MINIPROMPT: What Is Your Hometown {Hot Dog}?

Most cities have their own version of a hot dog. There’s a Chicago-style, a New York, and an entire website dedicated to regional hot dogs, capturing the specific toppings and stylings that make it authentic to a certain demographic.

So, we asked our staff… what is on YOUR hometown hot dog?

Zach Straus

Washington, D.C.’s former official hotdog used to be the Half-Smoke from iconic U Street Black owned business Ben’s Chili Bowl. D.C.’s new official hotdog is a Half-Smoke made exactly how they would at Ben’s Chili Bowl, only made by a white man working in a “ghost kitchen,” and sold for roughly double the price. Probably with some, I dunno, aioli on it, or whatever. Choose your own adventure as to which condiment is best representative of the rampant gentrification in which I pretend like I am not complicit.

Eric Mochnacz

The Sad Wood Ridge Little League Field Hot Dog.

I was on the Mills Bakery Little League team, and they didn’t even provide donuts in the dugout.  You know how they joke about the worst player being put in right field? Hi… it me. The only to get me to show up in uniform was the promise of something from the snack bar after.

So, if you were the chubby kid feeling dejected about the fact they didn’t include you on the batting lineup, because winning actually IS everything, hop on over to the snack bar and get yourself The Sad Wood Ridge Little League Field Hot Dog. This boiled since 8 A.M. culinary delight is served to you on an almost stale bun (Did that Mom just cut off a spot of mold?).  Glop on some sauerkraut and squirt on some congealed ketchup from a bottle that the Township bought for its bicentennial celebration… in 1986.

Jillian Conochan

There was a hot dog joint here in town, but they prepared their dogs Amsterdam-style: in a hollowed-out roll, which keeps accoutrements intact better than any ol’ open-faced bun can. My dad, a hot dog lover/new restaurant hater, was skeptical about a $7-8 frank, and screwballed his face at the mere mention of the place. Inside of 2 years, he manifested their demise; sadly they didn’t survive the slow winter at the Jersey Shore.

So now, if we want a $7 hot dog, we’ll have to settle for The Windmill.

Sam Hedenberg

Yo cuz!

Everybody who’s anybody knows the Philly-style dog would bust up any other dog like Rocky taking down that commie mook Drago.

What’s it got on it? Your mother.

This jawn starts with a quarter-pound Hatfield frank, just like the ones the Phanatic shoots out of his cannon at CBP. It’s piled high wit thin-sliced ribeye and topped wit Wiz and fried onions. The rolls come from my cousin Massimo’s bakery on 2 Street and are so crusty they make your gums bleed.

My uncle Vincenzo yusta put down three at supper until he went upstate on a bit. We don’t talk about that.

Don’t youze guys dare try to put mustard or mayo on this masterpiece. It belongs at the top of the art museum steps as is. Otherwise, you’ll be out of town faster than Carson Wentz. What a bum.

Go Birds, fuck the Cowboys.

Michael Maiello

Albuquerque’s hot dog is whatever they sold at 50 cent hot dog night at Albuquerque Dukes games. The Dukes, a AAA farm team for the Dodgers, are gone, replaced by the Isotopes. Why? Because the Simpsons once had an episode where the owner of the Springfield Isotopes wanted to move the team to Albuquerque is why. Spain’s Duke of Albuquerque shudders in his mausoleum.

Erin Vail

One of the most popular regional brands in the Buffalo area are Sahlen’s hot dogs. They are slightly longer than your average Hebrew National, the casing is different, and they also taste different from almost any other hot dog I’ve ever eaten. And I don’t even know how to describe how they’re different, because eating a hot dog should not require a refined palate or culinary vocabulary.

But the best way to eat a Sahlen’s hot dog is hot off the grill at my grandpa’s house, put on a bun and smothered with ketchup, then inhaled in under a minute with some Ruffles potato chips, so I could get back to playing with my cousins in the backyard as soon as possible.

Tom O’Gara

My home will always be in Bleacher Section 41, Row 18, where one can be served a Fenway Frank. In a nod to the typically unrefined culinary skills of the crowd, the Fenway Frank is boiled, not grilled. This process locks in its pinkish color that makes one question if it’s been cooked enough, until burned by the scalding juices inside. It is served on a traditional New England split-top bun that is accidentally steamed, a side-effect of the buns being transported through the park on top of a bin of hot dogs still in water.

The roving vendors selling Fenway Franks in the summer lug these heavy metal bins of hot water, meat, and bread up and down the stairways of 109 year-old venue. Anyone who doesn’t tip these hard working hot dog hustlers is a straight up asshole. They’ll even provide you with a packet of lukewarm mustard to smear across the top of the dog. You’ll probably end up with a little yellow on your shirt, but there’s nothing better than eating a hot dog at the ballpark.

Dennis William – The Lawrence Fucking Kansas Dog

The Lawrence, Kansas dog would be whatever Autin, Texas’s dog is, but smaller, less cool, and more passive aggressive. And anyone who orders it will tell you they’re basically the same without irony.

Sarah Razner – The Bratwurst

When it comes to cased meats, my hometown—nay, my entire home state of Wisconsin—shoves aside hot dogs for bratwurst. You have to look no further for proof than a Brewer’s baseball home game, where, in the sixth inning, the Famous Racing Sausages race around the field. Still not convinced? Try the movie World Trade Center, where they depict Wisconsin’s contribution at Ground Zero as frying up brats at the site for volunteers. But what makes a brat a Wisconsin brat? First, as the company was founded in Wisconsin, it must be a Johnsonville Brat, and since we are the dairy state—stop trying to take it away from us California—it will most likely be infused with cheddar cheese, AKA a cheddarwurst. With that special touch, no frills are needed for taste except some onions, ketchup, mustard, and, after this week, angry tears shed over the possible loss of Aaron Rodgers.