Tat’s cheesesteakIt often seems like Seattle is a city mostly made up of people from other places — countless refugees from Spokane, a growing number of immigrants from other countries, and an alarming number of people from those flat states collectively known as “the Midwest.” What do these people do when they find themselves a little homesick? Naturally, they seek out the comforts of regional dishes like green-bean hotdish, pozole, or, for Pennsylvania natives, a Philly cheesesteak. This week, Versus pays tribute to its childhood roots (and mourns last week’s tragic World Series loss by the Philadelphia Phillies) by consuming hot pepper-mushroom cheesesteaks from two joints specializing in this Pennsylvania staple, Tat’s Deli and Philadelphia Fevre.Pioneer Square’s Tat’s Deli makes a massive cheesesteak ($8.25), loaded up with chipped beef, white American cheese (you have the option of Cheez Whiz, provolone, mozzarella, Swiss, cheddar, OR pepper jack, which is entirely too many options), diced onions, fresh mushrooms, and pickled hot peppers. It’s a tasty beast, but bears little resemblance to the cheesesteaks Versus used to consume on a youthful, weekly basis. The bun was practically a baguette, with a distinct crust that shattered with each bite. The beef, of which there was a generous helping, was rather dry and tough and tasted, of all things, overwhelmingly like thyme (is there a secret marinade? did someone get a little overzealous with the dried herb shaker?). The cheese was appropriately gooey and creamy, although there was not very much of it. The vegetables were admirably fresh — large bits of meaty, earthy mushrooms and sauteed chopped white onion (some pieces still crunchy and pungent). Overall, a satisfying and filling sandwich. But it may leave a PA native wondering, “Am I crazy, or is this not really a cheesesteak?”Whereas Tat’s cheesesteak may leave you puzzled, Philadelphia Fevre’s cheesesteak ($8.45) will pick you up, swaddled you gently within its warm, comforting embrace, then lay you down so you can take a sentimental food journey. This sandwich is all brown softness and mellow flavor — a greasy, perfectly integrated pile of super thin chopped beef, juicy caramelized onions (so soft as to almost not exist, save for the sweetness) that’s blanketed under three slices of American cheese, then left to sizzle away on the griddle for a few minutes before it’s lifted, crispy bits and all, into a downright pillowy Franz roll. The pickled hot peppers? H-O-T, which add the perfect contrast to the sandwich’s almost over-the-top richness. It’s best not to speak of the mushrooms, which are clearly the rubbery and canned variety. Thankfully, there are only a few of them, and they do their best to stay out of the way. Verdict: This one isn’t even close. Philadelphia Fevre all the way.