This Delco native ate 1,000 cheesesteaks to find the best one. Along the way, Jim Pappas found himself.

Can a cheesesteak change your life? Probably not. But in rating 1,000 cheesesteaks from Pennsylvania, South Jersey, and Delaware, Delaware County native Jim Pappas, 58, has found himself.

“I’ve been to places that I’ve been driving by for 45 years, would never think to go into to get a cheesesteak, or even stop for anything other than to get diseased,” Pappas joked. “And I’ve had great times, and met great people, and had great cheesesteaks.”

Pappas’ new lease on life began in May 2018 when he dug into a cheesesteak at Claymont Steak Shop in Delaware, his new home post-leukemia scare (in remission since 2014), divorce, and career change.

Pappas took to a spreadsheet to gather his thoughts. It was “a good cheesesteak,” he wrote, but “just not the Claymont steaks I used to get in high school” — plenty of parking and restrooms available.

» READ MORE: Meet the man who ate 275 cheesesteaks in a year

In subsequent years, Pappas’ spreadsheet would blow up as he tried cheesesteaks in delis, pizza shops, pubs, and restaurants. The reviews would get a little longer, with notes on how the bread collapsed, moisture, and cheese-to-meat ratios — cheese melting into the meat yields a higher score.

Pappas documented his adventures on Facebook, as well as his own website. As a challenge, Pappas learned to share his content for audiences on YouTube, Yelp, Instagram, and Twitter. Podcast and television hosts have joined him in the adventures as he scores the experience out of 100.

» READ MORE: Who is Philly’s cheesesteak authority? Maybe this guy, who ate 500 cheesesteaks in 20 months.

His favorite traditional cheesesteak is from Charlie’s Roast Pork in South Philadelphia, which hits all the notes you expect: quality meat, crispy bread that collapses on said meat, cheese melted throughout. A beer boutique next door adds to the experience.

On Thursday, Pappas reviewed his 1000th cheesesteak, at G Lodge in Phoenixville in front of a Fox29 camera crew. It wasn’t the big event he’d hope for because of coronavirus concerns — it was supposed to be a ticketed celebration with a cheesesteak-themed buffet. But if the last several years have taught Pappas anything, it’s that life isn’t always what you planned.

Pappas spent his life checking boxes. Pleasing his parents, having a career in financial services that made it feasible for his wife to stay home with their two daughters, weekends in Williamsburg, vacations at Disney parks. He wasn’t keeping up with the Joneses, he was the Joneses.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved being a father and husband, yet as his children grew up he wanted to do something, anything, to shake up his life. After he and his wife of more than two decades split, his resolve only grew.

“I lived for my parents, I lived for my kids, let me do something for me,” he said.

Pappas is clear-eyed about how his hobby reads to outsiders. It’s hard for some to understand why he spends thousands on these sandwiches every year. People also worry about his health (he only eats half a sandwich and gives the other half to a homeless person and enjoys salads for other meals).

When asked what he does, Pappas doesn’t advertise himself as a food influencer or give himself a fancy title. He’d like to monetize his website, “Philadelphia Cheesesteak Adventure,” and related social media channels, but hasn’t figured out how just yet. He tells people he drives for Uber and eats cheesesteaks on the side.

When a former colleague jumped into Pappas’ car for an Uber ride, it was clear he couldn’t understand Pappas’ choice to leave the lucrative financial services industry.

“I’m just laughing to myself that he’s giving me a $20 sympathy tip thinking, ‘Poor Jim, he’s down on his luck,’” said Pappas, even though the friend had spent part of the conversation complaining about the same work issues they griped about 15 years ago.

It’s not all laughs, though. A girlfriend, to his dismay, broke up with Pappas because his cheesesteak blog was turning out to be more than a phase.

Pappas said he’s happy. The richness his travels have brought to his life is incalculable.

Pappas has been heckled and threatened by boozy patrons a handful of times, but most people don’t pay any mind to the man taking selfies with a dissected sandwich. Sometimes he ends up being an armchair therapist, a confidant.

“When I ask people about their favorite cheesesteak, they don’t tell me about a roll of cheese and meat,” he said. “They tell me about their dad’s favorite place and where they went to after the big game. It’s all about everything else.”

Pappas said he’s not done venturing out for a cheesesteak with a side of conversation, but he won’t be eating two of the iconic Philly sandwiches every three days as he’s been doing in recent years. He sees himself exploring the future generation of cheesesteaks that come with a new culinary flair, such as with nicer mushrooms or homemade beer cheese.

For now, Pappas is getting ready for his third March Cheesesteak Madness where he lets the public, as well as judges, whittle down 64 cheesesteaks in the region to crown one winner.