Uncategorized

National Hot Dog Day: An Homage

Posted on by nyweenies

It is July 23rd, 2015. The National Hot Dog & Sausage Council of the USA has found it in their hearts to declare this day a day for celebration. Go forth and celebrate, my friends!! This post will be a two part homage to get us all in the mood to enjoy our hot dogs today.

Part 1: History

According to the American Meat Institute, sausages on rolls were first sold in the 1860’s. The first recorded hot dog vendor was Charles Feltman in 1871 on Coney Island here in good old New York City. In 1893, there was a massive Colombian exposition in Chicago, and the hot dog blew up from there. The same year, it was the official snack served in ball parks across the country. The name literally comes from making fun of dachsunds, or wiener dogs. So, there is your real hot dog history… below is my paraphrased version.

“A bunch of German dudes were really into their sausages from Frankfurt known as Frankfurters. This awesome, genius, demi-god of a man named Chuck Feltman came across the pond and sold a bunch of his incredibly delicious sausages on bread. No fork needed! The invention then becomes American as !*$&, and they’re being dished out left and right at ball games and from carts in cities around the country. Next thing you know, we’ve got Nathan’s Hot Dogs, Ball Parks, Hebrew Nationals, Sabretts, Kobayashi, Joey Chestnut, the Oscar Meyer Weenie-Mobile and the greatest food on the planet. God bless Chuck Feltman. God bless hot dogs.”

  

                                                                   
                                                                     

(Pictured above: Chuck Feltman, the legend, and below George Washington being served his first dog. Note: he was gluten free.)

Part 2: An Original Poem

Pure Bliss

Devolving from a human state

The first bite, a kiss…

A kiss of meaty goodness!

Eternal desire

The hot dog is what I taste.

May your mustard shine forever

And your skin eternally crisp.

You, glorious weenie, are it.

Pure Bliss

So, with that, and before I get emotional, thus ends my homage. Go out and get those weenies today, and enjoy the gift on earth that is the hot dog. Below, I leave you with my own home-grilled creations cooked on the family grill in Virginia.

Cheers

  

Follow: Instagram                    Like: Facebook

Frankie’s Dogs On The Go

Posted on by nyweenies

The leftovers of patriotism from July 4th still lingered. It was Friday, the work week was winding down, and something was missing. My life felt incomplete, and I couldn’t process complete thoughts or remember Taylor Swift lyrics. There was a void inside me that mere mortals could never hope to explain. How does one fulfill this void? Impromptu hot dog review. There aren’t a lot of good dog spots near work, but luckily my coworkers and I found one in an iconic American building: Grand Central Terminal. If you haven’t been, its a pretty magnificent place. Spanning 48 acres, accommodating 21.6 million visitors per year, and hosting 525,600 minutes of flash dances, the picture below puts it all in perspective. ‘Murica.

  
   
In case you didn’t realize it, I made a Rent joke just then… like, the musical. Anyways, pictured above is the menu. Notice that they chose the McDonald’s marketing method — everything starts with Frankies. The place is humble, signs are small, and it is literally in the middle of the Grand Central food court. So, the atmosphere leaves something to be desired, but I honestly don’t care if the wiener is good. The variety offered here is exactly what every dog fan wants. There are hot dogs for all moods, but I have to play by the rules, so I simply asked for their best dog. The employee working that day wasn’t too sure what that was. She tried to ask me questions, to which I replied, “your best dog.” Confused and frustrated, she eventually landed on a Chicago Dog, because, well, it “sounded good”. I honestly think she chose it because it was first on the menu. Strike one, Frankies. Rule number 14 of a hot dog stand: employees must know and love their product. So, I order a Chicago and also a classic with mustard. This is a meal, not a snack.

After ordering, time suddenly became a factor as we realized we had to get back to the office for a 1:00 meeting. Luckily this is Frankie’s “On The Go”, so the dogs were packaged up and we headed back. Strike 2, Frankies. Hot dogs are called hot dogs because they are best at a certain temperature: hot. Any transportation time can severely jeopardize this crucial factor. The entire walk back I was sweating. This wasn’t because of the temperature outside, oh no, I was sweating with anticipation. Finally we get back to the office, we all unearth our dogs, dial in to the conference call, and dig in. 

