I Love Hot Dogs

My Name is Matt and I Love Hot Dogs  

I ate a hot dog that we had fixed earlier in the day. It had been in the fridge for several hours so, as one might guess, it was now cold and that’s how I ate it. It struck me odd, though, after I had eaten the cold hot dog that a cold dog is still referred to as a HOT DOG. Shouldn’t it be called a COLD DOG?

There are a lot of things like that in our language that puzzles me. Toothbrush for instance… I brush all of my teeth with the same brush not just one tooth, or one brush per tooth. Shouldn’t it be called a teethbrush? Or what about jumbo shrimp? Doesn’t shrimp indicate small to begin with? Who hasn’t heard something like “hey shrimp, you’re too little to play, beat it,” when you wanted to play with the bigger kids?

So, back to the hot dog. I cannot tell you how or where my affinity for this bun-wrapped wonder of gastric perfection came to be, but it definitely be. The worst hot dog I ever had was great. I love all styles. Mustard and onion always being my go-to dog, but anything suits me if it’s between having and having not. I do dearly love a good Chicago style hot dog with its nuclear-accident, green-colored relish and that happy little poppy seed bun.

Verily I tell you, I cannot walk by a vendor selling hot dogs on a street corner, little league ball field, or a Sam’s club without a sampling. I don’t care; I would eat one even if I had just finished eating a Volkswagen made out of meat. I can’t help it… I have a real problem. I should be pitied not chastised, if only there were help for such a thing. Maybe a twelve step program for the hot dog obsessed.

This week I caught a quail- and chicken-eating, cage-destroying, plant-digging, garden-decimating predator with a live trap. You’ll never guess what I used as bait. Okay, given the topic of this blog, maybe you can. The bait I used was an old, cooked hot dog. Even as I baited the trap with this delectable treat, I briefly thought about falling for the trap myself, but I couldn’t get my shoulders through the opening of the trap before I was stopped. Naturally, Sherry scolded me for even trying. She, however, is sympathetic of my plight and shows mercy.

As it turns out with this particular obsession of mine, Sherry darl’n is an enabler, often times bringing home a new package of wienies she thinks I haven’t had the opportunity to try. I’ve been on this journey of enlightenment for a long time so I have tried, I think, just about every brand out there. I look at every store in every new town that we visit for their version of hot dogs. I am obsessed by this little link of encased mystery meat. I hope I haven’t found them all yet.

Don’t try to dissuade me from the delight of this wonderful food with the old saw “I had a cousin who worked in a place that made hot dogs and he said that if people knew what went into hot dogs they would never eat them.” Hogwash, I say! I had 4 years of seniority at the Emge Packing Company. I know firsthand what goes into making wienies. People are eating way worse than that on a daily basis and don’t even know it. I can still see those racks at Emge loaded with ream after ream of steaming, glistening, freshly-packed casings, cooling on the shipping floor before being taken back down into the wienie room where their casings would be removed then packaged and sent out to their admiring fans. My oh my, it was nirvana, not a shop of horrors.

Speaking of casings, I believe that there are a great many people from my area (Anderson, Indiana) and surrounding communities that are unaware of the toothsome beauty of hot dogs that are in a natural casing. This is a problem and one I would like to rectify now.

A hot dog is transformed from a tub of ground meat and spices into a hot dog shape by being stuffed into a casing. A casing is a sleeve that at some point has wrapped the meat and gives it that long, cylindrical shape. Now here’s the rub, some of these casings are synthetic and not intended for consumption, really only serving to form the hot dog shape. After the wiener is cooled and firm, the casing has to be removed by being run through a machine built for just such an occasion. The other type of casing is all-natural and is left on the hot dog. This casing is meant to be eaten and provides a wonderful texture with a snap or crack at every bite.

I understand that everyone is not of the same school of thought when it comes to this casing matter and that’s okay with me because I love them both. But I have to admit, I am a bit of a hot dog snob and I really love the natural skin hot dogs. However, skinless hot dogs are the norm in this area of the country. In fact, skin-on, are nearly impossible to buy locally, with the national brands Khans, Oscar Mayer, Eckrich, and Ball Park making up the selection in our stores. Sadly, as far as I know, none offer anything but skinless. We do have a couple of others, Hebrew National, and Nathans, for example, and I know for sure Nathans is made with and without skin-on. As luck would have it, only the skinless variety are sold here. I will happily eat our local offering, but would prefer several others, with Boars Head and Nathans being right up at the top of my favorites list. If you can find the natural casing in your area and haven’t already tried them, go for it, you might really like them.

Now here comes my weekly rant… there is an organization that has purchased a billboard in the St.Louis area. This billboard is part of a campaign to persuade baseball commissioner Bud Selig to put a "dietary disaster" warning label on hot dogs served at Busch Stadium. I will not help this organization by giving them any more press from this writer than I already have out of necessity for this project. But this sort of thing really toasts my buns and has got to stop. These mambie pambie, I-think-I’m-better-than-you-and-know-what’s-best-for-you people can have my hot dog only when they pry my cold, dead fingers from around it. I am not one to encourage violence, but we may have to take up arms, or at least mustard bottles and maybe some chopped onions. This situation has me shook clear to my ancestors that came across the hot dog waters to this country to find freedom from this sort of tyranny. What’s next, mom and apple pie, for crying out loud? So, come on, get off of the couch and grab your wieners, we’ve got to stop this insanity. 

Remember—boiled, broiled, grilled, fried, on a stick over a campfire, in beans, or in a bready blanket—eat your hot dogs and enjoy their savory goodness. And tip your hats to great American hero Joey Chestnut, winner of Nathan’s hot dog eating contest for the third straight year—viva la’ hot dog!

I’m plumb worn out from climbing on this soapbox. I’m done talk’n. --Matty G.

P.S. If you know of a good hot dog spot or a brand, let me know. I'd love to hear about it.