I don’t eat a lot of hot dogs these days. In fact I can’t even remember the last time I ate one. Each year at a baseball game I consider eating one, but I haven’t actually gotten around to to doing it for, I would guess about 4 or 5 years. I’ve had plenty of turkey sausages, a few brats here and there, but not a real good old American hot dog. Why am I thinking about this on a cold rainy October day you ask? It’s because I’m insane! And it’s because I didn’t eat a hot dog in France either. Boo!
You see I intended to. I even searched a bit for one, but I never quite find the right situation or opportunity. If you’re thinking this is a lot of thought and effort going into a hot dog, you’re absolutely right, but there’s a reason for my madness. It’s because the best damn hot dog I’ve ever had in my life was somewhere on the coast in the South of France. I can still remember the bread, how they toasted the bread on some kind of heated steel rod. And how they put mustard down into the hole that was bore in the the bread before putting the hot dog in the baguette. I just can’t remember exactly where is was. Maybe it was in St Paul de Vence in front of a small beer cafe. I’m not sure, but I do know that after all these years it is still the hot dog that I measure all hot dogs by, even though there is nothing right about the picture below!
I had hoped to re-create that experience sometime on my trip to Paris and the south of France. I expected to sink my teeth into another one of those quintessential moments of eating history and transcend the summit of the world of tubed meats, but alas all I ever saw was an occasional pre-made hot dog in a pastry case. I just couldn’t seem to find the right situation to attempt to recreate that memory that I had built up in my head, so I didn’t even try. It’s kind of like the little white church for those of you who have been following along, right?
So I return to the States with my hot dog fast still an active streak. I don’t think there are any awards for stuff like that but I may have to look into it. Maybe someday I’ll take the plunge? Maybe my first ever visit to Chicago’s famous “Hot Doug’s” is in order… or maybe I’ll just leave that memory as well enough alone?