December 11, 2022
Shamus Clancy/for PhillyVoice
A cheesesteak from The Original New York Cheesesteak Company at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey.
EAST RUTHERFORD, N.j. — While you could say a lot of things about me, one thing no one would question is my lack of Philadelphia bonafide credentials. I value my civic pride highly. That certainly extends to when, on the rare occasion, I leave the city limits.
Attending the Eagles-Giants game at MetLife Stadium, I got up to North Jersey fairly early since it's my first time at the venue as a media member and wanted to give myself ample time to get know the parking and press box setups. Walking into the stadium, I was greeted with this eatery:
— shamus (@shamus_clancy) December 11, 2022
The Original New York Cheesesteak Company. Did someone purposely put this by the media entrance just to antagonize me? Against all that is right in this world, I knew I had to try this and give the good people of Philadelphia a review.
After getting settled with my laptop and grabbing a coffee in the press box, I went down to the concourse to buy one of these monstrosities. I get to a stand and it's roughly 10:55 a.m. They told me they didn't start selling until 11:00 a.m. I just felt like an idiot. What could they be thinking of me? "Who is the freak in the leather jacket who cannot possibly begin his day without scarfing down this slop?" I sat in the stands for about 20 minutes before heading back to that same place and buying a $14 cheesesteak.
"Do you want everything on it?"
I said, yes, not knowing what I was getting into. Were they going to slop this up and put green peppers on there? Mayonnaise? I prepared for the worst concoction possible.
Here's what this bad boy looked like as I opened the wrapper:
It was just cheese whiz and onions. Nothing outrageous, which made me think that this could be, at least, not the worst thing I've ever eaten in my life.
It was, as expected, bad. Very bad.
The ratio here was all over the place. The roll was too soft and too doughy. It was falling apart. There was the slightest indentation from it being cut in half, but I ultimately had to rip it, causing the sloppy steak floodgates to open up. The whiz tasted like nothing. It was as if they took the roll and ever so slightly dunked the side of it in a vat of gooey nothingness.
I'm a big onion guy, but when there are seemingly just as many onions on a cheesesteak as the meat itself, there is a problem.
I felt like I was eating a plain roll at a certain point that was garnished with imitation cheese and bits of chopped meat.
A cheesesteak from The Original New York Cheesesteak Company at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey.
When I ripped the cheesesteak in half, it was basically a 60/40 split. I ate the larger half and then took a bite of the second half. I thought to myself, "Who am I doing this for? Do I really finish it? Do I owe it to people? Am I going to be in the hospital dying one day wishing I never shoved this down my gullet in the name of content?"
Eating a cheesesteak back in the city, I know what I'm going to get and that enjoyment outweighs how terrible you might feel from eating something so unhealthy. This though? It made me question what I'm doing with my entire life. Has everything that's transpired over the last 28 years left me eating a disgusting excuse for a Philly staple alone a table 80-plus miles away from everyone I know and love? Is this the dream I was sold in life and happily bought up?
I didn't finish it and and take solace in that.
It can't be that hard to create a good cheesesteak this close to Philly. I made the drive in about 80 minutes this morning. Get some rolls shipped up. Do anything else. Be better.
All I know is that back in Philly this week, I'm going to get a cheesesteak for lunch one day. Even if it's merely okay, it will taste like the mana from Canaan in comparison to this.
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