At 3 a.m., two stands across the street from each other in South Philadelphia are still grilling steak, each lit up like a rival casino. One has been in business since 1930 and gets the credit for inventing the sandwich. The other opened in 1966 and has been trying to outshine it ever since. Tourists line up at both, locals mostly walk past, and the argument over which one is better has never been settled. Here's what a real Philly cheesesteak is, where the story starts (and where it gets blurry), how to order one without freezing at the window, and the places Philadelphians actually send their friends.
The Corner Where Two Rivals Face Off
Pat's King of Steaks sits at 1237 E. Passyunk Avenue, where 9th Street, Wharton Street and Passyunk Avenue meet, at the foot of the Italian Market. Directly across the street is Geno's Steaks, founded in 1966 by Joey Vento, a third-generation Italian American who had saved $2,000to open it. Both are open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, according to their own sites.
The two sandwiches are close cousins: thin-sliced beef, onions, a long roll, Whiz or provolone. The technical disagreements are small, and the rest of the rivalry is theater, good theater. Pat's got a boost from the 1976 film Rocky, which made it a better-known stop for tourists, and Geno's answered with neon and signs. Pat's can claim the sandwich's origin story and Geno's can claim the better light show, which is a fair summary of the whole feud.
Honest verdict: it's a touristy corner, and it's still worth standing on once. The meat is hot, the line moves fast, and you get to watch a sandwich culture perform itself for you. Just don't let anyone tell you it's the only place, or even the one locals would pick.
How It Started, and Why the Date Is Fuzzy
The story Pat's tells on its own history page goes like this. In 1930, Pat Olivieri ran a hot dog stand at the base of the Italian Market. One day he sent to the butcher for chopped meat, cooked it on the hot dog grill, put it on an Italian roll with onions, and just as he went to take a bite, a cab driver who ate a hot dog there every day asked what he was eating. Pat said it was his lunch. The cabbie insisted on one, and then gave the advice that built a business: forget the hot dogs, sell these.
It's a great story, and it's the family's story. Treat it as a legend, because the details move depending on who tells it. Pat's own site says 1930 for the founding of the business. Other accounts, including the ones that trace the family version, put the steak sandwich itself around 1933, with Pat's brother Harry in the tale and a ten-cent price. None of the sources checked here points to a document that settles it. What can be said safely is that the cheesesteak grew out of Italian-American South Philadelphia in the early 1930s, and that Pat's is the name most often attached to the invention.
The sandwich also had no cheese at first. By the account of Pat's son Herb Olivieri, a manager nicknamed "Cocky Joe" Lorenza added American cheese at the Ridge Avenue shop in March 1951, though other family members say it was provolone. Cheez Whiz arrived later: it was only marketed in 1952, and it reached the South Philly stand in the late 1950s. The reason it took so long is one of the best details in the whole story. Many neighbors kept kosher, and melting cheese on the same grill as meat was a problem for them.
What Actually Goes in a Cheesesteak
Strip it down and there are only four decisions: the meat, the roll, the onions and the cheese. The traditional meat is thinly sliced rib-eye (some shops use top round), flipped on a hot griddle until it browns, then chopped or scrambled with a spatula. The roll is a long hoagie roll, soft inside with a bit of chew outside. Amoroso's is the brand most often named, long, soft and slightly salty, and a lot of shops now bake their own.
Cheese is where people dig in, and it's the one word you have to say at the window. There are three classic answers:
- Cheez Whiz. Melty, salty, fast. It's the favorite at Pat's, where it reportedly outsells American by roughly eight or ten to one.
- Provolone. Sharper and stringier, the purist's pick. Geno's owner Joey Vento said, "We always recommend the provolone. That's the real cheese."
- American. The mild option, and the one most likely to be what you got at a diner outside the city.
A newer fourth choice is Cooper Sharp, a pasteurized process American cheese made from aged cheddar that has been gaining ground since 2019. Onions are the default and mushrooms or peppers are common add-ons. Lettuce and tomato mean you're eating a cheesesteak hoagie, which is a respectable sandwich, but a different one. Order a cheesesteak anywhere outside Philadelphia and you'll often get something with a lot more going on. The one in the city is simple on purpose.
How to Order Without Looking Lost
The ritual is short enough that Pat's prints it on its own site. Step one: say whether you want onions, "wit" (with) or "wit-out" (without). Step two: name the cheese. Step three: have your money ready. Step four: order the steak at the first window, and fries and drinks at the second. So the whole sentence is "One whiz wit" and you're done. Swap the words to match your taste: "provolone wit-out" is a steak with provolone and no onions, "American wit" is the mild version. Know it before you reach the front, because the line is built for speed and nobody there is in a mood to wait while you read the board. If you can't decide, "whiz wit" is the safe, classic order at Pat's, and nobody will blink at it.
