meltier than provolone but more respectable than Whiz. It provides that classic, gooey stretch.
What about the "Wit"?
The phrase "wit or witout" refers strictly to fried onions. That’s the only vegetable that is universally accepted without question. These aren't raw onions. They shouldn't have a crunch. They need to be diced small and sautéed on the same griddle as the beef until they are translucent, sweet, and slightly charred. They should be an accent, not the main event.
The Bread: The Unsung Hero
You can have the best beef in the world, but if you put it on a soft brioche bun or a crusty baguette, you’ve failed. The bread is the most underrated part of what goes on a philly steak and cheese. In Philly, the conversation starts and ends with Amoroso’s Baking Company.
Why Amoroso's? It’s the texture. The outside is just firm enough to provide a "snap" when you bite into it, but the inside is incredibly soft and airy. This is crucial because the bread has to act as a sponge. It needs to soak up the beef fat and the cheese without disintegrating. If the bread is too hard, the meat just squirts out the back when you take a bite. If it’s too soft, the whole thing turns into a soggy mess within five minutes.
The "hinge" of the roll is also a technical requirement. You don't slice the roll all the way through. You leave a little bit of the crust intact so it creates a pocket. This keeps the juices contained. It’s engineering, really.
The "Fake" Toppings and Regional Variations
Now, we get into the weeds. What about peppers? What about mushrooms?
If you go to a shop and ask for a "Philly Cheesesteak" and it comes with green bell peppers, you’re probably not in Philadelphia. To a purist, green peppers are filler. They’re a way for cheap shops to use less meat. However, "Long Hots"—long, spicy Italian peppers—are a very common and respected addition. They add a slow-burn heat that balances the fat.
- Sweet Peppers: Usually jarred red peppers. Common in some old-school spots.
- Mushrooms: Usually canned and drained, tossed on the griddle at the last second.
- The "Hoagie" Style: This is where you add lettuce, tomato, and mayo. It’s a legitimate variation, but it changes the soul of the sandwich. It becomes cold and crunchy instead of hot and greasy.
Common Misconceptions That Ruin the Sandwich
One of the biggest lies told by national food chains is that a cheesesteak should be "neat." It shouldn't. If you don't need at least four napkins, something is wrong.
Another mistake is seasoning. You’d think the meat needs a heavy dry rub or a fancy marinade. Wrong. It needs salt and pepper. That’s it. The flavor comes from the quality of the beef and the seasoning of the flat-top grill itself. A grill that has seen ten thousand steaks has a "memory" that adds a layer of flavor you just can't replicate at home on a clean non-stick pan.
The temperature also matters. This isn't a slow-cook situation. You want high heat. The meat should sizzle the moment it hits the metal. If the meat is steaming instead of searing, you’re losing the texture.
How to Actually Order
If you find yourself at a legendary spot like Dalessandro’s or Tony Luke’s, the etiquette is part of the recipe.
- Quantity: "One" or "Two."
- Cheese: "Whiz," "Provolone," or "American."
- Onions: "Wit" or "Witout."
"One Whiz wit" is the complete sentence. If you start asking about the sourcing of the ribeye or whether the onions are organic, you’re going to get a lot of angry stares.
Breaking Down the Layers: A Prose Mapping
Start with the roll, sliced almost through. The meat is piled on the griddle in a long strip roughly the size of the roll. The cheese is applied directly onto the meat while it’s still on the heat. This is the secret step. You don't put the cheese on the bread. You put the cheese on the beef, then you lay the open roll face-down over the cheesy meat.
As it sits there for thirty seconds, the steam from the meat softens the bread and melts the cheese into every crevice of the ribeye. Then, the cook slides a long spatula under the whole thing and flips it into the air, landing it perfectly in the roll. It’s a move of pure muscle memory.
The Practical Science of the Drip
The "Philly Lean" is a real thing. Because of what goes on a philly steak and cheese—specifically the grease and the melted cheese—the sandwich has a tendency to leak. To eat it like a local, you lean forward at a 45-degree angle. This ensures that the drippings land on the paper or the sidewalk rather than your shoes or your shirt. It’s a functional adaptation to a delicious problem.
Actionable Steps for the Perfect Sandwich
If you’re trying to recreate this at home or looking for the best shop, follow this checklist:
- Source the Meat: Go to a real butcher. Ask for ribeye sliced for cheesesteaks. If they ask "how thin?", tell them "shaved."
- Find the Bread: If you can't get Amoroso's, look for a high-quality Italian hoagie roll that is soft but has a slightly chewy crust. Avoid anything labeled "French Bread" or "Sourdough."
- The Heat Factor: Use a cast-iron griddle or a heavy stainless steel pan. Get it smoking hot before the meat touches it.
- The "Cover" Trick: Use a metal bowl or a lid to cover the meat and cheese for the last 30 seconds of cooking. This creates the steam pocket that melds the ingredients together.
- The Wrap: Once the sandwich is assembled, wrap it tightly in foil or butcher paper for two minutes before eating. This "rests" the sandwich and allows the bread to fully absorb the flavors.
Forget the fancy garnishes. Forget the truffle oil. A real Philly steak and cheese is an exercise in simplicity and high-quality grease. Get the ribeye right, choose your cheese loyalty, find the right roll, and you’re 90% of the way there. The rest is just atmosphere.