There comes a time in our adolescence where we find out the truth about hot dogs. Eventually the well kept secret can no longer be hidden; we find out the contents of a hot dog. What...meat parts? Ugh! How did our parents let us eat them all of those years? We feel cheated. Lied to. Let down.
How can we do this to the hotdog? Let's be honest, there's nothing better than a hotdog at a baseball game. Wrapped tightly in foil, the juicy goodness stays tucked inside. The smell is hard to resist. Or what about on a rotisserie after it has turned and turned in the heat cooking those juices to a tasty perfection? Why not tucked under coney sauce with mounds of shredded cheddar at the local Skyline or Gold Star Chili establishment?
And what about a campfire? A campfire just isn't complete without roasting hotdogs. There's something about walking into the woods to find the perfect stick to cook a hotdog. Holding it over the fire, whether lightly or until the hotdog is crispy brown, is a hard treat to resist.
Dirty Frank's for lunch. The experience had me rethinking hotdogs in my life. I ordered the West Virginia Slaw Dog (check out the possibilities for dressing up a hotdog on the menu). The hotdog was tucked deep inside the bun under coney sauce, cole slaw, and onions. De-lish. With fair fries on the side, the hotdog was the consummate lunch. The experience has me rethinking my opinion of a hotdog. Let's respect the dawg.