Steer Clear

Finding a Philly cheesesteak in Mumbai is not as hard as it sounds.

by Dan Packel

Evan M. Lopez

[ steakouts ]

In my years of traveling across the U.S., I've established a strict rule: If a cheesesteak is attributed "Philly" or "Philadelphia" on a menu, never, ever order it. One easy proxy for this rule is simply to avoid our iconic sandwich outside of the Philadelphia area.

But mostly-Hindu India, where McDonald's doesn't even offer hamburgers, is one place I never expected to encounter a cheesesteak. As soon as I saw "Philadelphia Steak Sub" listed on the menu at an American-themed restaurant in Mumbai, I knew I'd have to suspend my guidelines out of the spirit of discovery.

Upon further reflection, I realized that if there's any place in the world's second most populous country likely to take on a rendition of Philly's "culinary gift to the world" (I recognize your objections, roast pork and soft pretzel partisans), it's Mumbai, the frenzied city of 14 million on the Arabian sea.

The country's financial capital, Mumbai is also its most cosmopolitan city. As wealth and exposure to global mores increase, some Indian elites are beginning to cast aside traditional taboos and religious restrictions to embrace the taste of the sacred cow. (Omnivorous Christians from nearby Goa, as well as Mumbai's Muslim community, have long served and consumed beef in their homes and restaurants in the city.)

McDonald's notwithstanding, the beef hamburger has arrived in Mumbai's upscale restaurants. But while offering a burger denotes only a generic understanding of American food, presenting a "Philly" cheesesteak — ultimately a similar creation, built upon beef, bread and cheese — suggests a deeper connection. From its humble origins at Ninth and Passyunk, this sandwich now transcends the 215. I'd argue it's become a worldwide signifier of eating like an American.

While the concept alone of a cheesesteak here is likely enough to get Thomas Friedman to start salivating, for me, the merits of globalization in cuisine depend on execution. So I stepped into South Mumbai's Not Just Jazz by the Bay — home of the first Indian cheesesteak I've come across — with skepticism. It's one thing to put the sandwich on the menu, alongside "California Potato Skins" and "Jamaican Grilled Chicken." It's another thing to actually pull it off well.

The American-themed restaurant, decorated with posters of Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong and other jazz legends, has offered its Philadelphia Steak Sub on and off since it first opened 14 years ago, according to operations manager Peter Mendes. "Most of the urban people love it," says Mendes. "It's like a whole meal, actually."

The kitchen certainly wasn't shy about loading up the sandwich with a wide variety of tastes, if that's what Mendes was referencing. In addition to the steak and cheese, I detected lightly grilled red onions, julienned green peppers, a thin layer of cole slaw, lettuce and hints of mustard and mayonnaise. I had a sense of what I was getting into, but for someone who doesn't even like ketchup on his steaks (incidentally, it was offered on the side here, along with French fries), this was all a little much.

Rather than the rib eye used by most of the cheesesteak purveyors at home, Not Just Jazz by the Bay starts with the tenderloin, marinated prior to cooking. And instead of landing on a hot, oiled grill, the meat is roasted and then thinly sliced. For the sake of comparisons alone, I'll allege there's a faint resemblance to the sliced steaks you'll find at Steve's Prince of Steaks or Talk of the Town, with one crucial difference: The meat here tastes like cardboard.

Meanwhile, the gooey, unctuous "pizza cheese" that topped the steak earned several points for authenticity. Supposedly a blend of cheddar and mozzarella, its ability to coat the meat mirrored that of Cheez Whiz, with likely half the preservatives.

According to Mendes, when the sandwich returned to the menu several months ago, the kitchen director decided to reduce its size. For this I was thankful. The 8-inch roll — reminiscent of the whole-wheat bread offered at Subway — housed components that were more than enough for me. But with the 325 rupee price tag (about $7) significantly exceeding what I usually pay for a meal here, I finished it off.

HALF OFF DEPOT

Why live life at full price?

If Not Just Jazz by the Bay introduced the cheesesteak to India, I wondered whether I would taste its influence at Mumbai's one other aspirant: Indigo Deli. Indigo's owner, Rahul Akerkar, is Mumbai's Stephen Starr. Born here to a German-Jewish mother and an Indian father, Akerkar bounced around the kitchens of a number of New York restaurants before returning to establish his own culinary mini-empire (four restaurants). He opened his original spot, Indigo, in 1999. When Indigo Deli, his second effort, opened in 2004, the "Philly Cheesesteak" was a part of the opening menu.

As one might expect from a New Yorker, this is not a cheesesteak. What the menu described as shredded beef turned out to be chunks of tender meat covered in barbecue sauce, with red onions, jalapeños and bits of cheddar cheese mixed in. Served on a 6-inch multigrain French roll made in-house (probably the best Western-style bread I've had in the city — it could easily hold its own in the basket at Metropolitan Bakery), this sandwich worked. But even a fresh Liscio's roll would barely give this creation a sliver of authenticity.

Supervisor Tabrej Sheikh was more eager to talk about the Indigo Deli's house-cured pastrami — "aged 21 days" — and reuben sandwich, but he did allow that the cheesesteak "is very popular among our guests." I really can't blame them, and I'd be even more enthusiastic were it labeled a barbecue steak sub, or something else shorn of the misleading geographical signifier.

Maybe we should do what they do in Europe. Just like a sparkling wine can't be called Champagne unless it comes from the Champagne region of France, we could limit use of the term "cheesesteak" to the Delaware Valley. Everywhere else, from Milwaukee to Mumbai, say hello to the "Philly Knockoff Sandwich." Consume at your own peril.

(editorial@citypaper.net)

Dan Packel, a native Philadelphian, has lived and traveled extensively in India over the last six years.