Paesano’s is not just Girard Avenue’s favorite neighborhood spot anymore.  It is now openly celebrated as one of Philadelphia’s very best sandwich destinations, a draw for food tourists from around the region and beyond.  An extension of Chef Peter McAndrews’ classic Italian BYOB Modo Mio (itself a Best Of Philly winner for Prix Fixe), Paesano’s was named Best Of Philly Sandwich Shop and was named Glen Macnow’s overall winner of the Great Italian Hoagie Hunt.  We caught up with Chef McAndrews to find out where he goes from here.

Paesano’s opened with a simple mission: Chef McAndrews wanted a decent lunch place for himself and the Modo Mio staff.  When the space across the street from Modo Mio became available, Chef and his partner, Nathan Baynes, jumped in and started making food that is affordable with integrity, cooked in the Italian theme and style.  Chef McAndrews believed that sandwiches could be made with more taste and love than most other places; he explained that there are a thousand cheesesteaks, but probably only 30 that are good, that achieve harmony of meat, cheese, onions and bread. (for the record, Chef McAndrews likes his steak chopped.)  The results speak for themselves: “the best sandwich I’ve ever tasted,” and “my favorite sandwich place” are common refrains among customers, who line up down the street to get a bite at lunchtime.

An Italian cooked sandwich shop, not a traditional hoagie shop, Paesano’s uses Liscio’s hoagie rolls because they hold up to wet sandwiches better than other rolls.  And they cut off the ends of the bread because in Chef McAndrews’ view, no one wants to feel like they got shortchanged on ingredients because of that end.  But don’t worry – you’ll find the ends reemerge as bread crumbs across the street.  The sandwich names are largely based in the Italian language: Gustaio (lamb sausage) means “good taste”; Arista (roast pork) means “the best part of the pig”; Diavlo (spicy chicken) means “the devil”.  But Daddy Wad (the award winning Italian hoagie) has a decidedly different etymology: it was Chef McAndrews’ childhood nickname, befitting a self-described “big kid.”

The Daddy Wad’s coronation as Best Italian Hoagie has catapulted it to the top selling item at Paesano’s, displacing the Arista, a porchetta sandwich with broccoli rabe, Italian long hots, sharp provolone and natural jus.  The broth is the key to the flavor, according to the Chef, who sources locally-raised Lancaster suckling pigs (under 21 lbs).  The roast pork is topped with broccoli rabe that is cut properly for a sandwich (bite-sized) and enough sharp provolone to add that creamy, tangy burst of flavor.   The Gustaio, Paesano’s lamb sausage sandwich, is a harmonious balance of flavors: intense gorgonzola, sweet heat from the sundried cherry moustarda, hearty lamb, and sweet fennel on flatbread.  And the Tuscan Tony, Paesano’s decadent take on the Texas Tommy, serves up a fried hot dog wrapped in soppresata then smothered in Bolognese sauce.  With options for vegetarians and meat lovers alike, Paesano’s satisfies all comers.

The formula is working.  Customer service is personal, gracious and natural in its diverse, dynamic, integrated Northern Liberties neighborhood.  So it is clear why Chef McAndrews wants to keep things the same.  But with the surge in popularity, Paesano’s is struggling to keep up with the volume.  They need more space, and see a broader opportunity (including Center City) but are not in a hurry and want to make sure that any change is fully thought-through.  No matter what the future holds, it is clear that today, Paesano’s has found their niche and has earned their spot at the table among Philadelphia’s best sandwiches.

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Paesano’s
152 W Girard Ave, Philadelphia, PA 19123 (Google Map)

Imagine the smile on my face when Frank Maimone, owner of Rustica in Northern Liberties told me, “The thing about pizza is it’s really just a glorified sandwich.” Take a glance at the 18 or so specialty pies on the menu and you’ll realize that they are open faced translations of classic sandwiches and entrees (like the bacon, egg and cheese pizza or the kielbasa, kraut and mustard pizza.) Sandwiches are almost always a second thought at a good pizza shop, including Rustica, where seven out of ten customers order slices and whole pies. Still, Maimone doesn’t see sandwiches as second-rate citizens, and the creative combinations he’s come up with are all the proof we need.

