Oh yeah, and I love cheesesteaks. It’s steak…and onions…and cheese…and bread.
There is SO nothing wrong with any of those words.
Shorty’s is the ONLY place that I eat cheesesteaks outside of Philadelphia. Why? Well, because they import the bread straight from Philadelphia (and eating a cheesesteak roll that isn’t from Philly is like eating a bagel that isn’t from NYC). The fella who opened it trained at a world renowned cheesesteak empire, where he learned how to cook the meat perfectly and saute the onions just so.
The tiny place is part sports bar, part beer emporium, all delicious. The long bar serves up a bevy of American and foreign beers, or you can sit at one of the high tables to enjoy a cocktail and watch a game playing on one of the many wide screen tvs.
Don’t ask me what game. A sports game, ok?
Without a doubt, the best in the city. Crunchy outside and absolutely steaming inside. The mozzarella is melted and stretchy, with no gluey or hard globules of cheese. It is light, creamy, and crispy Dunk the triangles into the zesty marinara sauce, with chunks of acidic tomato and the zesty scent of oregano. Nothing groundbreaking, but standard bar food made this well is all too rare.
Yeah, this is the stuff. The soft bread is slightly tangy and strong enough to support the fillings; perfectly Philadelphia. The steak is tender and well seasoned with salty, sweet onions and spicy peppers. And the cheese whiz…creamy, oozy, slick on the beef and bread. It is a simple combination and a satisfying one. I always add a dash of Tabasco sauce before devouring the whole thing.
For those of you who want a palate cleanser after such a heavy meal.
Though, chances are, you won’t want anything else. You are going to be in a huge food coma. You are going to be in a beefy, cheesy, beery coma. Your wallet will still be full, and so will your stomach.
It’s a little slice of Philly right in Hell’s Kitchen.