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by returning SILF contributor Robyn Mincher

Bada Bing’s Philly Cheesesteak: a mound of unapologetically greasy chopped steak stuffed in a pillow-y hoagie roll from Philly’s famous Amoroso Baking Company, loaded with warm ‘wiz’ nacho cheese sauce and caramelized onions. The combination of sizzling beef, shamelessly (and wonderfully) pasteurized cheese sauce, sweet onions and a soft roll glares you in the face. Big bites only – sandwich is to be consumed in just under five minutes. Slow or polite eaters – stop reading now.

This comes from Bada Bing’s food truck that scoots around Arlington – check their twitter for updated locations.

I’d see Bing squatted on a stool in the darkest corner of Asylum, swallowing half bottle of Bud in one gulp before grunting to the bartender for another. He’d give off an aroma of brawny, marinated manly sweat – a meaty sweetness only accomplished by the wind of the road. His thick, coarse chest hair struggled to be contained behind his leather vest, and his beer-swollen brawn and beefy biceps bulged out of his t-shirt – skull-on-fiery-wheels topped by the words ‘Driven by the Spirit.’ He looked like he was casted from that scene in Pee-wee Herman’s Big Adventure where Pee-wee hops on the bar and dance-charms the bikers. Except he wouldn’t be charmed. Bing would pulverize Pee-wee.

We’d ride to Front Royal on his 1954 BMW r25 classic, with me perched on the back barely able to enclose my arms around his meaty waist. We’d shoot back tequila at bars named after one-syllable first names, and then exchange a sloppy kiss tasting of thick, gooey wiz. He’d buy me chaps and call me Cindy.

I would delightfully discover that through all his brawn, Bing had a soft, doughy interior. He’d always spot a rainbow in the sky. Bing would stop for crossing ducklings and peach frozen yogurt, and I’d melt into his beefy arms as we rode off into the sunset.

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