This story begins with the rolls; hoagie in character, baguette in flavor, and dotted with sesame seeds, they were specially created for Rustica and are provided by Leonardo’s Italian Bakery. Maimone drew on his lifetime of experience in the food industry to craft the menu, along with his grandmother’s meatball recipe, and some recommendations from the staff. Although the sandwich’s personalities may be quirky, Maimone believes in simple ingredients, fresh produce that is sourced locally as well as meats and cheeses from Claudio’s on 9th Street. Of the thirty-plus sandwiches(!) offered, we tasted some of the top sellers.

The Bella embodies all that a summer sandwich should be: turkey and provolone is topped with zesty, fresh pico de gallo and an entire sliced avocado. The Italian is based on some of Maimone’s favorites, and packed full of genoa, capicola and prosciutto to fulfill his mantra that “your jaw should hurt” after working on a good hoagie. Many chopped, grilled chicken sandwiches adorn the menu, but the Enrico Soavé is the crown jewel of them all with garlic-kissed, slightly crunchy broccoli rabe, roasted red peppers and provolone cheese. We were thoroughly impressed with Rustica’s special cheesesteak the Tartufo, a combination of finely chopped ribeye, truffle cream, and caramelized onions which packed a new and inviting flavor.

Lines form and phones ring off the hook at Rustica during lunch and dinner for good reason, the restaurant has been serving delicious, exciting food in a friendly atmosphere for over eight years. Prices haven’t changed in some time, and Maimone doesn’t skimp on the food he serves, despite rising food costs. It’s a way of doing business that has brought regulars and new customers back again and again.

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Rustica
903 N. 2nd Street Philadelphia, PA 19123 (Google Map)

Lou Sarcone Jr., the fourth-generation baker on 9th Street in South Philadelphia, is known among his family simply as Junior.  His father, also Lou, and his son, Louis, share more than a name – they share a commitment to keeping a very old business operating the way it did a very long time ago.  That is not to say that they haven’t modernized Sarcone’s Bakery – which they have – but they have done so while maintaining their focus on delivering the exact same product, time after time after time.  Using premium Pillsbury flour; giving the dough a full 2 hours to rise; baking the bread in the old brick ovens to bring out the flavor.  “It’s just like making a gravy,” said Sarcone, “Slow cooked food tastes better.”

So the food you put on that bread better be good.

For Lou’s cousin, Anthony Bucci, food is a passion.  A former executive chef at the Wyndam Franklin Plaza hotel and a longtime veteran of the family bakery, he now runs Sarcone’s Deli.  The deli is not a typical hoagie and sandwich shop.  They serve food that you’d expect to find cooked in a restaurant or your own home, but on that crusty, chewy, flavorful bread.  It’s the preparation and ingredients that differentiates them from traditional “lettuce and tomato” hoagie shops.  House-prepared roast beef, roast pork, meatballs, chicken cutlets, and eggplant are just some of the restaurant style cooked dishes that find their home on a Sarcone’s roll.  Juicy ripe roma tomatoes and bits of prosciutto, sopressata and cappicola that don’t make it onto sandwiches become the starter for the gravy for the hot sandwiches.  If you like marinated fresh asparagus and a balsamic drizzle, you can get it on the roast beef sandwich.  If you like house-roasted peppers and roasted garlic with fresh herbs, spread it on your veggie sandwich.  And if you like DiBruno Bros cheeses, gourmet cured meats and imported parma prosciutto, why not get them on an Old Fashioned Italian sandwich?

Anthony and Lou admit, it always starts with the bread.  And at Sarcone’s Bakery, the business is all about tradition.  Listen to the previous generation, and do exactly what they do.  It’s like whisper down the lane; without all the context and subtext, something can get lost along the way.  Five generations of Sarcones have donned the baker’s whites and pledged to keep the bakery exactly the same.  As Lou’s grandfather said, “put too much food in your mouth, you can’t chew.”  It’s about staying in business.  It’s looking at 90 successful years of history and believing that the business could continue for another 90 years.  No wholesale, only retail.  They’ve seen lean times before and economic booms but the business has remained steady and focused.

A mainstay on the Italian Market if there ever was one, Sarcone’s has witnessed the sell-off of the generations-old businesses a few blocks away; but Lou Sarcone believes that history repeats itself and he welcomes a new generation of business owners coming back to the market.  Not just businesses, but Sarcone sees the influx of young professionals, students and young families into South Philadelphia as a good thing for everyone.

Sarcone’s Deli has plans to move into a newly renovated space next to its current location on 9th Street later this summer. (The current space will be put to good use but plans are still being developed.)  The bigger growth plan centers around 10-15 new franchise locations in the tri-state area over the next few years.  So how does a business so deeply ingrained in its environment extend outside of its location?  Sarcone’s has pledged to maintain tight control over the product and training new staff.  Keep it geographically limited, keep a handle on quality, and follow the Sarcone’s operator’s manual to the letter: serve up restaurant food on the very best bread.

Already one former franchisee has had the Sarcone’s brand pulled from his shop for cutting corners and cheating the customer.  But it was a valuable learning experience for Lou and Anthony, a lesson that will stay with them as they grow their vision beyond 9th Street and into the suburbs.

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Sarcone’s Deli
734 S 9th St, Philadelphia, PA 19147 (Google Map)

Sports talk radio in Philadelphia is usually fixated on the Eagles, Phillies, Sixers or Flyers latest news, but if you tune in to Glen Macnow’s show, you might just find the conversation has turned to sandwiches.  That is because Mr. Macnow spent the past two months sampling over 50 Italian hoagies from around the region.  His exhaustive search spanned from South Jersey to the Main Line to the Far Northeast, with more than a few stops in South Philly along the way.  But Macnow’s winner is Paesano’s in Fishtown, the new gourmet sandwich shop that has emerged as a true contender for the city’s absolute best.

Mr. Macnow has previously blanketed the region searching for the ultimate Philly cheesesteak.  So what’s next?  Roast pork?  Chicken cutlets?  Hot dogs?  Yes, please.

A big Unbreaded tip of the cap to Glen Macnow.  You are an inspiration to our entire organization.

See Glen Macnow’s rundown of Philadelphia’s best Italian hoagies and cheesesteaks over at 610 WIP.

This isn’t the first time I’ve poured out my sandwich love or written about my theory that they are this country’s first fusion food. You can read some of this previously published material in Esquire and Travel + Leisure.

When I am working on a story for Travel + Leisure, it’s my job to hit a city’s culinary highlights. But I always make it a point to start with that city’s signature dish as a way of understanding local history. Iconic regional dishes can be used to reveal the roots of local immigration and determine what each ethnic group brought to the community culture.

The great chef John Besh explained to me that New Orleans is unique as a historical port because it was settled with very little Anglican influence, and that the one-pots (like gumbo) are a link to its cultural mix of Spanish and French colonists with a large enslaved Afro-Caribbean community. He told me to look at those long lists of herbs and spices: “Everyone stirred a little bit of their culture into the pot.”  Or, when I was working my way through the menu at a Zingerman’s Roadhouse in Ann Arbor Michigan (specializing in “Great American Food,” regional dishes from around the country), I learned the background of chicken fried steak. Due to the prominent role Germans and Austrians had in settling Texas, it doesn’t take much to view that dish as a frontier translation of Wiener Schnitzel (staple of Central European cuisine).

The connection is even more obvious with sandwiches. Most of the country’s great urban sandwich places are in former factory (and working) neighborhoods where immigrants quickly set up shop and folded their native ingredients (and/or cooking methods) into mainstream cuisine. As the quickest way to layer the tastes of the old country into the new, sandwiches are probably our original fusion food.

There are plenty of American regional sandwiches (with accompanying stories) like the Beef-on-Weck in Buffalo or Loosemeats in Sioux City, IA. But I decided to limit myself to tracing the outline of the country, starting in Maine and working down the coast to Miami, over to New Orleans and then across the Texas land border, up the West Coast and across the Northern boundary to Chicago.

This was not an exercise in “best:” I am not much of a food ranker. I like to think about context, and although there may not always be perfect symmetry between city and sandwich, here is my version of the United States, according to sandwiches.

From Maine to Connecticut, the lobster and clam roll
There might not be a specific ethnic link for the lobster roll (many folks like Red’s Eats, Wiscasset, Maine, a picturesque road side stand that’s been around since 1938).  But there is an “embarrassment of riches” aspect, common in many immigrant family kitchens. In the 1988 film Mystic Pizza, townie waitress Daisy (Julia Roberts), invited to the summer home of a rich WASP boyfriend (played by Adam Storke in a classic James Spader role), is less than thrilled when dinner turns out to be lobster—a staple in her family’s household because her Portuguese-American mother works in a lobster plant on the docks.

