Walk into McNally’s Tavern in Chestnut Hill on a rainy Tuesday, and you’ll see exactly what Philadelphia looked like a century ago. No, seriously. The green door, the white stucco, the way the floorboards kind of groan under your feet—it’s all there.
There is no "vibe shift" here. It just is.
You’ve probably heard of the Schmitter. It’s the sandwich that made them famous, or at least the one that got them a stand at the Phillies stadium for a decade before things got complicated with the concessions contract. But focusing only on that monster of a sandwich is sort of missing the point of why this place actually matters to the neighborhood.
The Trolley Stop That Never Left
McNally's Tavern Chestnut Hill didn't start as a culinary destination. It started as a shack. Back in 1921, Rose McNally opened a little spot called "The Quick Lunch" at the end of the trolley line. Her husband worked for the streetcar, and he basically complained that there was nowhere decent to eat at the end of the shift.
Rose fixed that.
The tavern moved across the street to its current home at 8634 Germantown Ave in 1925. It’s been there ever since. That’s 100-plus years of the same family, the same building, and roughly the same philosophy: don't mess with what works. Today, Anne and Meg McNally—Rose’s great-granddaughters—run the show. Honestly, seeing a family business survive four generations in the restaurant industry is rarer than finding a parking spot on Germantown Avenue on a Saturday afternoon.
Let’s Talk About the Schmitter
Look, we have to talk about it. It’s the elephant in the room, and that elephant is covered in cheese.
The Schmitter is not a cheesesteak. Don't call it that. It's a variation, sure, but the soul is different. It’s served on a Kaiser roll, not a long hoagie roll. It’s got steak, grilled salami, fried onions, tomatoes, and a special sauce that’s basically a high-octane Thousand Island.
The Origin Story: Hugh McNally (Anne and Meg’s dad) invented it in the 60s for a regular customer who only drank Schmidt’s beer. Hence the name.
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It’s messy. Like, "don't wear a white shirt" messy. If you order it at the tavern today, it’ll set you back about $15.25. While it used to be a staple at Citizens Bank Park, the family actually pulled it from the stadium a few years back because they weren't happy with the quality control at the stadium stands. They’d rather you not eat it at all than eat a mediocre version.
That tells you everything you need to know about how the McNallys run their business.
What Most People Get Wrong
Everyone goes for the Schmitter, but the locals? They’re often ordering the homemade soups or the turkey sandwiches. The turkey isn’t that deli-sliced stuff that looks like wet paper. It’s real bird.
And then there’s the cake.
Meg McNally handles the baking. The chocolate cake is legendary, based on a recipe from Cafe Beaujolais in California. It’s dense. It’s rich. It’s the kind of cake that makes you forget you just ate a pound of beef and salami. They also do a carrot cake that people swear by, even if it doesn't have the raisins or nuts some traditionalists expect.
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The "No Frills" Reality
If you’re looking for a craft cocktail bar with Edison bulbs and "curated" playlists, you’re in the wrong part of town. McNally's Tavern Chestnut Hill is a "tappie."
It’s small.
It gets crowded.
They don't take reservations.
There was a time when they didn't even have a printed menu or a waitress. You just kind of told them what you wanted, and they kept track of your tab on the honor system. They’ve modernized a little bit since then—you can actually see a menu now—but the spirit is still very much "take it or leave it."
One thing that surprises people is how early they closed the door on smoking. Long before the city-wide bans, Hugh McNally went smoke-free in 1998. Why? Because Anne was pregnant at the time and working the bar, and he didn't want her breathing it in.
Is It Worth the Trip?
Chestnut Hill can sometimes feel a bit... polished. It’s a beautiful, wealthy neighborhood with high-end boutiques and cobblestone streets. McNally’s is the anchor that keeps it grounded. It’s where the guy who just finished landscaping a yard sits next to a lawyer from a downtown firm, and they both have Schmitter sauce on their chins.
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The Logistics for Your Visit:
- Timing is everything. They are closed Mondays and Tuesdays. Don't be the person who drives all the way up the hill only to rattle a locked door.
- Parking is a nightmare. Just accept it. You’ll probably have to park a few blocks away and walk. It’s a nice walk, though.
- Bring cash for tips. They have a weekly drawing for a classic McNally’s sweatshirt if you’re a cash tipper. Just jot your name on the check tab.
- The "Split" Trick. You can split a long roll sandwich with someone for a small charge, and they’ll usually double the potato salad or coleslaw for you. It’s a pro move if you aren't ready to slip into a food coma.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit
If you are planning to head to 8634 Germantown Avenue, keep these specific points in mind to make it feel like you’ve been going there for years:
- Skip the stadium memories: If you only ever had the Schmitter at a Phillies game, forget it. The version at the tavern is significantly better because it’s made to order on a real grill, not sitting under a heat lamp.
- Check the taps: They have about 13 rotating taps. They usually have a house lager that is cold, cheap, and perfect for cutting through the fat of the signature sandwich.
- Order dessert first: Seriously. Sometimes the chocolate cake sells out by the evening. Tell them to save you a slice when you order your meal.
- Take it to go (maybe): If the wait for a table is over 45 minutes, get your Schmitter to go and walk down to Pastorius Park. It’s a few blocks away and offers a great spot to eat outside, provided you brought enough napkins.
McNally’s isn’t trying to be the "best" in the sense of winning Michelin stars. They’re trying to be the same. In a world where everything changes every six months, being exactly the same as you were in 1921 is a pretty radical act.