Traveling in Pennsylvania last weekend, Nicole and I couldn't resist a slight digression in our route back to DC. Cursed with the Irish flu and in need of something notoriously unhealthy, we invaded Philadelphia. We were bound for the markets on 9th street.
"Pat's or Geno's?" you would invariably ask. That day, we introduced ourselves to Geno's.
Why am I blogging about this? I may simply be fascinated with food shows that endeavor to track down the self-proclaimed originator of this or that in junk food. As with my previous posts for Anchorbar and Jim's SteakOut I find its a fun exercise to show some of these places. Maybe even provide a recommendation or two.
So was the taste of Geno's Philly cheese steak the one and only true vicar of the food gods? Was it the one-of-a-kind comfort food that was so delightful it found its way onto almost every menu in the country... like Buffalo wings, quesadillas, or Cobb salads?
Eh.
Now don't get me wrong... I mean who am I to doubt one of "the originals." The steak and onions were generous and juicy. It was messy like the cheese steaks in my dreams. But I wouldn't say it was the best.
Moreover, I wasn't too amused by the "This is America... When Ordering Please Speak English" sticker on the service window. I mean this has nothing to do with the taste of the food... but really, Geno. Really.
Now don't get me wrong... I mean who am I to doubt one of "the originals." The steak and onions were generous and juicy. It was messy like the cheese steaks in my dreams. But I wouldn't say it was the best.
Moreover, I wasn't too amused by the "This is America... When Ordering Please Speak English" sticker on the service window. I mean this has nothing to do with the taste of the food... but really, Geno. Really.
Otherwise, Geno's cheese steak was delicious. The venture felt all the more worth the effort once we visited a long lost friend and yeoman-chef, Kenny Bush. Hopefully, I'll be writing a blog post of my experience at his restaurant. Stay tuned.
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