TOKYO — I’ve never gone out of my way to eat a cheesesteak far outside of Philadelphia. For one thing, I can devour a great one anytime I want when I’m home. I’d rather experience the flavors of different cultures when I travel. The cheesesteak is also one of those iconic foods that almost inevitably tastes wrong outside its home regions: The farther away you roam from its birthplace, the more chance that a false detail — the wrong roll, ingredient combo, precooked shortcut, or even menu description (the sandwich is not called a “Philly”) — is likely to result in something as soulless as a Subway replica.
Of course, I needed to travel all the way to Japan to be proven wrong. At Nihonbashi Philly, a restaurant in one of Tokyo’s business districts, a “Go Birds!” sign glowing kelly green out front is just a tease of the Brotherly Love vibes being conjured inside. There, I found Tomomi Chujo in a Penn sweatshirt hand-shaping dough for rolls in her tiny basement prep kitchen, coating them in sesame seeds, and proofing them to be baked fresh for our sandwiches to come.
Tomomi and her husband, chef Kosuke Chujo, are pretty much international Philly celebrities by now. Their efforts to create a faithful cheesesteak on the other side of the globe were brought to the world’s attention by Philly expat social media in 2023 and profiled a year later in The Inquirer by my colleague Jenn Ladd. They drew more than 1,000 hungry Philadelphians who lined up in hopes of tasting their cheesesteaks at a Kensington-Fishtown pop-up at Liberty Kitchen in May, when they were also honored by Philadelphia City Council for their efforts to rep Philadelphia abroad.
Considering I’m reluctant to wait in long lines for a cheesesteak even at Angelo’s, it’s no surprise I didn’t attend the Chujos’ Fishtown pop-up. But, like so many Philadelphians I know who’ve recently made the cheesesteak pilgrimage while visiting Japan, I was not going to waste a good trip to Tokyo without finally checking out Nihonbashi Philly. We waited until the final night of our trip. After nine days of consuming my weight in sushi, ramen, 7-Eleven onigiri, katsu, and yakitori skewers, I was ready for a little taste of home before actually boarding a plane back.
Inside the Chujos’ snug two-story restaurant and bar, I found a space bursting with so much Philly-themed memorabilia, it was almost like passing through the Portal in LOVE Park (at least before it was removed due to vandalism). There are empty Bird Gang whiskey bottles that have been converted into lamps, Kosuke’s extensive CD collection of favorite Philly singers (hello, Patti LaBelle), copious Wawa swag, Gritty art, SEPTA shot glasses, customer-scrawled walls etched with “Dallas Sucks” flair, and a bobblehead shrine of Philly sports figures that’s been transported here from the Elkins Park childhood bedroom of now-Tokyo-based sports journalist Dan Orlowitz, one of the Chujos’ earliest local cheerleaders: “That’s authentic Philly dust!” he says, nudging Donovan McNabb’s spring-loaded noggin into an enthusiastic wobble. “I don’t even have to go home anymore.”
Orlowitz, in fact, was mostly talking about the food. And I was impressed with Kosuke’s work at the griddle, as he rough-chopped good American rib eye and onions without overcooking them, using chopsticks to taste for proper seasoning, melting in cheese, and then scooping it all into Tomomi’s roll for a juicy sandwich that was hearty enough to share. It was a satisfying cheesesteak, even if the cheese was not quite right — slices of American cheese that lacked the creamy flow and piquant savor of the now-standard Cooper Sharp, currently unavailable in Japan. (The Chujos also make their own version of whiz, but, considering I’ve always been a whiz hater, the finishing yellow drizzle on our sandwiches didn’t help. Next time, I’ll go for provolone.)
Tomomi’s fresh rolls are the outstanding X factor. The Chujos have been vacationing in Philadelphia since 2021, and in between reconnaissance visits to at least 100 different cheesesteak places, she has studied the art of the long roll at old-school Sarcone’s Bakery as well as modern outfits such as Lost Bread Co. and Ursa Bakery.
The bread here is softer than typically crusty Philly rolls because more finely ground Japanese flour (ideal for tender shokupan milk bread) doesn’t have as much gluten as its American counterpart. Tomomi compensates for the texture by fully encrusting her rolls in Japanese sesame, which has rounder and more flavorful seeds that add their own distinctive, toasty crunch. It’s so noticeable, in fact, one friend said the sesame conjured for him unexpected tahini backnotes.
Cheesesteak obsessives (myself included) will dwell on such minutiae, but I consider such natural variations part of the sandwich’s essential evolution as a living tradition, both in its many thrilling international interpretations among Philadelphia’s immigrant communities, and in the recent boom of house-baked rolls that distinguish some of Philly’s next-gen best.
So much artisanal craft goes into what the Chujos make that, with better cheese, their version would easily land among the upper tier in Philadelphia itself. (Tomomi’s soft pretzels — fresh from the oven and salt-speckled — meanwhile, are already elite.)
But what makes a visit to Tokyo’s Philly so special is not really even the cheesesteaks. (Though the sandwich has seen a recent boost in interest among Japanese customers since Shohei Ohtani praised it during the Dodgers-Phillies playoff series.) It is the Chujos’ genuine embrace of Philadelphia’s culture and people, from the music to the Eagles watch parties they regularly host, culminating in full-throated “E-A-G-L-E-S Eagles!” victory chants outside that occasionally startle their quiet-loving Tokyo neighbors.
“We want to be part of the community,” says Tomomi. The Chujos are planning another Philly visit this summer during America’s Semiquincentennial to celebrate their 15th anniversary with wedding photos on the Rocky Steps and in front of City Hall.
For the proud residents of a city with a long tradition of embracing scorn from the wider world — a city whose unofficial anthem is “No one likes us and we don’t care!” — it is touching to see ourselves reflected with so much love and effort in a sandwich created by friends abroad who regard us with nothing but admiration.
This wasn’t merely the rarity of a good cheesesteak far afield, it was a cheesesteak of affirmation: When someone likes us enough to cook our birthright sandwich properly, we actually do care! Deeply.
“The bread on that cheesesteak and those pretzels were so good,” agreed chef Jesse Ito of Royal Sushi & Izakaya, who also came along to Nihonbashi for the meal. “But just to see another culture pay so much respect to something so Philly, if you love where you come from, you almost have to go.”
