Would you try this Cheesesteak-flavored olive oil? We did.
Philly chefs and members of the Inquirer newsroom had thoughts.
“It tastes like oil from a real cheesesteak wrapper,” proclaims the slogan of Mama-Tee’s Philly cheesesteak-flavored extra virgin olive oil.
Mama-Tee’s are community fridges, notable for their bright yellow paint jobs, that are scattered around Philadelphia. The cheesesteak oil is part of a fundraiser to combat food insecurity locally, along with three other flavored oils: Basil Bliss, Truffle Love, and Pepper Pleaser. (Proceeds go to helping fill the fridges with food.) So if the oil prompts cheesesteak-flavored burps, it would do so in the name of a noble cause.
We at the Inquirer had to do a taste test.
Is this merely a novelty or could it have legitimate culinary applications?
The ingredients of the Philly cheesesteak-flavored oil intriguingly are only “extra virgin olive oil” and “onion flavor.” How could these two ingredients, neither of which involves cheese nor steak encompass the nuanced experience of consuming an actual cheesesteak? The Inquirer sought to get to the bottom of these burning questions.
The first round of cheesesteak experts were summoned.
“It smells like a deli case,” said food editor Margaret Eby. “There is a cheesiness to it. It’s like that cheese oil that gets trapped in a charred, upturned pepperoni cup on your pizza.”
“I think it should be called ‘hoagie oil,’” said food reporter Beatrice Forman.
“It is like unwrapping a hoagie,” agreed critic Craig LaBan. “When you get the vinaigrette soaking through the wrapper. And it tastes like French’s fried onions, but burnt.”
“I don’t know what it could be used for,” said food reporter Michael Klein.
“It tastes like old fryer oil,” grimaced reporter Ryan Briggs. “It’s gravitating towards capturing that cheesesteak shop smell when they’re frying all the onions.”
Reporter Max Marin poured the oil over his you tiao, a Chinese savory cruller, while at lunch at Lau Kee in Chinatown. “It’s got a chemical taste that makes me think there’s a number in one of its ingredients.” But did it make his you tiao taste like a cheesesteak? “It does not.”
Various Philly chefs were more open-minded in the cheesesteak oil’s applications.
“I think the flavor is great,” said Juan De Ocampo, sous chef at Fairmount’s Manong, as he poured the oil onto a pile of fried shrimp chips.
“I kind of like the cheesesteak oil,” said dancerobot’s Justin Bacharach. “It’s pungent and although I don’t cook with olive oil, I would use it to add a little funk and fat to a dish like to dress an antipasto with South Philly vibes like sharp provolone and soppressata, and in the Japanese canon, I think it would be fun drizzled on top of a gyudon (beef and onions over rice) where you’d normally use mayu (a Japanese scorched black garlic oil).”
“It feels really heavy,” said Melissa Fernando, the chef behind long-running pop-up Sri’s Company. “In Sri Lankan food, we mostly use coconut oil to cook, but I suppose I’d use this to sauté onions and garlic.”
That perceived “heaviness” is easily addressed, according to 637 Sushi Club’s Kevin Yanaga, no stranger to unusual pairings. “I just need a lemon or something acidic with it. I could then use it on a fluke crudo. It’s rough and funky on its own, but salt and acid would help.”
After careful consideration of these diverse opinions, the cheesesteak oil had only one test remaining to undergo: a side by side comparison between it and the oil from an actual cheesesteak wrapper.
A Del Rossi’s cheesesteak (wit onions, of course) was summoned. A wrapper was licked. A shot of cheesesteak oil was taken. The wrapper had the distinct advantage of beefiness. When applied directly to the cheesesteak, the oil oddly enhanced the cheesesteak’s flavor. And another thing the oil had in common with a real cheesesteak? Real cheesy, oniony burps after consumption.
Mama-Tee’s Philly cheesesteak oil ($19) can be purchased at Wegman’s in King of Prussia, though more locations may be added soon.
