I could have it shipped over at ridiculous cost for a jar of sauce, but I’m not stupid. It seems almost impossible to get the key ingredient here in London, which is Cheez-whiz. I’ve never had one since. And seeing as how it’s unlikely I’m going to be in Philadelphia for a while, I decided to take matters into my own hands before my desire for one made me do something silly. I have four abiding memories of that trip: waiting in the atrium of the Showboat casino in Atlantic City while my dad very quickly lost some money on the slot machines eating oyster balls, possibly with horseradish sauce in a seafood restaurant somewhere recording the local radio station onto a cassette to bring back to England with me and George taking us to an open food truck to eat the famous Philly Cheesesteak. I was about 14 when my dad and I went to Philadelphia to stay with family. It is, though, where I first met this sandwich and it has now reached an almost mythical status in my mind. I don’t even think we went downtown, let alone west. And to be honest, I’ve only ever been to Philly once, and my memory of it is a little hazy.

Of course, times have changed since I was Will Smith back in the late eighties. Chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool, and all shooting some b-ball outside of the school.

In West Philadelphia, born and raised, on the playground where I spent most of my days.

Whiz wit