Philly's Favorite -- Expatriates Find Comfort At This Cheese-Steak Shop

I HAD SCRAPPLE FOR BREAKFAST THE other day, which is something I don't think I had ever intended to do. The reason I ate two slices of fried scrapple derived from a bantering argument I overheard between Renee LeFevre and two off-duty Seattle Seahawks.

Renee LeFevre is the owner-proprietor-cook of an engaging two-tiered restaurant called Philadelphia Fevre Steak & Hoagie Shop, 2332 E. Madison St. The specialty of the house is the geographically specific sandwich known as the Philly steak sandwich, or the Philly cheese steak sandwich, or the Philly cheese steak, the Philly pepper steak or the Philly cheese steak "with."

The "with" means with fried onions.

LeFevre is a transplanted Philadelphian and by every account I have heard (including endorsements from other transplanted Philadelphians) makes the best Philly steak sandwich in Seattle.

But, back to the scrapple scrap.

LeFevre was kidding with the two Seahawk tackles, Ron Mattes (recently traded to New York) and Curt Singer - both Pennsylvanians.

"Do you like scrapple?" she asked.

Mattes nodded yes.

Singer, who is from western Pennsylvania, said:

"Scrapple? Scrapple is the leftovers from the good food we eat in Pittsburgh and ship back east to Philly." He smiled broadly and ordered another bottle of Rolling Rock.

"How come you don't have any Genessee (beer)?" he added.

"They wouldn't ship it out," LeFevre said.

Which was unusual, because everything else was "shipped out." The thin-sliced frozen beef for the sandwiches, the scrapple (packed by the Habbersett Bros. of Folcraft, Penn.) and the TastyKake Butterscotch Krimpets.

"We have it all Fed-Expressed out here," she said. "Some people have suggested that we could substitute Hostess for the TastyKakes. Hah."

LeFevre, who had been an employee of the city of Philadelphia, came to Seattle the way so many of us did - on a short visit to a friend. "I first came out in '79. Just to visit a friend. Then I came again. By the time I made my third visit, I said: `This is it. I gotta go.' I moved out in '82."

But she couldn't find a job.

"So, I had to do something. Everybody who leaves Philadelphia always says they'll open a Philly steak sandwich stand - because they are kind of famous and they usually do well - and so I did."

She has done well. Most of her clients are a mix of the Madison neighborhood and emigrants from Philadelphia.

"I've been asked to expand," she shrugged, "but this place is enough. I make a living. What more do you need?"

Why ship beef 3,000 miles to Seattle?

"I started out using rib-eye beef here," she said. "And eye of the round. But it became prohibitive." She slapped three portions of the frozen meat on the grill. "This stuff is made up by the ton in Philadelphia, from a mixture of different beef cuts, and it is sold all over the city. It was easier and less expensive to have it packed there and shipped here."

The Philly steak sandwich (believed to have been invented by Pat and Henry Olivieri of Pat's Restaurant in Philadelphia in the 1930s) is deceptively simple and surprisingly good.

The thin-sliced beef is placed on the steel grill and cooked until it can be almost minced by a spatula. Fried onions ("with") are usually added. Two slices of white American cheese - or sometimes a squirt of manufactured cheese from a plastic bottle (this does not, in even the most remote sense, constitute an endorsement of cheeses in plastic bottles) are placed over the simmering meat along with optional chopped red sport peppers and a split roll of Italian or French bread. LeFevre uses a soft Gai's hoagie bun.

After a few more minutes of heating, the sandwich is lifted upside down from the grill and, using the spatula to crease, refolded into a hot sandwich about 10 inches long. They are very substantial and very filling, and it's all too easy to eat two of them. They are priced between $4.35 and $5, depending upon what you have on them.

"Her Philly steak sandwiches are the best in Seattle," Mattes said. "In fact, they are better than most of what you can get back in Philly."

Singer ordered another sandwich.

"I knew you would," LeFevre grinned. "Why do you think I had it on the grill? I already started to cook it."

And another Rolling Rock. LeFevre brought out a frozen cube of scrapple and a butterscotch TastyKake. I nibbled the TastyKake.

"Every kid in Philadelphia went to school with a package of TastyKakes in their lunch every day," she said. "I know I did."

I nibbled cautiously. I went through basic training with a couple of hundred draftees from South Philly who got TastyKakes in packages from home. As far as I could tell, they were all on a permanent sugar high. They were also, as far as I could tell, the only happy people in all of Fort Campbell, Ky.

"A little too sweet," I said.

Renee looked a bit disappointed. Sometimes I should lie.

She wrapped up the scrapple in a double bag. "Thaw it out, dip it in flour and fry it," she said.

I read the package label. Habbersett had been making scrapple since 1863. Ingredients?

"You don't want to know," LeFevre said. "They have everything in there except the squeal."

Pork stock, pork, pork skins, cornmeal, pork hearts, pork liver, pork tongues, wheat flour, salt and spices.

Scrapple, according to food writer and historian John Mariani, is a Pennsylvania Dutch dish popular in Philadelphia since at least 1817. It's a combination of minced meats and porridge that can be eaten either hot or cold. It's often combined with apple slices and brown sugar.

I tried it the next day, fried with eggs, and enjoyed every bit of it. But I decided to put off a cholesterol check for at least a week.

W.C. Fields chose for his epitaph: "On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia." Upon recent contemplation I can see why.

Fortunately for us, and with thanks to Renee LeFevre and her expatriate clientele, we no longer need to make the trip.

XXPhiladelphia Fevre Steak & Hoagie Shop, 2332 E. Madison St. East coast sandwiches and desserts ($4 to $8), 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Friday. Closed Saturday, Sunday. Beer. Major credit cards. Small nonsmoking area. 323-1000.

JOHN HINTERBERGER'S FOOD COLUMNS AND RESTAURANT REVIEWS APPEAR SUNDAYS IN PACIFIC AND FRIDAYS IN TEMPO. HE ALSO WRITES A WEDNESDAY COLUMN FOR THE SCENE SECTION OF THE SEATTLE TIMES. GREG GILBERT IS A TIMES STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER.