Ever since we moved to the East Coast Troy’s been trying to drag me to Princeton, NJ for a weekend trip. New Jersey? We live in New. York. City…I don’t need to go to guido-ville to find something to do, there is plenty to do on the weekends. When Troy was coaching at Yale, he spent a lot of time in Princeton for work. He’s been telling me for years what a charming, historic little town it is, in his words, “It’s a haven inside a crap-hole of a state.” My response? Not interested.
So, how did I finally let him convince me to take a two-hour, each way, train ride just to walk around a pretty campus? He told me about the best Philly cheese steak he’s ever had.
Should’ve mentioned that one earlier, sucka.
I’ll admit it, I’m a total judger. I’ll judge what you’re wearing, your tattoos, and I’ll disown you if I see you wearing leggings as pants. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t base my entire initial feelings of you according to my first glance. That being said, I judged the hell out of this “amazing sandwich shop” that was owned by a Greek man with a restaurant named “George’s Roasters and Ribs.” What business does he have making a Philly cheese steak? He’s neither an Italian nor a Philadelphian. And secondly, what’s a roaster? And I didn’t even see ribs on the menu. In fact, I tried to convince Troy that his 31-year old memory had failed him, and he in fact meant to take me to “Hoagie Haven” next door. You know, the one with the line down the sidewalk…
I’ve been surprised with the lack of Philly cheese steak in NY. We’re 96 miles from Philadelphia and I can’t get my grubby mitts on a decent steak, cheese and onion sandy? Lame.
George’s was a total hodge-podge of random food. Hot wings, sweet potatoes fries, chicken parmesan and a killer cheese steak. Totally random, and a little off-putting.
But all my concerns faded the second I took a bite of my 16-inch long, $8 ‘which. The cheese was so creamy I honestly thought it might have been processes squeezy cheese. I wouldn’t have minded. I love cheese in a can. But, I was more delighted to learn it was a solid piece of provolone melted to perfection. The thinly sliced rib-eye was super juicy and flavorful. Most importantly, the bread was still moist and fresh, not like the dry, flakey loaf I usually get with a grilled sandwich. If there is one food I hate most in the world it is green bell peppers, so I skipped those but kept the sweet grilled onions. The best thing about this sandwich is that it was an entire French loaf of bread and was given to me in the original bakery paper sleeve. I felt pretty proud walking down the street with my new prize. I didn’t even feel awkward sitting in the middle of the beautiful, preppy, Princeton campus downing a sandwich that not even a 400-lb man should be able to thrown down.
Alright, Troy, you’re right. Best cheese steak outside of The City of Brotherly Love. Not sure why this place was totally empty at lunch time on a Saturday. My professional advertising expertise? Ditch the stupid name and call yourself something legit like, “Hands-down, best freaking cheese steak within a 95-mile radius of Manhattan, served on a big-ass loaf of fresh and toasty French bread, sold by a Greek guy who cooks like my pretend Italian grandmother.” Yeah, go with that one.
