Chicken Philly Cheese Steaks

My strongest, unshakable belief besides "never show up empty-handed to Thanksgiving with sad cranberry sauce" is that Chicken Philly Cheese Steaks deserve a literal parade (and confetti made of provolone). If you think a cheesesteak needs to be beef-only, please step into my kitchen and prepare to be cheerfully corrected. Also: sandwiches are feelings. Strong feelings.

How I nearly burned down Thanksgiving (but made a sandwich instead)

Once, in 2017 (the year the lemon bars betrayed me), I tried to make enough food for my entire block for Thanksgiving. I misread "roast" as "toast" in three different recipes and somehow managed to single-handedly invent smoke-flavored gravy. There was weeping. There were neighborly offers of casseroles. My cousin—bless him—showed up with hoagie rolls and said, "You should make those cheese steaks you always talk about." Midnight miracle. I sliced leftover chicken, grabbed some peppers, melted cheese like it was therapy, and suddenly everyone stopped criticizing my gravy and started praising the sandwich gods.

Also: yes, Trader Joe’s saved the day that night (rolls that hold up? chef’s kiss). If you want an inspired breakfast side while you’re carb-loading for recovery, try this Blueberry Cottage Cheese Breakfast Bake I obsessively recommend.

Okay, back to the actual recipe — before I spiral into food trauma

ANYWAY, before I emotionally relive the entire event (again), let’s talk about the sandwich you actually came here for. This is the version that’s quick, forgiving, and perfect for those nights when your oven is sulking and you only have a skillet and overwhelming feelings. It’s also the best post-Thanksgiving cleanup meal when you need protein and comfort in the same fistful.

Grocery list + tiny rants (because I have opinions about cheese)

• 1 pound chicken breast, sliced
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 bell pepper, sliced
• 1 onion, sliced
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 4 slices of provolone cheese
• 4 hoagie rolls

Mini-rants: Buy decent provolone. Don’t be that person who skimped on the cheese and then cried into a dry sandwich. Trader Joe’s has a solid provolone and hoagie-roll combo, and Aldi is a sneaky genius for budget-friendly onions (true confession: I shop both, depending on my mood and whether the parking lot battle is worth it). If you want a breakfast twist (because of course you do), these pair nicely with Air Fryer Cheeseburger Egg Rolls for an absurd brunch spread.

Cooking Unit Converter (because measurements are emotional)

If you prefer grams, cups, or a kitchen scale that judges you silently, here’s a tiny helper to translate between systems.

How I cook this when I’m tired, hungry, and dramatic (technique, unfiltered)

I don’t do six-step elegance here. I do quick, loud, and delicious. You want things browned but not church-on-fire black, peppers soft but with a little attitude, cheese melty and golden like late-night regret.

Here’s what I learned the hard way: slice the chicken thin. I mean whisper-thin. Don’t overcrowd the pan—crowding equals sweating and sadness. Salt early, taste as you go, and if you accidentally over-salt, add an extra roll and call it rustic.

1. Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium heat.
2. Add the sliced chicken and cook until browned and cooked through. Season with salt and pepper.
3. Add the sliced bell pepper and onion; sauté until they are soft.
4. Place the provolone cheese slices over the chicken and vegetable mixture and cover the skillet until the cheese melts.
5. Split the hoagie rolls and fill them with the chicken and cheese mixture. Serve warm.

Also: tent the skillet with a lid when melting the cheese—this is an underrated trick. And while you’re plating, breathe. You deserve a moment of calm before the eating begins.

Why I cook like it’s therapy (emotional aside)

Food is how I hold memories: my grandma’s laugh when she salted everything "to taste," the smell of my first kitchen (tiny, infuriating), and the comfort of feeding people who think my casseroles are the pinnacle of civilization. Cooking stitches together identity and belonging for me—especially when I’m trying to undo the trauma of past disasters with a reliably great sandwich.

A tiny, true anecdote (micro-story)

Once I made these for a date. He announced he’d never had a chicken cheesesteak and then proceeded to eat three. I took that as a very good first date sign. Also: he returned my Tupperware. Romance survives food.

Chaotic Frequently Asked Questions (yes, five of them)

Okay, I’ll stop talking now. This sandwich is simple, forgiving, and loud in the best possible way—like me at 7 p.m. asking if anyone wants more. Make it when you need warmth, when you’ve failed spectacularly at something else, or when you just need a sandwich that says, "you survived, so here is melty cheese."

Daily Calorie Needs Calculator (because curiosity is a spice)

If you want a quick idea of how this fits into your day, use this small calculator to estimate your needs and portion accordingly.