Maine was the site of the first recorded European colony in 1604 and according to the state’s Department of Marine Resources, lobster fishing is “probably the oldest, continuously operated industry on the North American continent.” Prior to commercialization, every lobster caught in Maine stayed in Maine. (Early records are scarce, but in 2000, the lobster harvest yielded 57,000,000 pounds.)  So imagine what lobster was at one time: poverty food. Indentured servants (who exchanged labor for passage to America) had it written into their contracts that they would not have to eat it more than three times a week, and a law guaranteed prisoners the same protection (cruel and unusual punishment by crustacean).

To me, a heap of lobster in a roll that requires a good grip is nothing more than a device to turn seafood into a solid meal: heavier, heartier family fare is typically achieved by adding bread (even those crunchy Trenton oyster crackers soaked in chowders qualify).

The same theory can be applied to the clam roll, a shoreline staple along the Connecticut coast. Since the Native Americans showed colonists how to harvest clams (the white shells were carved into beads and used for currency, or “wampum”), shell-fishing has been a vital part of the state’s economy. But you can’t feed your family a steady diet of clams on the half shell, which accounts for some of the heartier regional clam dishes, like New Haven’s famous clam pizza.

In Madison, Lenny and Joe’s Fish Tale serves a clam roll made with breaded whole or full-bellied clams (also known as Ipswich or steamer clams, these have a thin brittle shell which doesn’t completely close because of its protruding long neck or siphon). No pre-breading and sitting around for these clams. Instead, they are batter-dipped, rolled in cracker meal, and fried to order. Since the breading is done at the last moment, the clams remain completely coated, forming a protective crust on contact with the hot oil which produces the internal steam necessary to properly cook the clam, and in the process, creates a sandwich of delicious contrasts: crispy but tender.

A regional requirement: both of these sandwiches must be served on a toasted top-loading New England hot dog bun, which looks like a small rectangular “box” made of white bread. I imagine it was invented like this: a hungry guy in a hurry took a piece of toast and folded it in half with one hand, letting the seam rest along his palm like a trough. Then he filled it up.

Pastrami in New York
More than a decade ago, the late Abe Lebewohl, founder of the Second Avenue Deli, showed me how to hand-slice pastrami. Now this is an instinctive art. You have to be able to “feel” the pastrami because each one is different, taking into consideration how hard or soft the meat is after steaming as well as the fat content. Placing a whole brine-cured and smoked beef belly on a narrow wooden counter (where it fit perfectly into the indentation shaped by the thousands that went before it), Abe trimmed off the crisp, spicy edges, pushing them into a little mound and motioned for me to “eat, eat.” I left that day with a securely foil-wrapped packet of still warm and beautifully fatty pastrami in my purse, feeling like I was transporting an organ.

Although it is more of a global village now, the Lower East Side of Manhattan was once the epicenter of Eastern European immigration, packed with pushcarts peddlers and synagogues, and Abe, known as the Mayor of Second Avenue, was a throw back to the day when that street was lined with theaters and called the “Yiddish Broadway.” Like Ukrainian refuge Lebewohl, pastrami has deep Jewish roots (explanation better left to an expert like Joan Nathan)  even appearing as a cultural stereotype in Woody Allen’s great urban romance Annie Hall (1977), when Midwestern transplant Hall (Diane Keaton) orders a “pastrami on white bread with, uh, mayonnaise and tomatoes and lettuce,” and New Yorker Alvy Singer (Woody) looks embarrassed and then a little afraid.

I have my own procedure: Order pastrami on rye—no trimmings or toppings. When the sandwich arrives, use my thumbs to pick up the edges of the bread (as though I am shuffling cards) and then, because the fat to meat ratio is never exactly “right,” peer down at the pastrami and give a little philosophical shrug. Add mustard.

In 1996, the wonderful Abe Lebewohl was murdered while making a deposit at a local bank. I went back to the deli once after that, but it didn’t feel right. Then it closed. But recently, I read that his nephew opened a relocated Second Avenue Deli, where I have yet to go.

Philadelphia and its connection to New Orleans
Slide down the map until you get to Philadelphia, the largest fresh water port in the world and surely the sandwich capital of America. This is a city with several iconic regional specialties: cheese steak, roast pork, and the hoagie are a few.  For this purpose, I settled on using the hoagie, reportedly named for the Italian immigrants who labored in the iron and steel building naval shipyards on Hog Island (the world’s largest shipyard during WWI). The “hoggie” was a meal on the move with all the flavors of home: an assortment of cured pork meats (prosciutto, sopressata and coppa), sharp provolone cheese, and a make-shift salad of sorts (lettuce, tomatoes, onions and hot peppers, dressed with oil, vinegar and a pinch of dried oregano). The bread—typically a crunchy seeded crust with a soft but substantial interior—was merely transportation.

