We also learned of the existence of an almost-extinct style of cheesesteak that turned out to have a lot in common with the hoagie, Philly’s given name for a sub.

Here are our top ten, in order. I cannot say the list is entirely democratic. Although all five of us voted, and all votes were counted, I tinkered a little, moving some places up a notch, some down. We were unanimous in our choice of the best and the worst.

1. Sonny’s Famous Steaks

Located near the Liberty Bell, the very heart of Philadelphia tourism, Sonny’s is ideally situated for visitors hoping to try the best cheesesteak in town. The shop is a few doors away from the more celebrated Campo’s, setting up a potential 21st century competition between the two, much like the classic 20th century duel of Pat’s vs. Geno’s, the fading ex-champs of South Philly. Sonny’s is eerily uncluttered, with a few chrome-rimmed, fifties-style, communal tables. It feels like a small-town meeting space occasionally occupied by the Cub Scouts or the Lions Club. Service is terrific—the folks behind the counter can’t do enough for you. I asked for more onions, and they were brought to our table. Want more napkins or more sauce? Help yourself. The rolls are very soft, the beef juicier and more plentiful than most, the provolone nicely gooey, the Cheez Whiz well integrated into the meat. What a combination—wonderful cheesesteaks and attentive service. That’s almost impossible to find.

2. Philip’s Steaks

You order at a stand much like the kind I remember from family trips to the boardwalk in Atlantic City when I was a kid. At Philip’s, you pick up your cheesesteak, then do an about-face and eat standing up at a long, narrow, metal counter that stretches along the sidewalk. Of course, this style of dining is more fun when you’re facing the ocean, not West Passyunk Avenue. Our first sandwich was nice enough—freshly made, juicy meat, not quite enough onions. Then the manager, Joe Bianchi, recognized Didinger and said to him, “Want me to make you an old-fashioned?” I jumped in and said, “Of course he does,” wondering what this was all about. I’d never heard of it. Bianchi claimed this was the original cheesesteak, the real thing. It consisted of beef, provolone, grilled tomato, fried onions, black pepper, oregano, salt, and a few Italian long hots. It was more like a Massachusetts “steak bomb” than the traditional Philly cheesesteak. It was wonderful. Bianchi, who works at the stand six days a week, says his regulars always want it, and he’ll make one for anyone who asks.

3. Joe’s Steaks + Soda Shop (formerly Chink’s)

You can probably guess why the name was changed, but it didn’t happen quickly. More than 60 years passed before political correctness found its way to the Wissinoming neighborhood of Philadelphia. Joe’s is where I had the cheesesteak that made me recognize the virtues of Cheez Whiz. Kudos to the cook, a cute young woman in a tee-shirt, the only female cook I noticed at any of our ten stops. Joe’s is a charming, undersized, old-world luncheonette. It has fantastic milkshakes, no-longer-working jukebos in four of the booths, and a wall of photos showing the shop through the decades, back when it was still called Chink’s. Our waitress was another cute young woman in a tee-shirt. For that matter, almost everyone working there is a cute, young woman in a tee-shirt. I wonder if another political correctness crisis looms.

4. Campo’s Deli

Often talked about as the reigning cheesesteak champion, Campo’s offers a sandwich with plenty of meat. That’s not the problem. The provolone is insubstantial, almost tasteless, and vanishes into the roll. The chopped onions are way too big, much too clunky, and fatally undercooked. The beverage of choice is Campo’s own name-brand bottled water. The space is overcrowded, with tiny tables and uncomfortable chairs. After the five of us sat down with our sandwiches and drinks, I realized we needed more napkins, and that one of us was without a beverage. I went back and had a chat with the woman manning the cash register.