The cheesesteak vs. chopped-cheese debate we didn’t ask for | Weekly Report Card

Only Michelin could stroll into Philly, toss out a few Bibs, and accidentally ignite the culinary culture war no one ordered: a supposed chopped-cheese–cheesesteak showdown.

The New York Times floated the idea that the new-school cheesesteak — Angelo’s, Del Rossi’s — drifts toward chopped-cheese territory because the meat, onions, and Cooper Sharp get mixed on the grill. Cute theory. But here’s the thing: A chopped cheese is its own iconic New York bodega classic, built on ground beef, American cheese, lettuce, tomato — totally different lineage and purpose.

A cheesesteak — even the modern kind — is shaved ribeye, a serious roll, and cheese that melts exactly the way it should: smooth, fast, and all over everything.

The techniques overlap, sure. But the sandwiches? Different planets. So the comparison isn’t just off — it’s what Philly considers fighting words. And the city reacted accordingly. Food bloggers talked about Michelin night like it was an Eagles playoff game (one literally said that). Influencers immediately started redrawing their Cheesesteak Power Rankings. And somewhere, at least one guy in a Dalessandro’s hoodie absolutely yelled “GROUND BEEF?!” at his phone.

Still, Michelin giving three Bibs to cheesesteaks is a flex for Philly.

The chopped cheese gets to remain the king of the New York bodega. The cheesesteak stays what it has always been: our heavyweight champion, our civic identity, and the thing we’ll absolutely go to war over any day of the week.

Realtor.com says almost half of all out-of-town clicks on Philly apartments are now coming from New Yorkers — which feels less like a housing trend and more like a warning label.

Locals used to make up 68% of rental searches here. Now it’s 45%, because Philadelphians know better than to tempt fate by moving when their rent might stay the same for one more year. Meanwhile NYC views exploded from 7% to 25%, which means New Yorkers are basically doom-scrolling Zillow and whispering, “Wait… $1,743 for how many square feet?”

To be fair, it tracks: We have cheaper rent, and they have… whatever the opposite of space is. But seeing “New York dominates interest in Philadelphia apartments” in print still hits like learning your ex suddenly loves your favorite dive bar they made fun of.

And let’s be honest — the minute they get here, they’re going to act shocked that our subway costs $2, our pizza is good, and nobody cares that they once lived in Astoria.

HBO’s Task is officially filming a second season — and in peak Brad Ingelsby fashion, it’s once again happening right here in Delco and the Philly burbs. Because the man refuses to let anyone fake a Wawa parking lot on a Hollywood backlot. Respect.

Pennsylvania is throwing down an eye-popping $49.8 million film tax credit (the largest ever in the state) to bring the production back, and the return is massive: nearly $200 million pumped into the Pa. economy, 3,700 jobs, and months of Mark Ruffalo-adjacent chaos in Delaware and Chester Counties. Season 1 alone brought in $230 million and hired 777 Pennsylvanians — not quite a full SEPTA line, but definitely enough people to keep one running on time for once.

Season 2 will be mostly new faces — because, spoiler, a lot of Season 1 characters met the Ingelsby Special (violent crime plus emotional devastation) — but the important things remain: flawless Delco accents, real Philly-area diners, and location shoots that make us yell, “Oh my god that’s literally my cousin’s block.”

After 25-plus years of slingshotting tourists 100 feet over Wildwood like human bait for seagulls, Morey’s Piers is finally retiring the SkyCoaster — the part-hang-glider, part-near-death-experience that every Shore kid swore they’d ride “next summer” and then somehow never did.

The park announced the closure with a sweet Facebook eulogy (“thanks to everyone who took the leap”), which is honestly generous given the number of YouTube videos featuring people screaming, praying, or going fully silent like their soul left their body mid-swing.

The SkyCoaster was a rite of passage. A wedding almost happened on it, Philly Voice reminded us. A Harlem Globetrotter once made a trick shot from it. And thousands of visiting bennys used it to prove they were “not scared,” only to wobble off like newborn deer afterward.

Morey’s says Adventure Pier is getting a reimagining, so expect something new, taller, faster, or designed specifically to haunt parents’ dreams. But the SkyCoaster had an undeniably iconic run — equal parts nostalgia, adrenaline, and pure Wildwood chaos energy.

Rough week for a hometown giant. Campbell’s — the Camden-based pantry staple that’s practically a regional landmark — is dealing with a lawsuit alleging that one of its vice presidents made racist comments about Indian coworkers and sneered that Campbell’s food is “highly processed for poor people.”

Yes, that Campbell’s. The one we all grew up with. The one whose factory you can practically smell from the Walt Whitman.

The former employee says he secretly recorded the meeting — supposed to be about his salary — because he “had a feeling something wasn’t right.” The tape, aired by Detroit’s NBC affiliate, includes lines about “3D-printed chicken” and “I don’t buy this stuff.” Campbell’s immediately put the exec on leave and fired off a statement reminding everyone that (1) they’re proud of their food, (2) the chicken is real, and (3) the guy works in IT, not in soup … which is the most Camden version of “this isn’t our department” imaginable.

It’s an ugly mix of alleged racism, retaliation, and brand self-owning, and it stings extra here because Campbell’s is ours — a South Jersey institution woven into Philly kitchens, lunch boxes, and snow-day memories.

Before she was in Varsity Blues, Legally Blonde, and running from zombies in Resident Evil, Ali Larter was… a Cherry Hill kid eating snapper soup in Old City. Peak Philly/Jersey upbringing.

Back in the ’90s, she and her mom were having lunch at Bookbinder’s, reported WSJ, when a talent agent walked up to their table and basically said, “Hey, kid — want to be on TV?” That’s the most Philly way to get discovered: not at a casting call, not in L.A., but over a bowl of soup so dense the steam has to fight its way out. And of course it was for a Phillies commercial. What else?

From there, Larter went from neighborhood ads to Ford Models to Tokyo to Milan before Hollywood came calling. Meanwhile, kids at Cherry Hill High were seeing her in local clothing ads and not knowing what cafeteria table she belonged at (classic Jersey teen behavior).

And even now, decades later, starring in big franchise films and the new season of Landman — she still talks about Philly and South Jersey like people who actually grew up here: fondly and with receipts.

Her whole life changed because of one lunch in Philly.

Only in Philadelphia could a former long snapper become a celebrity magician, motivational speaker, and honorary councilman of pure vibes — and still be best known as “the Eagles player who did magic tricks on Ellen.”

But Jon Dorenbos’ latest act? Headlining a Tony Robbins mega-seminar in front of thousands, closing the night with card tricks, comedy, and a monologue so emotional it could make a parking enforcement officer weep, reported The Athletic. The man went from surviving unimaginable trauma as a kid, to 162 straight games for the Birds, to literally having magic save his life when a trade revealed an aortic aneurysm.

And somehow he’s still the same guy who would sign your thigh tattoo of himself and yell “Go Birds!” in front of a packed arena of Californians who have no idea what a hoagie is.

Dorenbos is pure Philly: gritty, funny, a little chaotic, impossible not to root for, and fully committed to making you believe life is magic — even when he’s throwing a deck of cards so hard it becomes an OSHA violation.

There are inspirational speakers, and then there’s a Philadelphia long snapper turning trauma into joy and reminding everyone to “never stop playing catch with your 12-year-old self.”