   
 
I started with the Chicago dog. It looks amazing. Tomotoes, peppers, pickles, onions, mustard, and spices. I’ve had some amazing Chicago style weenies before and this looks up to the test. The first bite was great. Then, in between the time I had to say something on the conference call and the time I would take the next bite, I was hit with it. The spice on this dog invaded my mouth and took my taste buds hostage. I wasn’t allowed to taste anything else. It was overbearing and, quite simply, just too much. This experience was kind of like when you go to a party and there’s the really loud outgoing guy with a bright shirt and a dumb haircut. You really like him at first, but after about 2 minutes of conversation you realize that he sucks. The actual frank looked like a quality sausage, the bun was well prepared, but the toppings were overkill. At this point, I wasn’t feeling great about Frankies.

Next was the classic yellow mustard dog — always my favorite. This was a high quality hot dog. I thoroughly enjoyed it and it was prepared very well. I have two critiques: the bun should be toasted more, and the wiener should be charred more. Furthermore, the 3 guys I went with all had great looking, well-reviewed dogs. Dick had one with baked beans, the intern had something epic, and even gluten free Joey V had a bunless dog that looked halfway decent. You’ll never catch me eating a dog without a bun, but even this was probably better than my Chicago dog. (As long as it wasn’t served with an Angry Orchard or a Redbridge.)

My review: 2 weenies.

In summary, the place has potential and I will probably go back for a different dog. The problem is that on that day there was a lady working there who told me that their best dog was their worst dog. Little did they know that nyweenies.com was in the house and I don’t mess around. Strike 3, Frankies. You put a non-hot-dog-lover at the helm and I will expose that weakness. If you are Megatron, I am the cold. If you are Achilles, I am your heel. I found your kryptonite, Frankies. Now the world will know your secrets. (But your yellow mustard dog was pretty damn good.)

Cheers

  

P.S. National Hot Dog Day is Thursday… 

Instagram         Facebook

Rudy’s Bar and Grill

Posted on by nyweenies

As I begin to type, it is dawning on me that I am actually starting a hot dog blog. Unreal.

For my first review, I journey to a place I have visited numerous occasions in the past. It only makes sense to me that the first dog I rate is from one of my favorite spots: Rudy’s. Located in Hell’s Kitchen on 44th and 9th, it is one of the oldest spots around. My friend Mike and I (I always try to eat a dog with a friend) were on our way out east for the weekend and were jonesin’ for a cold beer and a weenie to kick it off. 

Before we even get in I am laughing with glee at the sight of a massive pig waving at me outside. Much like a kid in a candy store, I am Jack at a hot dog bar. The second I walk in I am struck with that familiar smell. Something like a piece of driftwood that has been sitting in a bucket of vomit for a week, baked, and dipped in vinegar. Heaven. We grab two seats at the end of the bar and are promptly greeted by a kind elderly woman. “2 Rudy’s Blondes and 2 dogs, please.” 

   
 
Yes, they have their own beer. But, here’s the greatest, most epic, most God-bless-America part: the hot dogs are free. That’s right, with the purchase of any drink, you receive as many free wieners as you’d like. This is why this bar is one of my favorites. Not only that, but it is super cheap. Each pint of beer is 3 dollars. They have a shot and beer special for 5 dollars. So, if getting hammered and eating hot dogs is your thing, this is the spot for you.

Now for the actual hot dog. Behind the bar, there is a 7-11 style rotisserie with a bunch of boys sweatin’ waiting their turn. It reminds me of the physical fitness tests in middle school. None of these weenies want to be embarrassed; they’re getting prepared for the big stage. The only way you can have a dog here is with ketchup and mustard. The toppings are placed on with precision, and the smell overcomes the ghoulish surroundings to put you in a brand new mental state. I take a look at MIke, and with a big smile, its time for the first bite.

   
 
The dog is good. I’m not going to say it’s wonderful, but it is an unboiled, well-made wiener with a solid personality. He’s dependable. You can count on this guy when you need him. Need to crash for the night because you locked your keys in your apartment? Rudy’s hot dog. Need someone to talk to after your girlfriend dumped you? Rudy’s hot dog. Your momma likes the cat more than you? Rudy’s hot dog. Nothin’ fancy, not trying to impress you, but its good… and its free. The bun is probably not fresh, nor is the dog, but it is probably the best they can do with those ingredients. I am pleased.

So, I hereby give a Rudy’s hot dog 3 Weenies. 

Then, in some sort of twist of destiny, as I leave I notice a sign above the door to the back patio. “Jack’s Backyard”. It was meant to be. Cheers.