Chicago is a city of mystery, of city of finance, a city of fashion. But most importantly, it is a city hot dogs. Here’s a hot dog-oriented journal of my recent visit to the Windy City.
At the Shedd aquarium, unprotected from a blustery wind coming off Lake Michigan, one can find a little family-run hot dog cart. Befitting its pedigree, it’s a very authentic Chicago dog. It has a beef hot dog, kept in a steam tray, wrapped in a slightly mooshy bun from a steam tray, topped with a pickle that’s larger than the meat, decorated with uranium-green relish, and sprinkled with celery salt.
The sign by the cart’s window states in no uncertain terms that "a hot dog with everything does NOT include ketchup."
My brother-in-law took the family down to Hot Doug’s, a hot dog restaurant that you may have read about in the shoutbox to the right.
The walls are covered with ironic hot dog-themed content
The big draw is the specialty hot dogs.
My sister got a regular Chicago dog, but it was served grilled. The slight char around the outside gave it a brilliant flavor and an extra backyard kick.
Julia got the rib-eye dog, a meaty whirlwind of dogness.
Out of a sense of duty if nothing else, I had to sample the foie gras dog. Let me quote the description from Doug’s website:
"Foie Gras and Sauternes Duck Sausage with Truffle Aioli, Foie Gras Mousse and Sel Gris"
I am still in awe. This is not merely a tube-based meat product, this is a conceptual triumph. It has taken the lowest, most humble of cuisines and transmogrified it into an expression of royal perfection. If the Queen of England were to visit Chicago, she could do no worse than to wrap her lips around this rod of juicy duck flesh. Thank you, Doug. Thank you for your obsessive exploration of excellence.
On the way out of Chicago, I had one last chance to dog it up at the airport. Essentially every food counter at Midway sells hot dogs. This one was a queer variation from Chicago dog dogma. It was a quarter-pound pork dog(tasted like a Decker), served with regular-shade green relish. All the condiments were served still in their travel packets.
The lady gave me a couple of packets of ketchup. I’ve never been so insulted in my life.
