The best cheesesteak I’ve ever eaten was at Pat’s King of Steaks in South Philly. But that could’ve been because we stopped there before a 76ers/Lakers game in 1983, a gift from Bonnie’s Uncle Bernie.

We waited in line outside, braving the January cold. The servers were hustling, impatient with anyone who didn’t spit out their order. “Wit wiz?” the guy asked. (I froze. “Whuh?”) “Wit wiz?” he barked.

“He means Cheez Whiz,” Bernie said, smiling, and suggested I get it. Perplexed, I replied, “Okay, with Whiz.”

The sandwich was sloppy and delicious, and the Whiz was fine. I was about to see my favorite athlete, Julius Erving, play live, so they could’ve put boiled mutton inside that Amoroso roll and I would’ve gleefully scarfed it down.

As it turns out, Pat’s (established 1930) is widely considered to be the birthplace of the Philly cheesesteak. So I got off to an auspicious start. I’ve since eaten many worthy versions at the Jersey Shore, but don’t recall having one in Tampa Bay that I’d write to my in-laws in Philly about.

Continuing my quest, I chose Little Philly in St. Pete’s Grand Central District; and Colonial Corner Hoagie Shop in Pinellas Park. Twenty years ago, Philadelphia magazine published an article saying that the place made the best cheesesteaks outside the City of Brotherly Love.

LITTLE PHILLY

It was a bright 75 degress at 3:30 Monday when I parked in front of Little Philly, located at Central Avenue and 21st Street. The restaurant opened in April, and was co-founded by chef Sean Ford, Philly born and raised.

Sun shone through the open garage door to reveal walls plastered with graffiti and Philly memorabilia. Sophie — the young, dry-witted counter person — was busy drawing a Pittsburgh Steelers logo on a promotional card for Sunday’s Eagles-Steelers game. Turns out she’s from Pittbsburgh, and a Steelers fan. She was too fun and chatty for me to hold that against her.

I ordered The Plain Steak platter ($15, plus $2 for fries) with American Cheese and fried onions, with “sweets” (sweet peppers) on the side, plus a (Philadelphia-made) Hank’s Vanilla Cream soda ($4),

Appearance

Although I was seated at counter, Sophie served me the sandwich go-style: rolled up in white wax paper. The fries came in a separate small bag. I opened the package, spilled the fries onto the paper. The sandwich looked like it had plenty of potential, although the 9-inch roll was smaller the ones I’ve had in the past.

The thin-sliced ribeye was appropriately well done. It wasn’t as juicy as some cheesesteaks I’ve had, but neither was it dry. Tender and gristle-free, it delivered a robust beefy flavor. The sandwich could’ve used more chopped onions, I would’ve prefered the American cheese more melty so it oozed into the beef. I added the peppers after a few bites, which provided some extra spark.

The bread was exemplary, staking out the middle ground between fluffy and firm. Sophie informed me that it’s made at a bakery in Orlando that uses its own recipe for Amoroso rolls. Little Philly gets deliveries every other day, and if the rolls get finished off, the place shuts down and puts up a sign that says Closed Due to Lack of Fresh Bread.

The fries were MacDonald’s-shaped, but without the grease and excess salt — which is to say, they were really good.

COLONIAL CORNER HOAGIE SHOP

The one-day cold snap on Thursday had started to warm up at 2:30 as we pulled into a parking space of a strip mall at 49th Street and 72nd Avenue.

Colonial Corner’s sign looked as if it might’ve been the original one when the place opened in 1977. As soon as we walked in, our noses got hit with that smell — y’know that cheesesteak smell … It smelled like … Philly. The small place was pretty busy for a mid-afternoon. The founder and owner, Joanne Casciato, 83, was kibbitzing with customers. She’s from Chester, Pa., about 13 miles southwest of South Philly. She told us she comes to the shop every day.

Bonnie and I decided to split the Cheesesteak ($10.99) with grilled onions and sweets on the side. We also got French Fries ($3.99) and pulled sodas ($1.99) from the drink cooler (which had a small TV on top playing a Hallmark movie with the sound off). We sat at a plain four-top and waited. The only music was the clacking of a metal spatula against the grill.

Appearance

The sandwich was served on paper in a red basket. The meat was more finely chopped than the one at Little Philly. No cheese was visible, meaning it had melted in with beef. The fries were. your standard crinkle cut, golden brown.

Joanne told us that she only uses imported ribeye in her cheesesteaks, and it tasted as such. Hearty, sapid. The American Swiss cheese had indeed melded with the meat, and if I’m picking nits, I’d say that the sandwich could’ve used a bit more cheese. Likewise with the onions, which were finely chopped. Clearly, the recipe called for the beef to be the star attraction.

The bread was a marvel, airy and soft, effortless to bite into. (Joanne said she has a bakery in St. Pete that makes the 9-inch rolls according to her recipe.)

The fries, piping hot at first, provided the kind of flavor and familiarity that you get at a good diner.

And the Winner of the Cheesesteak Scuffle Is …

Colonial Corner Hoagie Shop.

These restaurants represented two basic schools of cheesesteakery — one where the individual ingredients stand on their own (sliced beef, sliced cheese); the other with the ingredients more finely cut and combined, evoking a more homogenous flavor and gooey(ish) texture.

While I like both types — and I liked both of these sandwiches — I generally prefer the latter. Ergo, the decision.