At this point, jump over to the port of New Orleans because one of its signature sandwiches—the muffuletta—is exactly the same as a hoagie—only different. Like two dialects of the same language, the central elements are there: a layering of meats (with the inclusion of mortadella, a pork bologna) and cheese. But while Philadelphia’s turn-of-the-century Italian settlers came from the Southern provinces of Italy, 90% of those who came thru New Orleans were from Sicily. That explains why their sandwich (“invented” in about 1906 to feed that city’s wharf workers) is on round, soft, slightly hollow Sicilian bread (or muffuletta), and the standard hoagie salad toppings are translated into an idiosyncratic pickled olive-laden vegetable medley, distantly related to the regional Sicilian specialty of caponata (a sweet and sour eggplant relish reminder that Sicily is a leading olive and caper growing area).

When I made this very same American iconic regional sandwich trip years ago, I got a warm muffuletta at the Napoleon House and a toasted Frenchuletta (on a baguette) at Luizza’s. But like most visitors, I also went to Central Grocery in Viuex Carre or French Quarter, once known locally as Little Sicily. Slightly spongy (to absorb the olive salad) and intersected by a ribbon of meat/cheese filling, this huge muffuletta is pre-cut into quarters and wrapped in old-fashioned sturdy white paper. Although the highly-hyped grocery may look like a tourist trap, don’t be put off by the discarded Barq’s root beer bottles, crumbled Zapp potato chip bags, or the long lines. The people of Central Grocery are sandwich professionals.

(There is also a link between NOLA’s shrimp/oyster po’ boy and Connecticut’s fried clam roll: both turn local seafood into heartier fare. I got my po’boy from Parkway Tavern, at the corner of Hagan and Toulouse, overlooking Bayou St. John.)

Breaded and fried shrimp (served with lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise and pickles) on distinctive New Orleans–style French bread (lightly crisp crust, interior as airy as cotton candy) from celebrated Leidenheimer Bakery.

Editor’s note: Part 2 covers the iconic sandwiches of the American South, Southwest, West Coast and Midwest.

As our World Fucking Champion Philadelphia Phillies begin a new season, we take a stroll through the ballpark looking for the best gameday sandwiches.  Though we do envy the food at our hated Mets’ new digs, we found a number of sandwiches that we think deserve recognition.  At the top of our list?  A proper Philly cheesesteak, a huge grilled dog, and Philly’s one and only “Big League Sandwich.”  So, for those of you heading down to the park this season, we present Unbreaded’s Starting Lineup of ballpark sandwiches (in ranked order) or, one for each inning.

9. Planet Hoagie’s Veggie Sandwich (Ashburn Alley)
For a stadium recognized as baseball’s most veg-friendly park, we found the options to be generally unremarkable.  Only Planet Hoagie served up a vegetarian sandwich we would recommend. Chopped broccoli rabe flecked with garlic, sweet roasted red peppers, strips of breaded fried eggplant and provolone on a dense seeded hoagie roll from Carangi Bakery Co. in South Philly.

8. Harry The K’s Carved Turkey (Left Field Plaza)
At the park’s table service restaurant named after broadcaster Harry Kalas, we thought the Carved Turkey sandwich was a good option for anyone looking to keep the calorie count in check.  Tender, flaky, herb roasted turkey breast, creamy muenster, shaved red onion and local bibb lettuce was served on rye slathered with dijon that offered a nice kick of its own. (The menu actually called for Artisan sourdough, but we were happy with the rye.)

7. Bull’s Pit Turkey Sandwich (Ashburn Alley)
Another turkey sandwich earned a spot at #7: the smoky, juicy turkey sandwich from Bull’s BBQ.  A simple sandwich to be sure, the thin-sliced smoked turkey on an Amaroso’s kaiser roll does need a visit to Bull’s condiment bar, where we smothered our turkey in Bull’s BBQ and horseradish sauces.

6. Planet Hoagie Italian Hoagie (Ashburn Alley)
Planet Hoagie’s Italian Hoagie delivers exactly what you expect from an Italian hoagie shop: fresh meat, creamy cheese, great bread, juicy veg, and flavorful oil and spices to bring it all together.  Not exactly house-cured Italian salamis, but exemplary of the typical Philadelphia Italian hoagie.

