"Gimme a Whiz wit."

Huh? you say. It's a Philly thing.

This morning, and a lovely one at that, while venturing to Canandaigua for a lacrosse game I saw what I thought to be another poseur trying to hustle a buck selling cheesesteaks. You know the type. You see, a cheesesteak is to someone from Philly what a Zweigles is to someone from here. It is the lifeblood of existence. I swear. For someone so far from home, and if your are from Philly that word sounds like no other except maybe phone or water, a cheesesteak not in the City of Brotherly Love is a evil mirage destined to disappoint.

I saw the sign for Mac's Philly Steaks and being a bit skeptical, surprise surprise, I hestitated investigating until I saw in the window simply the word Amoroso's.

That's it! I'm stopping now! Airbags ready to blow.

Amoroso's is the defining characteristic of a real cheesesteak. It's the roll, baby, THE fucking roll that gave me tunnel vision, The Eye of the Tiger if you will. (Sorry for the lame Rocky reference.)

Be it the water, pronounced wuter, or the history of Independence in every freedom loving bite, these rolls validate this shop.

To go to the effort to get them here from there is most admirable. Honesty. Integrity. The real deal. The heart stopping nastiness that is the Philly Cheesesteak one short NYS Thuway Exit from Brighton.

Walking in surrounded by Philly memorabilia and signage paying due homage to the greats, Geno's, Pat's, Jim's and the like I tell you that my dick was getting hard. Rushing to the counter, leaving the family in my trail, like a junkie from days gone by I snapped the words, "Gimme a Whiz wit.". They understood.

I am at peace.

On the way home, I got a call, on my phone specifically designed to kill bee colonies, from a friend rushing their oldest child to the hospital.

I guess cheesesteaks aren't that big of a deal.