Papaya King

I was not legitimate until now. Until this review, I was not a real hot dog blogger. But now, it’s like I found platform 9 and 3 quarters, hopped on the mustard express, and magically traveled to the University of Wieners and Franks. I am real. In a Field of Dreams, I am Shoeless Joe Jackson. In the Matrix, I am Neo. In Ghost, I am Whoopi Goldberg. E.T. phone home… I have accomplished my dream. Papaya King is an incredibly legitimate establishment. Popular film and television programs such as Seinfeld, Anthony Bourdain, How I Met Your Mother, and Crossing Delancey have mentioned this place. Although it never got a mention on Gossip Girl, I promise you it’s famous. Ladies and Gentleman, Papaya King.

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Just look above these words. I don’t even need to write, but I will. On the Upper East side on 86th and Third Ave neon signs glow, beckoning all passers by to come in for a snack. There’s not much to this place, and there doesn’t need to be. The staff is very friendly, and they are proud to be there. When I asked for their best dog, the man behind the counter genuinely cared to know what my taste buds preferred. Eventually we came to the conclusion that I should have the classic. Sauerkraut and mustard. I knew that this was the classic coming into the place, and I was scared. Generally, I’m not a ‘kraut guy. I find it to be overbearing, and kind of like my Frankie’s on the Go post, that guy at the party who is loud and crappy and takes all the attention. But why, Jack? Why did I ever doubt the Germans? They invented the dog, why would I question their topping choices!? The spiciness of the mustard and the sour taste of the kraut mixed together to form this new harmonious flavor that I’d never tasted before. It reminds me of the first time I had a Yuengling. There’s something else out there? Shocked, I didn’t even realize how good the actual sausage was until the second bite. The snap is there, the temperature is perfect, and the bun is toasted with care. This is a dog of champions. Oh, and they’re 3 bucks? I’ll have another.

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The second dog: plain with mustard. Look at those char marks on the dog. Look at how awesomely I placed the mustard on that bad boy. Look how epic-ly I devour it. I am in my element. Is this place perfect? Is this the best in New York? While it may be incredibly close, it never will be the king. For those that have read my “About Me” page, you know what I think about mustard. Keep it yellow. Papaya King does not have yellow mustard anywhere. I even asked, and it is nowhere to be found. While I kind of respect them for sticking to their guns, the fact of the matter is that they’ve made the wrong choice. I don’t care how much money Gulden’s is giving you, the better choice is to take money out of your pocket and literally pay French’s to be your sauce. At least have it in your restaurant.

Papaya King gets 4.5 weenies.

I absolutely love this place. I will be back, and it is definitely the best quality dog I’ve had in New York so far. However, I do believe that there is an establishment out there that knows how important yellow mustard is, and can rival this landmark in quality. I’ll leave you all with this quote from the great philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche: “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” Mustard is my music, and the rhythm I dance to is yellow. It is this music that blasts throughout my soul. Stay yellow, my friends.

Cheers

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Schnipper’s

Sometimes in life you just have to leave the office and go on a hot dog review. After a very quick google search with relatively low expectations I found Schnipper’s. Then, after saying “Schnipper’s” to myself mutliple times and giggling even more multiples of times in between, it was time to devour a dog. A Schnipper’s dog. Ha… Schnipper’s. Schnipper’s is a pretty good name for, like, a pet fish… or gerbil. Yeah, Schnippers the gerbil. That’s it. Even better, say it in a heavy british accent, “‘Ello, this is Schnippers the gerbil! Look at him in his little tophat!” And I digress… let me guide you through this unexpected hot dog wonder of midtown that is Schnipper’s.


Located on Lexington and 51st, Schnipper’s is most definitely a chain. Albeit a small chain with only four locations, it still has a very chainy feel. There’s a line that has rules, and you take a little buzzy thingy to your table that doesn’t even buzz, and its a whole system that is pretty undesirable. I’m like a gerbil on his wheel; a cog in the machine. (I must miss my deceased gerbils from high school, Freddie and Jackson. Why else would I have mentioned gerbils twice in a blog?) Regardless, I was impressed by their freshly brewed sweet tea and fresh squeezed lemonade selection which allowed me make a refreshing Arnold Palmer. Even more importantly, I was pleasantly surprised when I asked for their best dog. The immediate answer was the sloppy dog. Sloppy Joe on a hot dog. Manwich on a Ball Park. Think about how fat that is. Heartburn, constipation, and early onset diabetes on a bun. Sign me up.

The weiner looks gorgeous. I can already tell the actual sausage is of high quality because of the way the skin curls at the end. It also has a balance of length and girth that compliments the bun well. Nestled on the glorious hilltop of hot dog is a massive mound of sloppy joe meat, adorned with cheddar cheese like an angel’s heavenly halo. My first bite is wonderful. I literally had to puncture the skin of the hot dog, which is exactly how it should be. There was the ever desirable snap, then an influx of sloppy joe meat that flowed into the classic hot dog taste for a perfect balance. I felt like Goldilocks in her chair with her porridge. Juuusssttt right.

 schnippergifOK, I know I’ve only been to a few places, but Schnipper’s was the best so far. Yes, its a little chainy, and yes, I laugh everytime I say Schnipper’s, but they made a damn good dog and I am incredibly happy that I discovered this place via google. There were the classic char-grilled elements of a hot dog that brought me back to, quoth Dick, “the good ol’ days of weiner-eatin”, and also the cafeteria inspired goodness of the sloppy joe. What a dog. I highly recommend it to the big and the small, the short and the tall… this dog is a dog for all.

4 weenies.

Cheers

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National Hot Dog Day: An Homage

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

  

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