5. Harry The K’s BBQ Brisket (Left Field Plaza)
The BBQ Brisket at Harry The K’s is right on the borderline between a sloppy stewed meat sandwich and a sandwich-turned-platter mess.  Fortunately, it was the former, and if handled properly, can be quite a treat. (The key is not to put it down.)  Shredded slow cooked beef enveloped in a sweet and tangy BBQ sauce is plated on a soft, spongey potato roll that absorbs the sauce and disintegrates into each bite.

4. Planet Hoagie Chicken Italiano (Ashburn Alley)
The hoagie shop from the Northeast proves it too can deliver the classic South Philadelphia sandwich: a chicken cutlet  with broccoli rabe.  The chicken breast was well-seasoned and lightly breaded, delivering a bite that was hearty and satisfying.  Two slices of sharp provolone sat between the chicken and the bottom bread, with garlicky shreds of rabe on top.  Though the cheese is traditionally melted in with the rabe, on this sandwich, the modified construction worked well.  The rabe was tender and not at all bitter, adding bold flavor to an already delicious chicken cutlet.

3. Tony Luke’s Cheesesteak (Ashburn Alley)
Making the decision to bring one’s brand and sandwiches to the ballpark (with Aramark’s finest manning your grill) is not as easy as it may seem. When crafting the perfect sandwich, consistency is key. Tony Luke’s is an estabishment that has long been devoted to consistency and the long line of cheesesteak hungry fans that lasts through the 7th inning is proof of their success in doing so. The whiz wit’ steak that we ordered tasted like it was straight out of the Oregon Avenue shop. Don’t be intimidated by the line, it moves quickly and if it is a cheesesteak you crave, it is definitely worth the wait.

2. Bull Dog (Ashburn Alley)
Bull’s BBQ serves a hulking kielbasa sandwich that will send any ballpark hot dog whimpering back home.  The massive grilled sausage is well larger than the roll and needs no condiments; the sweet, smoky glaze around the casing does all the work.  Juicy, rich and thoroughly filling, the Bull Dog will satisfy even a monstrous craving for some serious meat.

1. The Schmitter (Left Field)
The Schmitter, which was originally conceived at McNally’s Tavern in Chestnut Hill, is hands down the best sandwich at the stadium. Dubbed “Philly’s Big League Sandwich” by its creators, it is a must have, at least once when attending a Phillies game. The magic is how the sandwich contents are layered, which is outlined in diagrams that adorn the walls: a slice of American cheese is topped with steak, onions and thick slices of tomato. Yet another slice of cheese leads way to grilled salami, Schmitter special sauce (think Thousand Island dressing) and is topped with yet another slice of cheese. The sandwich is obviously deliciously gooey from all of that cheese but the flavorful and perfectly cooked steak and salami are able to shine through. The large kaiser roll from Conshohocken Italian Bakery is thick and fluffy, never allowing the sandwich to get too soggy or messy when eating it at your seat.

On the Bench: Alley Grill (Left Field)
We give them great points for flame-kissed effort, but the Alley Grill sandwich stand needs to work out a few issues before it makes the starting lineup.  The dry hamburger buns and overcooked meat need to be corrected, but there were a few bright spots to build on: the sauteed onions and Kennett Square mushrooms on the Smothered Chicken, and the hot and spicy fixings on the Blazin Burger.

Swing and a Miss: Campo’s “The Heater” (Ashburn Alley)
Last season, when it was just too hard to take our eyes off the game to spend time in the Tony Luke’s line, we relied on Rick’s Steaks which was only a few feet away and also served a great sandwich. This year, now that Rick’s has pulled out of the stadium to focus on the opening of their new location, Campo’s Deli has set up shop in his place. Campo’s which has an impressive 62-year history of its own, offers several variations on the cheesesteak and a much-hyped special sandwich called “The Heater”. This special, which can be found on the Campo’s menu in Old City as the “Holy Feldman,” combines spicy jack cheese, steak, grilled onions and hot sauce. We were disappointed in the rubbery round cut slices of ribeye that were far too fatty and the thick cut, jack cheese which refused to melt. This sandwich left much to be desired, but we know that a slow start happens sometimes, and it’s all about finding your zone as the season goes on.

And finally, we discovered two words that should never again be uttered at the ballpark: Lemon Aioli.  You know who you are, Italian Market Chicken Sandwich.

Citizens Bank Park
One Citizens Bank Way
Philadelphia, PA 19148 (Google Map)
215-463-1000