Food

A few weeks ago, in Pasadena, Calif., I waited in a line that snaked all the way down the hot, sunny block for a cheesesteak the length of my forearm.

At first glance, it was a totally straightforward sandwich, but one that happened to cost $24, built with eight ounces of intensely beefy Wagyu rib-eye and sirloin. It had developed a cult following in Los Angeles after debuting as a lunch special at Matū, a steakhouse in Beverly Hills.

The meat was finely sliced, sizzled on the flattop with diced onion that went golden in the rendering beef fat, then tucked into an airy sesame roll along with some sticky cheese and a single, crinkly hot pepper. It was excellent, though it was also the kind of lunch that invited me to clear my schedule and take a little nap.