In honor of the National Editor of the New York Times, that tweeted about this blog one week ago, I’m posting this recipe that he adapted from Michael Kann, associate director, Boston College Dining, Chestnut Hill, MA.
In this college-geared article, he acknowledges that this sandwich is distinctly not a cheesesteak.
A Penn student would not recognize the Screaming Eagle as a cheese steak. A Drexel, Curtis or Temple kid would scoff. The sandwich is nothing like what you’d get at Pat’s or Geno’s, napped in Cheez Whiz and wrapped in waxed paper.
Anyhow, if you’re reading this, thanks for the mention on Twitter, Sam. I’m glad you have an appreciation for proper cheesesteaks. (I noticed you were breaking that up into two words. Could you put in a good word with the AP or something so we can officially make it one word?)
When I look back, it was the people I cared about most deeply that ended up hurting me most. Makes me wonder, though. Is it really because they gave me greater scars? Or did I inflict the pain upon myself by naively expecting that, they of all people, wouldn’t ever be bad to me?
YES.YES.YES. People need to realise this
I feel like this needs to be shared with a ton of people.
Sorry for the color but i love this.
Can everyone take notice of this please?
I kind of want to cry