If you were a hot dog, would you eat yourself?
With Memorial Day Weekend fastly approaching, I can't help but think about the real purpose behind this holiday: Barbecue. (Weird spelling, right? I'll stick with BBQ from now on) And when I think about BBQs, I immediately think to my favorite roasted meat treat. The hot dog. There's nothing like sitting around a patio, or on the beach, or on a deck enjoying a hot dog or two or three, thrown on a plate heaping with potato salad, coleslaw and baked beans, washing it all down with a good beer in a fresh from the freezer mug. m-m-mm-mmmm-mm
The Times has a great article exploring the yummy goodness that is a hot dog, leading you, the hot dog-craving reader around the Tri-state area to the Meccas of the dog world. I sat reading it this morning, my mouth watering (gross considering the amount of food I consumed yesterday) mentally checking off the places I have been and the places I still need to go. However, there were some gross oversites. First and foremost, there can be no conversation on hot dogs without mentioning Callahans. Callahans has the best hot dogs I've ever eaten, better than The Windmill (best late night food you will ever eat. I mean ever.) and Max's.
I will agree with the article's sentiments about ball park dogs, though. There is something so magical about sitting in an uncomfortable, old seat in Yankees Stadium, balancing a beer in between your legs, and scarfing down a hot dog, with the lights of the stadium lighting up the night. A perfect, American moment. So, this weekend, enjoy a hot dog for yourself, and one for me too.
