It was dead. Completely dead. It was a busy part of town, but Sonny’s the restaurant was empty and there were no signs of a sudden surge of customers appearing. Those that did enter came out again and moved on quickly. Weird. Especially as Sonny’s came recommended on a couple of visitor guides and Reddit threads, as I wanted to try a Philly Cheesesteak in its hometown and I searched for a place which Philadelphian’s seem to rate.
I took a sceptical Mrs B. into the restaurant where, behind the counter, two Mexican chaps were chatting conversationally - one leaning back against the counter, gazing absently into another dimension, the other with arms outstretched and smiling lazily at the wall in front of him. When we entered, the latter looked at us and jabbed a finger down to the other end to the cashier and more conversational employee who smiled and awaited our order. I needed no more instruction. After pleasantries, I ordered the classic cheesesteak with fries, a coke, and a prayer.
Sonny’s has all the hallmarks of a culinary institution which is packed from dawn till dusk: a menu board that hasn’t changed in fifty years; a ramshackle operation that is somehow commercially viable; too many chairs and tables stuffed into too little space; five star reviews pouring out of it’s Google Maps review section, and a food item that has become famous beyond its geography. But it wasn’t packed, there were was not a single other customer, and neither fact seemed unusual to the employees.
Regardless of the custom, the grill fired up, the sounds and smells of beef and onions sizzling filled the air, and the cooks gently motored around the small kitchen until sandwich was made, wrapped, bundled and bagged into our hands.
The first thing to say about this cheesesteak is that the cheese was “whiz” cheese which, after some research, appears to be a kind of processed, liquid cheese that Americans enjoy and use in combination with meaty sandwiches, but which I’m instinctively unsure is actual cheese. Amongst the steak and the fried onions, however, I couldn’t taste it. In fact, I could only just taste a few hints and indications of the fried onions’ existence. What I could taste were the thin slices of salty beef that were packed between chewy white bread - also salty. The overriding flavour was salt, and whilst I didn’t mind it, it’d do better with a beer and in a stadium, watching some kind of raucous sport and chewing down on this salty, beefy concoction arm-in-arm with similarly buzzed attendees, rather than in a quiet restaurant on a breezy high street.
Philadelphia is an interesting place. We’ve only been here two days, but it’s far preferable to the other coastal American cities I’ve been to which are vast, global, sometimes soulless, always unwalkable. Here, the streets of downtown are free of fentanyl zombies, [EDIT: after writing the first draft of this post, I walked back to my hotel and passed an older gentlemen who took a liberal approach to clothing, and was mid-argument with someone in the sky, but this was the exception that proved the rule], and instead filled with people going about their day and going to the many shops, bars, restaurants and all the normal things you’d expect in a city. It feels lively, with a bit of spunk, a bit of character and a history that’s still alive.
Having said that, Mrs B. and I were deeply unimpressed by Liberty Bell, a broken bell which didn’t do a lot before and does even less now, that’s housed in relatively large museum saying very little but in a lot of words. Next door to the Bell is Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence was signed, and it’s genuinely worth visiting just to be in the tiny hall where the stirrings of America’s future were signed and sealed, but it is jarring to witness the drooling fascination for a building half the age of half of London.
For all this, the old city was pretty and it was pleasant, with classical architecture housing modern pursuits. It felt more welcoming and instinctively warmer than newer parts of the city, and other global cities, where glass and sky scrapers dominate. In Philadelphia, old and new have come together in a way I’m very fond of, and, whilst the Philly Cheesesteak does not live up to the hype, it’s simple, it goes down well, it goes down strong, and it’d go down famously with a cold beer.
Food 4/10
Service 5/10
Vibe 2/10
Overall 4/10