The Philly Cheese Mistake

On a greasy corner of South Philadelphia stood two iconic culinary institutions. On one corner there was Dimarco’s –– a 200-year-old neighborhood staple that proudly claimed to not only be one of the oldest restaurants in the country but the originator of the “Philly Cheesesteak” a legendary sandwich that accounted for nearly 1/5th of the city’s economy. 

On the adjacent corner was Russo’s – another 200-year-old relic of equal fame, that similarly claimed responsibility for inventing the profitable sandwich. As a local, where your loyalties lay was as important as it was controversial. Both establishments boasted diehard fanbases and lines wrapped around the block from morning til night. Both made delicious sandwiches, contributed to the community, etc. And yet, being a fan of one came with a persistent hatred of the other. A Dimarco fan wouldn’t be caught dead eating a Russo cheesesteak. Russo supporters barely acknowledged Dimarcos as edible let alone a serious purveyor of food. You were either for one or the other. Families grew up going to one and passed their loyalty down through the generations. 

You see, the feud had very little to do with the differences to the sandwich itself. Yes, Dimarco’s used a sesame-seeded bun, chopped their ribeye length-wise, and offered a sharp provolone for their cheesesteak while Russo’s opted for a seedless bun, diagonal cuts and a creamy cheddar whiz. It made no difference. All that mattered was whose version of events you believed –– Dimarco’s or Russo’s. 

Legend has it the feud started more than 250 years ago when a young Dominic Dimarco and Robert Russo served as cooks in General George Washington’s army. On Christmas Eve, 1776, the pair worked around the clock to provide hot meals for the freezing troops, bolstering their morale and energy ahead of making the historic crossing of the Deleware River. Such was their success that Washington himself invited the pair to cook for the Second Continental Congress which convened in Philadelphia. It was there that the two cooked, wined, and dined the minds that built our nation – Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, James Madison, John Hancock, etc. – but no man was a bigger fan of the culinary duo than Philadelphia native, Benjamin Franklin himself. 

Rumor has it that this discord between Dimarco and Russo began when Benjamin Franklin approached them with a delicate mission. He believed that in order for democracy to thrive in our new nation, citizens needed to believe in the virtues laid out in the constitution – that all men are created equal. It was Franklin’s contention that food was the best way to demonstrate commonality amongst citizens. Rich or poor, high born or low, a good meal could bring all together. He tasked the pair with creating a dish that represented their new country. 

So the two got to work on constructing the foundations of “American” cuisine. Dominic Dimarco’s approach was to take something normally reserved for the aristocratic class and make it more accessible. But Russo was adamant that the best way to spread this new cuisine was to prove that even the affordable meals of the peasant class could be appealing and delicious to the elites. Dimarco opted to make steak more accessible while Russo leaned into creating a sandwich for the masses, ultimately arriving at a similar conclusion from opposite perspectives - a steak sandwich. Cheap enough to be enjoyed by the peasant class and delicious enough that aristocrats would go out of their way to eat it. But the divide over the respective ideology of their creations had grown into a bitter debate amongst not only Dimarco and Russo, but the delegates who enjoyed them. 

Aaron Burr’s hardline anti-federalist stance was captured perfectly in Dimarco’s steak sandwich, while Hamilton’s progressive-fiscal and federalist policies could be demonstrated in Russo’s approach. By the time of their infamous duel, Dimarco and Russo’s steak sandwiches would be contentious talking points for any and all Philly natives. 

Over the next 200 years, their descendants would carry on this hatred for the other, engaging in a petty series of one-upmanship as each would try to dominate the cheesesteak market. 

In the present day, Angelo DiMarco and Tommy Russo were the latest torchbearers of this storied rivalry. Angelo, a burly man with a mustache that seemed to bristle with indignation, presided over DiMarco's with an iron fist. His cheesesteaks were renowned for their perfectly seasoned ribeye and gooey provolone, a combination he guarded more fiercely than the family jewels.

Tommy Russo, on the other hand, was a wiry man with a slick pompadour and a perpetual smirk. He ruled Russo's with a flair for the dramatic, his cheesesteaks famous for their succulent slices of sirloin and a secret blend of cheeses that melted into a heavenly concoction. Both men were relentless in their pursuit of cheesesteak supremacy, and their tactics had become the stuff of legend.

There was of course the “Cheesesteak Challenge” of ‘87, when Tommy Russo proposed $1,000 prize to any Philly local that could down a 5lb cheesesteak in one sitting. Winners earned a spot on Russo’s Wall of Fame and a year of free cheesesteaks. The local news ate it up, and soon Russo’s was flooded with adrenaline junkies and competitive eaters eager to prove their mettle.

Not to be outdone, Angelo Dimarco retaliated with a stunt of his own. He launched "The Dimarco Daily," a daily performance where a cheesesteak, purportedly made with the same recipe served to Benjamin Franklin himself, was rolled out on a golden cart at high noon. Angelo, dressed in full colonial garb, would deliver an impassioned speech about Dimarco’s historical significance before carving up the sandwich for the assembled crowd. He’d often enlist the help from local legends, athletes, and celebrities to play along in the performance. It was a hit, drawing tourists and history buffs in droves.

Of course, none could forget the great “Cheesesteak Riots” in the summer of ‘94 when scores of Dimarco and Russo employees duked it out at the crossroads of their establishments, leading to a melee of epic cheesy proportions. Joey Dimarco, Angelo’s son, nearly lost an eye. Mikey Russo had hearing loss after getting a vat of hot cheese whiz got stuck in his ear. Each owner erected memorials to the battle which became instant hits for visitors looking to pay their respects. 

While a mutual hatred existed between the two families, it was hard to deny that their rivalry created fantastic business opportunities. War was a business opportunity and it was within this hatred that the two establishments could flourish. 

Until one afternoon, when standing on their respective corners, Angelo and Tommy watched as a new establishment cut a ribbon to a crowd of several hundred on-lookers. 

Angelo called out to his rival. 

“Hey, Rimjob Russo! What in the hell is a ‘Subway Sandwich’ ?

Tommy called back.

“Not sure, but you Dipshit Dimarco’s better figure something out because these guys mean business.” 

The two walked out to the middle of the road and watched as the crowd cheered wildly for the spokesperson proudly displaying the extra large pants that they used to wear. The two men shook their heads.

“And here I thought you were the biggest asshole I’ve ever seen.”

“Likewise.”

The two men flipped open notepads and began to take notes as they had dozens of times before when the unfortunate realities of capitalism and gentrification began encroaching on their territory. 

“What’re you thinking? Public protest? Sleepy driver makes a mess?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Eh, I was thinking more of a statement piece. A horse head in the bed type of thing.”

Angelo smiled. 

“You hungry?”

Tommy nodded. 

“Yeah I could go for a bite.”