*UPDATE* Apparently WordPress decided to uncheck my “allow comments” box on this post, which would explain why there are actually no comments when I thought everyone just hated me. Dang. All fixed. And thanks Shelly for pointing it out to me on Facebook!
Okay.
So you all know I have this unhealthy (to say the least) hankering for hot dogs. Read the rest of this gem…
Did you know that the song, “Build Me Up, Buttercup” always puts me in a good mood?
It doesn’t matter that my allergies have practically crudded my contact lenses to my eyelids and my husband’s in Afghanistan and the dogs have been waking me up at 5:30 every morning so they can drag me 2 miles around the neighborhood.
Ultimately, it’s The Foundations — not the sunrise over the lake or the smell of my morning coffee or any amount of caffeine — who put the spring back in my step.
Which only further proves that I was born in the wrong generation.
Technology makes me nervous, and I’m pretty sure that a poppy-seed from my bagel just got stuck inside my keyboard.
That wouldn’t have happened with a typewriter.
Of course, then this whole blog thing wouldn’t be happening either, and I’d probably be haphazardly wandering the streets of Fayetteville talking to anyone who will listen about the merits of Poo-Pourri while shoving photos of family vacations in their faces.
But instead, I get to shove them in your faces, which is much more gratifying.
So.
After our first day in Colorado was spent guzzling free alcoholic beverages at the Coors brewery, we decided we needed some culture in our lives. My mother, her boyfriend Ed, Justin and I hopped on a train that speedily dropped us in the heart of downtown Denver.
(Can I just say for a second how much I love public transportation? Seriously. My dream is to live in a city with clean, efficient public transportation — where I can jet from one place to the next without worrying where to park my car, how much it’s going to cost, or whether I might lose the drag race I just accepted with a 60-year-old man. True story.
I won.)
Just one of many modes of Denver mass transit.
Anyway.
Our first stop in the Mile High city was for food.
You know my priorities.
Justin, always the advocate for anything highlighted on the Food or Travel networks, opted for Biker Jim’s Gourmet Dogs. We were searching for their street cart at the specified location, but ended up walking several city blocks to the actual restaurant when we learned it was an off-day for the food cart. Turns out this was a wise decision, since I’m pretty sure they don’t sell beer from the food cart.
But I’ve been wrong before.
The decor is minimal and industrial, but their main food is hot dogs. What do you expect?
An interesting juxtaposition of good ol’ “Amurcan” cuisine, gourmet ingredients, and several oddities you’d be more likely to find dead on the side of the road than in Manhattan’s finest establishments make up the simple menu.
Tip: The larger the selection of food on a restaurant’s menu, the crappier it will likely be. Smaller, more selective menus are generally where you’ll find the best food.
I ordered the Weiner Wellington — an insanely delicious rib eye steak brat with mushroom duxelle and grainy Dijon cream wrapped in puff pastry and drizzled with Bordelaise. I don’t know what most of that is, but I do know this: It tasted like heaven wrapped in fluffy clouds dipped in gravy.
For $8.50, this is not the most I’ve spent on a dog, believe it or not. Nor is this the widest selection of toppings I’ve seen. But it was, my friends, the tastiest.
Take one.
Take two.
Take… *burp*
Now. I honestly can’t remember what Justin and Ed ordered. It may have been the southwest buffalo. It may have been the Wild Boar. Maybe the smoked bacon Bat Dog, with avocado puree, tomato cream cheese, caramelized onion, and bacon bits. And I know the idea of the rattlesnake and pheasant dogs were at least discussed.
But I do know they were delicious.
Pretty sure this is the Bat Dog.
And… um… boar, maybe?
But they weren’t quite as good as mine.
It was the puff pastry that sealed the deal.
If this is Denver, consider me a fan.
So. Even though I didn’t get to tell you about the most wonderfully delicious hot dog ever on Tuesday because I was distracted with 2 flat tires (no, not Fat Tires — flat tires. big difference.) and ended up turning hot dogs into a philosophical discussion on life, the post still spurred some interesting and impassioned hot dog comments.
Well.
I hope you didn’t lose steam, because this is the actual hot dog post. I kind of love it when you comment, because it validates my existence or something. And I look forward to reading every single one of them.
