Weenie Love

"I have the greatest job in the world, and my life revolves around my love for food - particularly devouring hot dogs."

-Joey Chestnut

My time in the City led me back to an old, well, not exactly love, but strong like.

I'd drifted away from eating hot dogs. Peg doesn't much care for them, seeing as how they're the very wiggly embodiment of the ultra-processed foods she avoids (and therefore so do I, as her dining companion).

But in New York City, hot dogs are everywhere. Not just Sabrett's or Hebrew National, but Nathan's and the greatest dog on the planet, Feltman's. Ball Park Franks? What are you, some red state yokel?

Returning to the western part of the state, Feltman's was nowhere to be found. We'd turned up our nose at Nathan's after a disappointing luncheon at their flagship store on Coney Island.

But the locals have their own brand, Zweigle's, made right up the road in Rochester. Why not give it a try?

So yesterday I did, picking up a rather expensive ($7 for six) pack of all-natural, nitrate-free dogs and bringing them back up here to the condo for a late lunch.

I wasn't encouraged by their appearance--white and wrinkly, with the intestine-casings bunched into strings in places. A circumcision gone wrong.

I had really good kraut and hot mustard to adorn the dogs. It didn't help.

Like all western New York cuisine, they were quite bland. And those casings fight back--I had to tear at them like a hyena ripping apart an antelope, strings of intestinal matter hanging down into my beard. It wasn't a positive experience.

And a couple hours later came the inevitable next unpleasant experience. The hot dogs didn't stay long.

Today I'll try to order a box of Feltman's franks ($100) in time for the gathering up at the lake on the 4th. I couldn't live with myself trying to palm off the Zweigle's to people I supposedly like.