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I believe sandwiches are the peak of human achievement (fight me). Also, the world currently needs extreme comfort food because everything is chaotic and my brain is fried by scrolling—so here: an unapologetic loaf stuffed with steak, cheese, and garlic. It’s loud. It’s dumb. It’s exactly the kind of thing you make when you need to feed people and also yourself because you forgot to go grocery shopping. If you want the longform recipe page with pictures and my sob story about the first time I burned a loaf, it’s over on the full Cheesesteak-Stuffed Garlic Loaf recipe page, but I’ll tell you the funny parts here too.

How I completely botched this once (and smelled like a diner for two days)

The first iteration smelled like a gas station romance novel—onions, oil, regret. I overstuffed the bread so it collapsed mid-bake with a soggy thunk (it literally sounded like a sad drum). I also under-seasoned the steak because I panicked and thought less salt = healthier, which is a lie I tell myself when I want to be moral but actually just want fewer dishes to wash. There was a moment when the garlic burned and I scorched my confidence (and the pan). My smoke alarm and I had feelings. Someone clapped politely and asked if it was supposed to be "soupy." No. It was not. I learned — the hard, embarrassing way.

Why this one doesn’t implode (probably)

I stopped romanticizing the thing. Also, I stopped piling in every conceivable filling like a salad tornado. The flip was emotional (I let go) and practical (I researed the steak properly and drained the veggies because water is the enemy of crunchy bread pockets). Tiny adjustments: higher heat for a quick sear, pull some crumb out to make a snug cavity, and use provolone like it’s the duct tape of fillings. This version of the Cheesesteak-Stuffed Garlic Loaf works because the textures don’t fight — the bread stays crisp around a melty heart — and because I finally learned to season halfway through instead of once, during a panic. Pro tip I stole shamelessly from something I did on my garlic parmesan chicken meatloaf post: salt is not the enemy; it’s the co-conspirator.

What to gather (and what to maybe pause on buying)

1 French bread loaf (16 oz)
8 oz thinly sliced flank steak
1 cup provolone cheese, shredded
4 cloves fresh garlic, minced
1 cup sliced bell peppers (mixed colors)
1 cup sliced sweet onions
2 tbsp olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Good to know: budget-wise, buying flank steak on sale or thin-cut chuck works too; provolone is melty and forgiving (mozzarella would be fine if you’re lazy); fresh garlic is non-negotiable—the jarred stuff is like a sad whisper. Availability varies by season (peppers are cheaper in summer) but the whole point is approachable ingredients, so don’t overcomplicate it. Also, yes, buy the loaf that’s slightly stale — it’s a texture move.

Cooking Unit Converter

If you’re one of those people converting cups to grams mid-simmer, this little widget helps you not do math in your head while crying over a pan.

Let’s cook (but not like a robot)

Preheat your oven to 400°F (200°C).
In a skillet over medium heat, add olive oil and sauté sliced onions and bell peppers until soft (5-7 minutes).
Push veggies aside; add flank steak seasoned with salt and pepper. Cook until browned (3-5 minutes).
Slice the French bread lengthwise and scoop out some soft bread from the center.
Mix the steak and veggies with provolone cheese; spoon generously into each half of the bread loaf.
Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet and bake for 15-20 minutes or until golden brown.

Also: sometimes I will whisper to the pan. Not necessary. If the veggies are soggy? Drain. If the steak is timid? Crank the heat and make it angry (only for like a minute). Scoop bread out with the seriousness of a tiny archaeologist. And do not, I repeat, leave the loaf unattended while you scroll TikTok—this is what burns garlic.

Tell me your chaos — I’ll match it

Are you making this for a crowd or the four people in your house who all angrily claim they "don’t like onions"? Does your roommate eat half and deny it? Have you tried serving slices with pickles? (Pickles are revolutionary.) And what do you do with leftovers—reheat in an oven? microwave? (don’t microwave). If you end up with bits of filling, don’t throw them out—my brain once turned similar leftovers into cheesy beef and bowtie pasta in garlic butter and it was a sarcastic triumph. Tell me your triumphs or tragedies. I read them, judge gently, then try the recipe and cry a little.

Commonly asked things (and my hot takes)

Can I use a different cut of beef? +

Yes. Thinly sliced skirt or even thin flank-chuck works. Don’t use a roast chunk raw—slice thin. If you want cheaper, look for sales and slice against the grain.

Can I add mushrooms? +

Sure. Sauté them with the peppers and onions until their mood changes (they’ll let go of water), then proceed. Mushrooms are emotional but fine.

How do I keep the bread from getting soggy? +

Scoop enough interior so there’s a protective crust (don’t be shy). Pre-toast the bread separately for 3-4 minutes if you live in a very humid climate or are emotionally prepared to double-bake.

Can I prep this ahead? +

Assemble and refrigerate for up to a day; bake straight from chilled (add a few minutes). Better than assembling and freezing, which introduces sadness in certain textures.

Is provolone necessary? +

No, but it’s best. Use whatever melty cheese you have (sharp cheddar will be opinionated; mozzarella will be shy). I like provolone because it straddles bold and mellow like a confused sidekick.

I keep thinking about the first time I made this versus now—the confidence is new and oddly fragile. I have opinions. I also have leftover cheese in the fridge that I will eat with a spoon and call it a practice tasting and then suddenly I’m late for something I promised myself I’d attend but forgot because I was seasoning.