Anyway.
I love me a good hot dog.
Don’t get me wrong — it’s a rare occasion that you’d ever find one of those pink, plasticy, compressed impersonators that squeak when you bite into them sitting inside of my fridge. I’ll eat those, yes, but that’s not a proper hot dog. I’m talking about big, brown, juicy beef franks with real meat grease and manly grill marks.
See what I mean?
The best dog I ever ate purely for the meat taste factor was actually at a Five Guys restaurant. Yep, a fast food joint. Once I moved mentally past the oddity of a hot dog split lengthwise down the middle, the thing was gone in 3 bites flat. It was insanely good, to the point where it probably didn’t need a single topping.
But.
The great thing about hot dogs is that your options are really limitless when it comes to dressing it up. It just never occurred to me how limitless until my brother took us to Happy Dog in Cleveland.
When he parked outside of the dark, corner bar, I was thinking, Great! Pre-dinner drinks!
I definitely wasn’t thinking, Great! Dinner!
Until, that is, I saw the menu.
I’m sorry once again for the blur. It was pretty dark in there, and all I had was my cell phone camera.
For someone who’s terrified of making decisions, this menu was daunting, to say the least. The first part was easy — I just had to choose between a veggie dog and a real dog. Um… do they even know me? (No, but they probably should.)
I checked the circle for the real dog and moved on.
Uh-oh.
So many things to try!
What’s Brazilian chimichurri? And would it taste good with Oaxacan red chile and chocolate mole, topped with Polish ‘cwikla?
And is it socially acceptable to order a hot dog chopped with Korean kim chee, Greek feta cheese, and Marcella’s grape jelly and chile sauce?
Are we allowed to mix ethnicities, or is this a segregated hot dog joint?
Is this going to end up with me mixing a bunch of things I like but they don’t actually taste good together?
What’s more, if I don’t know what these things taste like alone, how am I going to know if they’re good together?!
OMG-if-someone-doesn’t-help-me-soon-I-might-die-from-overstimulation-caused-by-50-topping-choices-and-countless-combinations-and-where-is-my-frickin’-BEER?
Then, just when I started to break into a cold sweat, the server told me they had a suggestion menu.
My savior.
Among the suggested options were:
“Childhood Favorite”: ketchup, traditional yellow mustard, chopped onions, Spaghetti O’s, and nacho cheese.
“(no title)”: Bertman’s Original Ballpark mustard, killer steak sauce, bourbon baked beans, habanero pickled red onions, and Frito corn chips.
Justin ended up choosing the “Happy Dog Favorite” with Cajun mayonnaise – Remoulade, bacon spiked southern style beans, smoked Gouda cheese, and a sunny-side-up fried egg. Or maybe it was the one with chipotle hollandaise, cheddar cheese, Nueske bacon, and a sunny-side-up-fried egg? I can’t remember. But it definitely had an egg. And I’m pretty sure he ordered Gouda.
Wowza.
I ended up getting a bit fancy, choosing a title-less suggested combination of bacon-balsamic marmalade, pineapple-ginger chutney, caramelized onions, and French brie cheese.
And then I died.
And then I came back to life so I could finish the dog and name it “Sweet ‘n Savory a la Bacon with a ‘Stache.” I’m not sure why. It just works.
And then I died again.
I still have dreams about it.
My only complaint is that the bun wasn’t fantastic. In fact, I had to finish the dog with a fork and knife, which is like… hot dog defamation, but what’s a girl to do when her brie is jumping ship?
Happy Dog really should invest in some sturdier buns, or even toast them to ensure they can handle the smorgasbord of deliciousness that gets piled on top, making even happier dogs.
After all, you can’t build a skyscraper on a soggy wetland. Otherwise you get… I don’t know… The Leaning Tower of Pisa?
On the back of the menu is a simple choice of sides: tater tots or french fries, followed by a not-so-simple choice of dipping sauces and toppings. I especially enjoyed the saffron aioli and the raspberry crunch mustard.
Just not together.
Pair your custom dog and tots with a Stella Artois (for me) or your beverage of choice, and the result is one happy dog.
Thanks, brother. You know me so well.