Nothing to See Here…

I love hot dogs.

I do.  I love them.  And I don’t care how much you talk about all the disgusting stuff that supposedly goes into them, you will not change my mind.  Cat guts, mice poop, cow brains, whatever.  Bring it on.

At home, years ago, we switched to turkey dogs.  Blech.  They simply aren’t the same at all and therefore I don’t eat hot dogs at home these days.  I will enjoy one when I’m at the kids’ softball games or a barbecue where they are being served.  You know, places where people feel fine about serving real weiners and not these healthy turkey dogs.

I’m a purist.  Hot dog, bun, nothing else.  No ketchup or mustard or pickle relish or any of that other crap.  Just a hot dog and bun.  If it’s a grilled dog, I love it bordering upon being burned.  If it’s made inside, I want it boiled.  Microwave hot dogs suck eggs.

The bun is very important, too.  Not just any bun will do.  It has to be very fresh; soft, pillowy and plain ol’ unhealthy white bread buns.  To hell with whole grain buns.  Ugh, why do they have to go ruining everything beloved from my childhood?  Steamed buns are the best, but even when the buns aren’t steamed, they must be very fresh.  Stale buns will never do - it would completely ruin the experience.

I used to enjoy the hot dogs at places like the baseball stadium and even Quiktrip or 7-11.  They always had those hot dogs roasting and the steamed buns in that drawer.  Yummy.

Until they ruined it for me.  Jumbo dogs.  JUMBO dogs.  I know that in general people think more is better in this world, but where hot dogs are concerned, that’s not true.  It ruins the whole experience when the hot dog is too big.  And it seems they have all transitioned over to jumbo dogs.  Ugh, I hate it.

This topic came up on our commute in this morning (my husband and I drive together, in case you didn’t know.)  There was a promotion on our radio station where by the winner gets tickets to the Cardinals ballgame and a hot dog and soda.  I grumbled and when my husband inquired (his first mistake), here is what ensued:

Me:  Who wants a hot dog at the ballpark anymore?  They have ruined them.  Why can’t you get a regular ol’ weiner?  Why do they have to be these jumbo franks?

Him:  Blah blah cost to make them the same blah blah higher profit margin blah blah.

Me:  Well, I don’t care about any of that.  They have ruined the weiner-to-bun ratio and the whole thing tastes different because of it.

Him:  So, it’s just a matter of the ratio?  If they served the jumbo franks on a bigger bun, would you be happy?

Me:  No.  I wouldn’t be happy at all.  I don’t want more bun.  I just want less weiner.

Him:  Truer words have never been spoken.

That’s the problem in my life.  Too damn much weiner.