Cash is the safe bet at Pat's, whose ordering tips say "cash is king" and note a surcharge for credit cards. Check each shop before you go, since policies change. As for what you'll pay, Pat's own menu in October 2026 lists a cheesesteak at about $19 and a plain steak without cheese at $18.
There's an uncomfortable footnote to the ordering rules. In June 2006, Geno's put up a sign that read "This Is AMERICA: WHEN ORDERING Please 'SPEAK ENGLISH'", during a national fight over immigration. Philadelphia's Commission on Human Relations first found probable cause that it was discriminatory, then ruled in 2008 that the restaurant hadn't violated the city's ordinance. Vento said nobody was refused service. Some locals of Asian and Latin American descent said they had been. The sign was quietly removed at some point before the 2016 Democratic National Convention. Nobody at either window will ask you to pass an exam, and nobody should have to: point, be quick, and expect to be treated like everyone else in line, which is to say briskly.
Where Philadelphians Actually Send You
Ask ten locals and you'll get ten answers, but a few names keep coming up. Hours change, so check each shop's own site before you go. The three below all had working official sites with 2026 details when this was written, and each has a different reason to make the trip.
Dalessandro's, Roxborough. It's at 600 Wendover Street, in the neighborhood just up from Manayunk, and its site says William Dalessandro opened it in 1960. The meat is chopped fine so the cheese and onions get into every bite, you eat at a counter with barstools, and it carries a Michelin Bib Gourmand, according to the shop. It's a trip out of the center, and for many people that's the whole point. It's the one to pick if you want the sandwich with the most onion-and-cheese in every bite rather than a show.
John's Roast Pork, South Philadelphia. On the corner of Weccacoe and Snyder Avenues since 1930, run by the third generation of the Bucci family, per its own site. It's famous for roast pork, but the "Ultimate Cheesesteak" is on the menu, and the JamesBeard Foundation named the shop an American Classic in 2006. If you order a steak here, try it with sharp provolone, the version that was featured in the finale of the Travel Channel's Best Sandwich in America. The site lists Tuesday to Saturday during the day and closed Sunday and Monday, so look before you travel.
Jim's South Street, Center City. The shop at 400 South Street opened in 1976. A fire in 2022 tore through the block and shut it for nearly two years, and the owners say they expanded into the building next door, with mosaics by the artist Isaiah Zagar restored on the walls. It's open again, with late hours on weekends. It's also the easiest good cheesesteak to reach from the hotels around Center City.
None of these is the only right answer, and the list leaves out a lot of shops. Philadelphians fight about it for fun. If you've got one meal, eat at one of the three above; if you've got two, stand on the Pat's and Geno's corner for the second and see what the fuss is about.
Beyond the Cheesesteak
Philadelphia's sandwich culture is bigger than one sandwich. The city is known for its hoagies, its roast pork sandwich, soft pretzels and water ice, and the cheesesteak is only the loudest of them. The hoagie is Philadelphia's word for the long cold-cut sandwich that New Yorkers call a hero, and it's a perfectly good lunch if you've already had your steak.
The roast pork sandwich is the one some locals will defend as the better sandwich, and it's a real answer, not a joke. Slow-roasted pork, sliced thin and piled on a roll, is what John's has been serving since 1930, and the James Beard Foundation's 2006 "American Classic" award was for exactly that. I think that if you only have room for one more sandwich after the tourist corner, it should be this one. Ask what comes on it when you order, since toppings vary from shop to shop.
If you want to see the whole food scene under one roof, Reading Terminal Market at 12th and Arch Streets in Center City is the place. It opened in 1893 under the Reading Railroad's train shed, has over a hundred merchants, and its own site says it's open daily from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Go hungry and skip breakfast.
Getting There and What to Do Next
Philadelphia is easy from New York: on Amtrak's Northeast Regional, the New York to Philadelphia stretch takes roughly an hour and a half to two hours, so checkthe current Amtrak timetable. That makes a cheesesteak a very doable day trip, though the city deserves more: our 3 days in Philadelphia guide adds Independence Hall, the Barnes and the Italian Market. If you're building a bigger trip, start with our 5 days in New York, read the New York to San Francisco road trip for a long way across the country, or see the United States country page for everything else on the map.
So what's the verdict? A real Philly cheesesteak is plain on purpose: sliced beef, onions, a soft roll, one cheese. The origin story is a family legend that happens to be good business, the Pat's and Geno's feud is half theater, and the best sandwich on your trip may be the one a local walks you to. Decide on your cheese before you reach the window: one whiz wit, money in hand, and no dithering.
