The Great Cheesesteak Debate

For whatever reason I've become less and less enthralled with either cooking or eating "fussy" food and increasingly intrigued with authentic local and ethnic foods and the idea of comparing and critiquing different renditions of them. As an ex-NYer, this is probably innate - I'm capable of analyzing a pastrami sandwich or slice of pizza with the detail and critical, detached mien of a medical examiner and arguing the relative merits of different versions like a trial lawyer. As a current Washingtonian, there's not really a"local" food to apply this skill to. Maybe a crab cake, but that really belongs to the PROM (Peoples Republic of Maryland). So I’m turning to other regions. This is somewhat tricky since I can’t say what’s actually authentic in places I haven’t lived – but I can say what’s good.

Item 1: the Philly cheesesteak. This is an interesting one because quality ingredients are anathema - authenticity apparently demands cheap cuts of beef and Cheese Whiz. And there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of potential variation in the cooking process. Whatever. The debate in Philly about where to get the best is heated, and lines form around the block of the most popular purveyors – the most renowned of which are Pats and Genos. Now, as you’ll often find with places that become icons, many critical locals deride both of them as tourist traps. However, that’s part of the point here. If I lived in Philly I’d immediately embark on a quest for the best – but as a tourist searching for authenticity these seemed like the must-try places. And, conveniently located across the block from each other, they’re perfect for a taste-off.

At 5:30 on a Saturday afternoon, both had fair sized but not terribly daunting lines. Pats line seemed shorter, but the wait ended up far longer. The Geno’s sandwich ordered wiz wit came just that way, cheese whiz and onions. At Pats apparently mushrooms are also an option (my wife did the ordering there) and that one came with whiz, mushrooms and onions.

The Geno’s sandwich came on a soft roll with no real texture to the crust but a nice taste to the bread and interesting overall soft but chewy texture. The Pats roll had a relatively firm crust and with an airy interior, and was devoid of taste. Sort of like Styrofoam with a thin layer of cardboard on top.

The meat in the Geno’s sandwich was quite tender. No knives were available to slice the thing in two for taste testing, but between the plastic fork and pulling it apart it was doable. The meat in the Pats sandwich was tough and elastic. While the bread separated easily, the plastic fork was no match for the rubbery meat which was also impervious to separation by pulling. I honestly don’t know what texture you’re striving for in a perfect authentic cheesesteak but I doubt it’s akin to rubber Kevlar which is what the Pats steak was like.

Taste-wise, I don’ know if or how they season the meat at Genos, but it tasted wonderfully beefy and well-seasoned, if not by application of spices than by contact with the grill. The Pats beef was stunningly devoid of taste – nothing more than a tough vehicle for the whiz, onions and mushrooms; somehow the veggies were also relatively tasteless, unlike the Geno’s onions which were wonderfully sweet and rich without any burnt notes that you can get when frying onions.

The verdict? No contest. While it’s a greasy nutritional nightmare made with crap ingredients, the Geno’s sandwich made it easy to see why locals wax poetic about Philly cheesesteaks and line up for a block to get one after a night of drinking – while I was stone sober, I know I’d love one of these things at 2AM. The Pats sandwich, on the other hand, was so lame it was like a play for the AMA or Self magazine - no reason to risk cardiac arrest or sacrifice your diet because a plate of salted tofu and lettuce would be every bit as tasty.

49 years ago: 1st spaceship orbits the sun

So, since it was a whole day since I’d done any serious drinking, and always wanting a good reason to celebrate, I deemed the Luna 1 Moon shot a worthy excuse. Luna 1 was launched by the USSR in the early days of the space race, January 2, 1959. It was meant to be the first spacecraft to orbit the moon. But a malfunction in the ground-based control system caused an error in the rocket's burntime, and it missed. By 5,900 km. As Maxwell Smart (Don Adams, RIP) would say, “Missed it by that much.”

Given the draconian regime at the time I’d imagine mission control was a pretty dire place when Luna 1 went awry. No doubt more than a couple engineers were assigned exciting new careers in Siberia – or consigned to even worse fates. Too bad for them that they didn’t live in the era of spin control. Because while Luna 1 missed the moon, it did become the first spacecraft from Earth to successfully orbit the sun. Today they’d probably be heroes.

Having spent some time in Russia, I can report its amazingly easy to celebrate in authentic Russian style. There’s one essential - vodka – and it requires absolutely (pun!) no preparation. Unless you consider sticking the bottle in the freezer preparation, and even then lack of a proper chill wouldn’t prevent any self-respecting Russian from banging back a few shots of vodka. Maybe even before lunch. But with a snack. When you drink, you eat. When you eat, you drink.

A Ukrainian friend swears cod livers are the perfect nibble between shots of vodka to keep you standing longer and prevent hangovers. Cod livers come in a little can that looks like a cat food can. Once you open it, you find the stuff inside looks and smells a lot like cat food too. Only worse. I had no desire to validate his contention, but one time a friend popped one of the nickel sized livers in my open mouth mid-sentence. It was what I imagine cat food tastes like. Only worse

The real deal Russian vodka that we always drank over there and my Eastern European friend rave about is Moskavanya (green label). It’s actually pretty cheap if you can find it. We have stash, andI drank a few shots of it. Although with chicken wings instead of cod livers.