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Created by Chef Dean
Paper-thin ribeye sizzled until caramelized, draped with molten cheese, and tucked into a hoagie roll with a crackling crust and pillowy crumb. This is Philadelphia on a plate, no pretension required.
The cheesesteak was born in 1930 when Pat Olivieri, a hot dog vendor in South Philadelphia, threw some chopped beef on his flat-top and stuffed it into an Italian roll. A passing cabbie smelled it, demanded one for himself, and an American icon was born. Within a decade, Pat's King of Steaks had a permanent location, and the cheesesteak had claimed its rightful place in the American culinary canon.
Forget everything you've eaten at airport food courts and suburban strip malls. A proper cheesesteak requires three things done right: ribeye sliced so thin it practically dissolves on the griddle, a roll with structural integrity and honest crust, and cheese applied with purpose. The rest is just noise.
I've watched tourists argue about Cheez Whiz versus provolone as if theology were at stake. Here's the truth: Pat and Harry Olivieri added cheese in the 1940s, and Whiz became popular in the 1950s for its meltability. Provolone is the choice for those who want something resembling actual cheese. American splits the difference. Pick your side and defend it, but don't let anyone tell you there's only one way. The sandwich predates all of them.
Quantity
1 1/2 pounds
partially frozen for slicing
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 large
thinly sliced
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| ribeye steakpartially frozen for slicing | 1 1/2 pounds |
| vegetable oil or beef tallow | 2 tablespoons |
| yellow onion (optional)thinly sliced | 1 large |
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