I Bet My Lunch is Better than Yours
I have a confession to make.
It’s not like this confession or this confession, where my mistakes were embarrassing but innocent, yet they were just that – mistakes.
No, this is something different entirely.
This is something that could be considered a flaw of character.
I didn’t think I had any of those, either.
Well maybe this isn’t so much a character flaw, as it is a taste flaw.
I can’t believe I’m about to admit this on this blog. My foodie friends read this blog.
But those of you who know me – like know me, know me – are already aware of this fun little fact.
One of my absolute, all-time, mouth-is-watering-right-now-just-thinking-about it foods is…
A hot dog.
Correction – a good hot dog.
But I’ll eat the bad ones, too.
Justin and I decided to go out to dinner last night because our heater is broken, it’s unseasonably cold, and refusing to conform to what most people would do in our situation, which is call someone to fix it and eat Ramen noodles in an attempt to save as much money as possible for something that could potentially do catastrophic damage to our already-dwindling savings account (more on that later), we decided to pretend that the problem didn’t exist and go try a restaurant we’ve been wanting to try for quite some time.
*This problem is much more difficult to ignore today, while I’m sitting here typing with the very real fear that the tip of my nose is going to freeze off, which, if you’ve seen my schnoz, wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to my face aesthetically speaking, but I’m pretty positive it wouldn’t feel all too pleasant.
The restaurant is called The Steele Pig, and is located a mere 25 minutes from our house, which is remarkably close for an actual chef-owned restaurant ’round these parts. We didn’t even know it existed until a couple of months ago. It’s incredibly understated, hard to see from the street, minimally decorated, doesn’t have an overabundance of tables, and none of that matters because holy crap, it’s a real restaurant less than an hour away from our house!
Now, I’m not a “foodie blogger.” Unlike my friends Steven and Matty, I can’t wax poetic about chef credentials and food names I can’t properly announce and why certain reds are better served in a tulip glass because the liquid will hit my not-so-refined palette in just the right place and are you still talking because I’m seriously trying to eat over here.
So I’m not even going to try.
All I can tell you is that while there are some things on the menu that sounded absolutely delicious (crawfish cakes or a fried green tomato BLT, anyone?), I knew my choice had been made for me when our server told us about their $12 hot dog they had on special that night.
That’s right – $12 for a hot dog.
I knew it had to be good.
I waited anxiously with my tasty $5 mojito, and we downed some fried pork wontons that were gone before I could snap a photo.
*All of these photos were taken with my crappy camera phone, by the way. My apologies. I tried to be discrete because I know Justin loves being seen with the girl taking pictures of her food. I only wished I had my giant DSLR to take better photos…
But then – then – came this:
A giant, delicious, 100% beef (I think) dog on an egg bun topped with incredibly tender pulled pork and homemade coleslaw with my choice of either a traditional red barbecue sauce or a North Carolina vinegar-based sauce.
Oh. My. God.
I had to eat this with a fork.
It was also served with homemade applesauce and incredible herb and garlic fries.
In fact, I think I’m going to go devour the other half right now before I go in search of a warm place (maybe a bookstore?) to spend the afternoon.
Let’s hope the heater fixer guy has good – and not expensive – news, shall we?