Food: A Love Story (20 page)

Now once the weather starts getting nice, around May, I think only about bratwurst. I eat bratwurst exclusively during
the summer. I guess it’s the seasonal popularity that makes it even more appealing. Luckily I get to spend some time every summer in Wisconsin, America’s bratwurst basket. Sure, it’s always nice to visit Jeannie’s family, but the easy access to a perfect bratwurst is a huge draw. I’ve heard if you eat bratwurst for more than a week straight anywhere in the United States, you have to pay taxes in Wisconsin. Bratwurst are so associated with Wisconsin, I’m surprised there isn’t a delicious brat in the middle of the state flag. But by the end of the summer you realize why hot dogs are the most popular sausage. You can eat a hot dog year-round. You can eat brats only in three-month increments. Sure, it’s fun to pull a muscle eating a bratwurst because it contains roughly the same amount of fat and calories as two Thanksgiving dinners, but the body cannot survive on brats. So around September I’m back to my loyal friend the hot dog.

I should have probably made some brats for Jeannie and the kids too.

Hot Dogs

There is good reason why hot dogs are the original fast food. They just make everyone happy. Hot dogs are like the antidepressant of food. Hot dogs are always associated with fun things like carnivals, block parties, and eating hot dogs. Hey, hot dogs are that fun! You’re never at a baseball game thinking,
Let me get a beer and a turkey sandwich
. You get a beer and hot dog. Compared with the hot dog, a turkey sandwich at a baseball game sounds like a form of punishment. Hot dogs make every experience better, with the exception of maybe a circumcision.

Jack at Crif Dogs in the East Village.

While many of us associate hot dogs only with happy times, there are the party poopers who get all caught up in facts. The contents of hot dogs are not something anyone wants to think
about. Lately, hot dogs have experienced a perception problem. When you are eating a hot dog, there is always that annoying friend there to rain on your parade: “Do you know what those are made of?” I always think,
I don’t want to know. I just want to enjoy my hot dog.
Hot dogs are like strippers, really. Nobody wants to know the backstory. We don’t want to think about how they came to be in their present form of employment. “Well, when I was twelve, my stepfather …” “Not interested! Now put some mustard on that.”

I prefer the Icelandic hot dogs to the fish oil.

At this point I don’t care. Meat scraps in a tube sounds more appealing than caviar (tiny fish eggs) to me. I think we hot dog fans should fight back and tell it like it is: “I love animal scraps stuffed in intestines. I only eat Hebrew National, which means I’m eating kosher cow lips!” I just love hot dogs.
I’ve come to the conclusion that hot dogs could be made up of just about anything and I’d still eat them. Well, anything but kale. I have some boundaries.

Hot dogs are a worldwide phenomenon. Every culture seems to have their own special hot dog. One of the best hot dogs I’ve eaten was in Iceland. Served with fried onions and sweet mustard, it was delicious, but it also brought back memories of when I was ten and my parents brought my siblings and me to Europe. One of my favorite memories was a stop at Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen, where I had my first hot dog with fried onions. Initially I thought it was strange, but then I was mesmerized by the combination. As I normally did during that European summer trip, I followed my blond parents in their cardigans while I enjoyed the most brilliant hot dog I had ever had. When I finished the hot dog, I pleaded with my mother to get another one, but when my mom turned around, she wasn’t my mom. She was just a blond lady in a cardigan, and my father was another blond stranger in a cardigan. I looked around, and every adult in Tivoli Gardens was blond and in a cardigan. For a moment I felt like I was trapped in a Hans Christian Andersen story until I found my parents back at the hot dog stand sharing another hot dog.

Hot Dog Alley

There seems to be a part of the Midwest that really appreciates hot dogs. I call it Hot Dog Alley. In these cities it is almost a requirement to get a hot dog when you are in town. This hot dog–obsessed geographical area even looks a bit like a hot dog. Starting in Chicago, one must get a Chicago-style hot dog, which for some reason comes with a salad on top. It’s probably the only time I’m excited to eat vegetables and fluorescent-green relish. The combination of onions, tomato wedges, pickle spears, sport peppers, celery salt, yellow mustard, and the unique bright-green sweet pickle relish on a sesame seed hot dog bun is amazing. I’ve been in parts of Chicagoland that have had three hot dog places on the same block. And, yes, they are all busy.

