The New England Steak Bomb

I grew up thinking that a Philly Cheesesteak had green peppers in it. It’s not all that rare to find something called a Philly cheesesteak on menus in the midwest–however, they usually turn out to be sandwiches of thin-sliced or shaved steak griddled with onions, green peppers, sometimes even mushrooms (see the Baba’s cheesesteak in my recent Steak Sandwich piece), and topped with provolone cheese rather than American or Cheese Whiz.

I don’t know why the Philly cheesesteak has been misrepresented in this way throughout my life. It’s funny, though–the Steak Bomb, commonly served throughout New England, appears to be a dead ringer for this mutant cheesesteak. How did we end up with the Steak Bomb, but calling it a cheesesteak? It’s probably no more complicated than cheese+steak=cheesesteak, but it’s not doing either sandwich any favors. Philly cheesesteaks are great, and their fans are naturally protective of the name, but steak bombs turn out to be pretty good too.

Where does the name steak bomb come from? Is it because of the overstuffed, “gut bomb” nature of the sandwich? Is it the spiciness of the onions and peppers? And where did the sandwich itself originate? I can’t say. The best I can do is tell you that in 2007, a shop called USA Subs in Derry, NH, tried to patent the term “steak bomb” and get their newer competitor, Great American Subs in neighboring Londonderry, to remove steak bombs from their menu. At the time, the sandwich was a commonplace item on menus all over New England and had been for decades. I do not know what the outcome of the case was, but I can say that as of today Great American Subs still has steak bombs on their menu, including a massive 21″ version.

I’ve been reading about them all month, and have yet to find a consensus on what constitutes a steak bomb. Yes, there are commonalities, but no definitive picture. There’s the guy on Youtube who’s such an inept cook I was afraid he’d hurt himself, and another where the guy literally put the steak into a food processor; the blog claiming the perfect steak bomb is made with steak tips rather than shaved steak, but otherwise appears to be nothing more than an excuse to post highly questionable “deal” links; recipes with marinara, recipes from Australia, recipes for steak wrapped in biscuit dough wrapped in bacon (save that guy for later). Some of the descriptions called for salami and some didn’t.

My research didn’t seem to reveal a real consensus on the steak bomb recipe or methods of preparation, and few of the descriptions rang true to me. I asked my friend Arafat, who lives in Boston, to describe a steak bomb to me. At least, I perfectly remember asking him, and I remember him describing them to me as shaved steak cooked on a griddle with onions, green peppers, mushrooms, and served in a torpedo roll with provolone cheese and sometimes, upon request, “hots.” However, that conversation appears not to exist in our Facebook history, meaning that either I have dementia or the Russians Facebook interference is not only undermining democracy but also this blog. When I asked a food group on Facebook about whether steak bombs had salami in them, one person responded “it sounds like something they’d do in Rhode Island.” I do not know if that is an accurate assessment or simply a slam on Rhode Island.

Regardless, this Youtube video looks close to what I expected.

So I loaded up on shaved steak, diced onions, green peppers, and mushrooms. I picked up provolone cheese and even Genoa salami in case that whole Rhode Island thing was true. A half-assed Google search on the word “hots” with regard to sandwiches in New England told me that this probably referred to a cherry pepper relish. I bought some of that as well.

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To start, I melted some butter on my electric griddle, grabbed roughly equal handfuls (handsful?) of onions, peppers, and mushrooms, and began sautéing them at a fairly high heat.

Once they were coated in butter and the mushrooms had begun cooking, I added some shaved steak to the griddle as well and seasoned it with salt and pepper.

Using two spatulas, I pulled apart the shaved steak as it cooked, and eventually mixed it in with the onions, peppers, and mushrooms.

Arranging this mixture into a roughly sub-sandwich-shaped-and-sized rectangle, I covered it with several slices of provolone cheese, which almost immediately began melting.

While these preparations had been going on, I’d split open a hard roll, spread it with butter, and toasted it on the other side of the skillet.

Transferring the perfectly sub-shaped meatpile onto the roll, however, appears to be an operation that requires more practice. I ended up with as much meat above the cheese as below it.

This then is a steak bomb in its simplest form, and also roughly maps to what I thought of as a cheesesteak growing up, though more overstuffed than I’d generally see in the taverns of my hometown. In fact, this sandwich was almost impossible to fold into an actual sandwich. I’m not saying I ate it open-faced, I’m just saying… it took some doing.

Of course, before I got started, I added some of the cherry pepper relish, or “hots.” People of Boston, please let me know if “hots” is a thing or if I’ve completely invented this conversation in my sandwich-fevered mind.

I’m sure this would have been a good sandwich without the relish. However, with the relish, it approached greatness. The steak and vegetables were juicy and intensely savory, simply seasoned, and barely glued together by the slightly aromatic provolone cheese. The hot pepper relish gave this the kick it needed–the acidity, the salt, the spice–taking it from good to great.

I still had more steak, onions, peppers, mushrooms, hard rolls, and provolone cheese, not to mention that Genoa salami I’d picked up. It would have been criminally wasteful not to make more sandwiches, and try the (apparently) Rhode Island version of the sandwich. Descriptions of the technique for incorporating salami into the steak bomb vary between placing a layer of salami directly inside the roll with the steak mixture on top, and cutting the salami into strips and griddling it along with the steak. I went with the latter, adding several cut-up slices of salami once the steak was mostly cooked and incorporated into the vegetables.

I had only been eyeballing my proportions, but by the time I got around to arranging the meat into a sandwich shape and melting the cheese, I realized I had more than I could fit into a single sandwich this time–this would make about 1.5 sandwiches similar to the previous one, or 2 slightly-less-overstuffed sandwiches.

So I made two slightly smaller sandwiches, and it was a good decision. I spread the pepper relish on the upper half of the hard roll and laid the meat and cheese on the lower half. This is a much better-proportioned version of the steak bomb (but perhaps less apt to be described as a “bomb” of any kind)

I don’t believe that the salami added anything to the sandwich though. The flavor wasn’t substantially different than what we’d had previously–perhaps a little dryer, since the meat had stayed on the griddle slightly longer, and the sandwich was definitely easier to handle. I didn’t really get any salami flavor though, and my favorite part was still the pepper relish.

I would love to hear from any New England readers of the Sandwich Tribunal and get your thoughts on steak bombs. Did I get it right? Do these sandwiches look like what you think of when you hear the words “steak bomb?” Any hidden origin stories out there? Let us know in the comments below. Thanks!