Barry: It was early December. I was on my way to watch the Flyers play the Devils in New Jersey.
Murray: Stop! There's no cheesesteak story that ends in Jersey.
Barry: But there is. I took the wrong off-ramp and got lost. As night fell, I grew desperate and hungry. And then, like a cheesy beacon of hope, I saw a lone sandwich shop glowing in the darkness.
Murray: Stop. Just tell us the name of the sandwich shop already.
Barry: That's the thing. I was so overwhelmed by the flavor that I didn't get a chance to look up from my poppy-seed kaiser roll to get a name.
Pops: Poppy-seed kaiser roll on a cheesesteak? It can't be done!
Barry: Oh, they did it. It was the poppiest of rolls, combined with the whizziest of cheeses. It was like eating the sweet butt meat of an angel in- Hey! I'm still talkin'! I didn't finish my awesome true story!

Barry: Mmm, oh, yeah. That's the good stuff I remember.
Murray: I got to admit not bad.
Barry: Unh, it's got a little heat to it.
Murray: Whoa! Coming on kinda strong.
Barry: It's fighting back pretty hard.
Murray: Oh, that's a spicy punch to the mouth. The biting is relentless! What the hell did you put on this thing?!
Barry: Something called "Donkey Kick Sauce." It was in the condiment section, but sounded special, so I smeared it all over.
Crusty Old Man: He chose poorly.
Murray: What the [bleep] is wrong with that guy?
Barry: No idea!

Barry: Admit it it's the best, right?
Murray: You know what? Leaving those keys behind may be the smartest thing you've ever done.
Crusty Old Man: You chose wisely.
Barry: What is his deal?