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Philly Cheesesteak Won Ton Cups -- Bringing the Ballpark Home

We took Liam to Fenway on Sunday.

He lasted two and a half hours, which exceeded expectations on the upside. Sean got the seats in the shade—right field bleachers, lower level, corner that catches the afternoon shadow—and we arrived early for batting practice and Liam stood in the aisle and watched the field with the arms-out stance he uses for things that are new and enormous. He saw the green. He saw the distance of it. He said "outside" with the reverence he usually reserves for the backyard in spring.

He ate half a hot dog, which I said he wouldn't, and a bag of peanuts that Sean shelled for him one at a time while watching the game simultaneously, the shell going in the bag, the nut handed to Liam, the game tracked in the peripheral, this particular parent choreography executed with Sean's usual efficiency. By the fifth inning Liam was in my lap, leaning back against me, watching the field the way you watch something when you're getting tired but don't want to stop watching. By the sixth he was asleep on my chest with the crowd around us and the summer evening coming in off the field.

Sean looked at us—asleep kid, wife with a peanut shell in her hair, Fenway at dusk—and said nothing for a while. Then he said "we're coming back next year." I said obviously. He said "obviously."

We drove home with Liam still asleep in the car seat and the city dark outside the window and I thought about my father taking me to Fenway when I was five, the same green, the same enormous outside feeling. You take them and they take their kids and the field stays the same.

Liam fell asleep before we even got to the highway, and I spent the rest of the drive thinking about hot dogs and peanut shells and how much I want to do it all again next summer. We couldn’t recreate Fenway in the kitchen — but a few days later, when the glow of it was still sitting warm in the chest, I made these Philly Cheesesteak Won Ton Cups for a Sunday snack and they had exactly the right spirit: a little messy, a little indulgent, the kind of thing you eat standing at the counter with people you love.

Philly Cheesesteak Won Ton Cups

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 6 (4 cups each)

Ingredients

  • 24 won ton wrappers
  • 3/4 lb ribeye or sirloin steak, very thinly sliced
  • 1/2 green bell pepper, finely diced
  • 1/2 medium yellow onion, finely diced
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 4 oz provolone cheese, shredded (or 4 oz Cheez Whiz, warmed)
  • Cooking spray

Instructions

  1. Preheat oven. Heat oven to 375°F. Lightly coat a 24-cup mini muffin tin with cooking spray.
  2. Form the cups. Press one won ton wrapper into each muffin cup, gently shaping it to form a small cup with the corners pointing up. Lightly spray the tops with cooking spray.
  3. Par-bake the shells. Bake for 5–6 minutes, until just barely golden at the edges. Remove and set aside. Leave oven on.
  4. Cook the filling. Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add diced onion and bell pepper and cook 3–4 minutes until softened. Add the thinly sliced steak, garlic powder, Worcestershire sauce, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring and breaking up the meat, 3–4 minutes until no longer pink.
  5. Fill the cups. Spoon about 1 tablespoon of the steak mixture into each par-baked won ton cup. Top each with a pinch of shredded provolone (or a small dollop of warmed Cheez Whiz).
  6. Bake until melted. Return the filled tin to the oven and bake 4–5 minutes, until cheese is melted and won ton edges are golden brown and crisp.
  7. Serve immediately. Let cool for 2 minutes in the tin before removing. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 225 | Protein: 15g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 21g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 490mg

Kate Donovan
About the cook who shared this
Kate Donovan
Week 175 of Kate’s 30-year story · Boston, Massachusetts
Kate is a thirty-five-year-old nurse practitioner in Boston and a widowed mother of two whose husband Sean died of brain cancer at thirty-three. She makes Irish soda bread and beef stew and shepherd's pie because the recipes are all she has left of a man who was supposed to grow old with her. She writes about cooking through grief and finding out you can still feed your children on the worst day of your life.

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