Top Ten Nick Paumgarten Pieces: #10 "Tables For Two: Tony Luke's"

Nick Paumgarten (New Yorker illustration)

Nick Paumgarten is one of my favorite New Yorker writers. Over the last fourteen years, he’s produced more than four-hundred-and-thirty pieces, including profiles, reportage, Talk stories, “Table For Two” columns, and newyorker.com posts. I want to celebrate his work. During the next few weeks, I’ll pick what I consider to be his ten best pieces and briefly comment on each of them. Today, I begin with my #10 choice, his classic “Tables For Two: Tony Luke’s” (April 11, 2005). 

This brief piece is so delectable it’s worth quoting in full:

Funny that, of all the regional cuisines to migrate to New York, the last should be that of South Philadelphia, where the cheesesteak is king—and not just king, but a large and unruly monarch. This is obstinately so at Tony Luke’s, near the Port Authority Bus Terminal. The cheesesteaks here are about a foot long, and they are served without the benefit of being cut in half. As a result, as you eat one, the structural integrity starts to go; well-cheesified clumps of steak ooze out the sides. Quick flanking bites along the roll’s perimeter don’t much help, and soon you find yourself pushing the thing into your mouth like a log into a chipper. In the brief period between the beginning and the end of this process, and in the moments immediately afterward, as you decimate a stack of napkins, you may conclude that there has never been a better sandwich, and you will pine for another. This is where the cheese fries come in.

In Philly, Tony Luke’s has several outlets. The one here is a franchise, opened by Evan Stein, a Villanova native who spent two months last year living with Luke himself and apprenticing in the flagship stall, on East Oregon Avenue. Every ingredient is the same, down to the moderately tough rolls and the Liberty Bell deli paper. Stein even emulated the take-out setup: yellow fluorescent light, stool-and-counter layout, concrete floors resembling a sidewalk. Occasionally, there are authentic customers, too: expats in Eagles caps demanding hoagies “wit” (as in with onions) and wondering when Stein is going to start serving “breffis” (April 1).

As for the cheesesteak particulars: at Tony Luke’s they don’t chop the meat. They sort of slice and scramble it. And they are not dogmatic about Cheez Whiz; you can go for finer stuff without shame. The irony is that the signature sandwich here isn’t the cheesesteak but the roast-pork Italian, a marvellous concoction of spicy roasted pork, sharp provolone, and broccoli rabe. The hint of bitterness is so peculiar that you can be excused, as you stuff it in lengthwise, for thinking that it is good for yiz. 

Every sentence is perfect. I smile every time I read it. The line that always gets me is “Quick flanking bites along the roll’s perimeter don’t much help, and soon you find yourself pushing the thing into your mouth like a log into a chipper.” What an image! It’s so real I feel I’m actually shoving that Philly cheesesteak into my own salivating chipper. What “Tony Luke’s” tells about Paumgarten’s style is that it’s strongly imagistic. It calls up vivid pictures. This will be confirmed repeatedly as we look at other examples of his extraordinary work.