BY MEG VAN HUYGEN for WEEKLY VOLCANO 4/17/26 |
On Sunday afternoon, having just crossed the Chihuly Bridge toward Dock Street, I smelled meat. Grilled meat, and maybe onions too. The scent of fresh, toasty bread was also swirling around in the air. It was the smell of a sandwich, by God, and it was coming from the entrance to Museum of Glass. I’m like a fairy-tale giant who can smell blood inside of Englishmen, I thought as I followed it down the steps, except it’s sandwiches inside of museums.
In the little bistro area to the left of the museum’s entrance, alongside the sumptuous, come-hither scent that had led me there, a little sign welcomed future patrons into Sliced, a sandwichería. Well, this is new. Last I had checked, this space was a no-name coffee shop, and before that, it was the short-lived La Finestra, slinging grab-and-go salads and sandos. None of them smelled anything like this. The aroma, a server explained, was The Phillip.
Rather than a human man wearing a delicious, meaty cologne, The Phillip is, in fact, a cheesesteak. To make it, they take a sturdy French baguette and stuff it with a pile of grilled, shaved ribeye steak and caramelized onions, then dress it with Cooper’s sharp American cheese.
Did I mention I had just eaten? And they were about to close in 20 minutes? I asked which sandwich would be better in a few hours when I got home, and I was told, “The Phillip. And it’s actually even better when the bread has a chance to soak up all the cheesy, meaty juices.” The server also mentioned that it is their most popular sando. Done.
Sliced does coffee service, too, so I got a milky cold brew and took a seat at the honestly gorgeous live-edge dining table, the room’s centerpiece, which is made from a vertical slice of a tree. I checked out the deli’s Instagram account for more info; their tagline is “NY deli, but make it Tacoma.” There was some kind of event happening in the museum just a few feet away, so I poked my face in there while my sandwich was being prepared. A friendly woman told me in an Irish accent that it was the Big Read Program through the National Endowment for the Arts, a community reading wherein several different people serially read a novel out loud before a listening crowd. Hey, that’s kind of cool. She gave me a copy of the book, Bewilderment by Richard Powers, for free. We sat there and talked about our favorite restaurants in Olympia, and it was extremely pleasant.
This has nothing to do with sandwiches, but Museum of Glass is a real blessing as a local resource, and I recommend checking out what’s going on in there while you wait for your order. You could get a free book.
The wrapped-up cheesesteak got tucked into my bag for dinner. Before the shop closed for the day, as I was peppering the staff with questions, chef-owner Kyle Campisi came out carrying a hotel pan full of shaved ribeye and regaled me on the bánh mì special he is debuting next. “We’re doing a pork version as well as a mushroom pâté version for vegetarians,” he said, assuring me that both are killer. Campisi, by the way, grew up in Buckley and is a longtime Tacoma-area chef who has worked in catering seemingly forever. Locals may know him from his previous executive chef roles at upmarket diner Table 47, inside the Ocean5 game center in Gig Harbor. Sliced, which opened on April 9, is his first solo restaurant.
I told him I also had my eye on their Italian sub with fennel-imbued salami, as well as their cover of the classic pastrami on rye from Katz’s Deli in NYC. “Ah, the pastrami’s not going to travel well,” Chef said. “The Phillip was the right choice. You’ll have to come back for both.” Oh ho, perhaps I will.
I noticed they also sell a super-dilly potato salad, a pasta salad, and matzoh ball soup, as well as PNW-coded Talking Rain, my all-time favorite spicy water. They’re doing a little East Coast swing with some Northwestern details, including locally owned Grand Central Bakery, where Sliced gets their baguettes. Excitingly, in a couple of weeks, their cold case will feature lavish, gigantic slices from Cat and Rabbitt Cake Shop, which relocated from Sixth Ave to Puyallup in August 2024. All fantastic reasons to return.
Two hours later, my partner was watching the Mariners vs. Astros game when I busted through the front door with the still-fragrant Phillip in hand. “Stop what you’re doing. We need to eat this sandwich right now.” He made a bit of a production about finding the correct way to reheat it, lest we dry out the filling or toughen the bread, and I’m glad he didn’t let me just eat it at room temperature. The toaster oven is the move here, FYI.
By the way, it is a two-part law of the cheesesteak universe that (1) every photo you take of a cheesesteak will look like wet dog food poured into a bun, no matter your lighting or photography skills, and (2) the grosser and more dookie-like a cheesesteak looks, the more delicious it will taste. This is just science. They’re intrinsically unphotographable. The Phillip also looked even sloppier than it might have otherwise, after I eviscerated part of its gooey innards when unwrapping the butcher paper. Oops.
This sandwich was spectacular, as prophesied, but cheesesteak purists will immediately point out two deviations from the classic. It’s on a crackly French baguette, not an Amoroso roll, and they don’t use Wiz. I don’t personally care because I’m from here and not Philly, but just saying there’s a reason why Sliced uses the sandwich’s full Christian name here. It’s a formal museum version of the bodega standard. The baguette is immaculate, but because it has a much chewier architecture and a darker, bigger crust than the crispy, spongy Amoroso roll they use on the East Coast, you’re going to need to put some effort into that first bite. Meanwhile, I have no beef with Cheez Wiz, but Cooper’s American is thicker in texture than runny Wiz, and it’s sharper, too. Everything about this sandwich is heftier, meatier, and more artisanal than a typical cheesesteak.
That said, The Phillip is still every morsel as delicious as a steak from Dalessandro’s in Roxborough, just different. Things that taste good are good, period, and oh God, it was so good. I was loath to throw the deli paper away without thoroughly scraping all the coagulated cheese and steak bits off with my finger.
Chef Kyle told no lies when he said the bread could use a minute to soak up all the commingled meat fat and melted cheese and oniony business. It makes sense, since the bread they use is so big and mighty. I’m sure this sandwich is still incredible when it’s fresh, but we could tell that this thing had been next-leveled by a little time.
We each inhaled our half of The Phillip, and my guy was immediately like, “Well, shit. Now I want the other half of my sandwich, but you ate it. I don’t want just half of this. I want to keep on eating it.”
I said the feeling was mutual. We each deserve both halves all to ourselves. We’re going back tomorrow.
Sliced
1801 Dock St, Tacoma, WA 98402
(253) 284-4747
https://www.slicedsandwiches.com
https://www.instagram.com/slicedtacoma