In Fort Wayne, Indiana, a must-stop is Fort Wayne Coney Island Wiener Stand, where you get the hot dog with way too many fresh-cut onions and a dollop of chili on top. Hot dogs that are prepared this way in the Midwest are known as “Coney Island hot dogs” but have really nothing to do with Coney Island, New York. The only thing that I can figure out about the origin of the name is that a hundred years ago when someone from Fort Wayne, Indiana, decided to open a hot dog place, they named it after Coney Island, because that seemed
like a faraway place where people ate hot dogs and they would probably sell more “Coney Island hot dogs” than “chili dogs” (as everyone else called them) because Coney Island sounded more romantic. Yes, to people in Fort Wayne in 1914, Coney Island seemed romantic. Fort Wayne Coney Island Wiener Stand has been serving their hot dogs that way since, well, since people wanted a pound of fresh onions and chili on their hot dog.

In Toledo you must get a hot dog at Tony Packo’s, the place Klinger used to talk about on the TV show
M*A*S*H.
The Tony Packo “hot dog” is really a Hungarian sausage called
kolbász
and is roughly the width of a baseball bat. Tony Packo’s is also famous for all the signed hot dog buns, because someone’s signature on a perishable item made sense to someone, and who doesn’t want a little ink on their bun?

Hot Dog Alley ends in Detroit, where the onion and chili-laden Coney Island hot dog returns and seems to take center stage. Detroit is passionate about their Coneys, but unlike the Fort Wayne version, the Detroit Coneys have a meatless chili that is mostly beans. Aside from onions, chili is the most important element to the Coney Island–style hot dog, and all these locations have their own spin on the chili. Different parts of Michigan have their own varieties of chili sauces, from chili made with Hungarian spices to a dry topping made of finely ground beef heart. The vendor proudly announced this special ingredient while handing me my hot dog. Frankly (pun intended), I would have been more comfortable not knowing that information until several days after eating the hot dog, but I ate it nonetheless.

Recently I did a stand-up tour through Hot Dog Alley with my friend (and opening act) Tom Shillue, who commented in Toledo, “I don’t think people are supposed to eat hot dogs four
days in row, right?” Oh, we are, Tom. And I did. After all, we were in Hot Dog Alley.

Grocery Store Hot Dogs

Like many people, whenever I’m at a ball game or a movie I enjoy eating four or five hot dogs. Sure, the hot dogs at these places might be like six bucks a pop, but, hey, we’re talking about hot dogs here. Anyway, early one recent morning, right before heading to bed, I was in the grocery store buying a block of cheese and a six-pack of beer for breakfast. I saw this sign that announced a package of ten hot dogs on sale for four dollars. I thought,
Huh, this must be a typo or something. Surely the store must mean twenty dollars.
I picked up the package of hot dogs, and, sure enough, right there on the package the price tag clearly stated four dollars, but I still didn’t believe it. I picked up another package and, sure enough, four dollars. So I held up the package and asked some old woman near me, “Have you seen this, or am I dreaming?” Well, she scrunched her face and looked at me like I was drunk or something. Granted, I was, but not stumbling or anything, so she didn’t have to look at me like that. I mean, what a Gloomy Gus. Leaving that black cloud in my dust, I skipped up to the cashier, paid four dollars for a ten-pack of hot dogs, brought them home, and then I, Jim Gaffigan, actually cooked them. Believe it or not, in my very own kitchen. I swear I’m not lying. Sure, it wasn’t that easy, but I figured it out.

Jim’s Homemade Hot Dog Recipe

Being a person who likes to share his good fortune, I would like to now give you my recipe for homemade hot dogs that are
as good as the half dozen we all buy at the ball park. I might be backtracking, but first you’re going to have to do a little shopping. Since we’re making hot dogs, definitely buy hot dogs. I find it best to buy hot dogs in the hot dog section of your grocery store. Okay, so if you’ve got hot dogs, let’s get started. Don’t be afraid to write down some of these instructions, because cooking hot dogs can get complicated.

Step One: opening the hot dog package. Take your hot dog package and open it up. I like to tear it open with my teeth unless my wife is in the room. Then I’ll use a knife, a key, or a ballpoint pen. Either way, be careful. That package isn’t only filled with fresh hot dogs; there is also hot dog juice in there. You don’t want to spill that juice on your shirt. The shirt will smell like hot dogs for a month—unless, of course, someone washes the shirt for you.

Step Two: prepping your hot dog. Take a hot dog out of the package with your fingers. Put the hot dog in the microwave. If your wife or mom is around, put the hot dog on a plate or something paper before you place it in the microwave. That way they can’t complain about having to clean up your greasy mess later on.

Step Three: the microwave. The microwave can be the most confusing part of making a hot dog. If you’re like me, I find it hard enough trying to figure out how to open the damn microwave door, let alone how to set the cooking time. Don’t worry, you’ll get it eventually—just keep hitting random buttons. Set the microwave for any number of seconds under a minute and push start. This will most likely be the button with start printed on it. If you can’t find the start button, yell for your wife or mom.