Doggie Diner is the name of a very small--as in, a total of two or possibly three--chain of fast food restaurants around Bolingbrook, IL. The guy that owns them is a younger guy that looks to be in his early thirties. Although it's called "Doggie Diner," I'm actually not that fond of their hot dogs. They pretty much stick to the tried-and-true method of boiling them and throwing a buttload of condiments on top. A version of the good ol' Chicago way that shuts up the kids because if they don't get all the condiments, it's kind of bland. And really, a plain, boiled hot dog is just unpleasant on so many levels. Especially if ketchup is the only thing added to that poor hot dog. It makes me cry, on the inside...from my stomach.
However, there are many things that kept me coming back almost once a week to this place when I used to live in the neighborhood, and still does from time to time when I don't mind a ten minute drive during my lunch break from the office where I work. First and foremost, it's one of those places where the fries are included with pretty much anything you buy, and sweet jesus, do they give you a lot of fries. They season the hell out of them with what I'm pretty sure is Lawry's Seasoned Salt, and they're the nice thin kind of fries I like. These fries actually give you a bit of a buzz for a few mintues when you're done eating. I'm sure that's a good thing.
Also, they've got one of my favorite lunchtime delicacies of all time: the spicy polish. This isn't one of those polish sausages that's just a slightly larger than normal hot dog and gives you slightly nastier breath. No, this is one of those bright red polish sausages that snap when you bite in, are char grilled, and have an extra spicy kick to them. You know that it's got to be possibly the worst thing you can eat, next to a big bottle of something that says POISON XXX on the label, but you don't care. What is that horrible preservative they use in these types of things? Nitrates? Nitrites? Whatever that's called, it's fucking delicious, and it's probably pickling me from the inside. Yet I do not care.
I've had plenty of other great things there too, but I almost always get the spicy polish. YOU DO NOT MESS WITH SUCCESS. Also, most of the other things they have there are just fucking unwieldy. For instance, they've got something that is basically two big hamburger patties in a big ol' Pita, loaded with lettuce and condiments on top. I want to say it's called "THE ULTIMATE SHITTER" but that can't be right. I didn't realize it wasn't just a regular double burger on a plain bun when I ordered it that one time, and when I got it I just kind of scratched my head for a few minutes before making a big fucking mess of the thing and giving up halfway through. It was pretty tasty, but I just felt like a failure. There was probably some kid holding a hot dog with no bun and his face all smeared with ketchup just laughing his ass off at me about two tables over. I think I would have had more success if I had access to a large blueprint with some crazy Rube Goldberg-styled stick figure drawings like in Tom and Jerry.
The atmosphere in the place is just perfect for what you'd want a small suburban town hot dog joint to be. Lots of oranges and browns, you kind of have to wipe the table off when you sit down to clear the last guy's errant salt and ketchup, there's a juke box that sounds like it's covered in blankets and of course has some Meat Loaf classics available to rock, and plenty of local sports heroes and hot dog-themed posters adorning the walls. There's usually at least one cop eating there (probably for free), and most of the time I see the same group of really old haggard men smoking like absolute chimneys at the same table. I think they might have come with the place when the dude bought the restaurant.
Oh man, I just remembered this awesome thing that happened there once. My old roommate and I were sitting at a table right next to a cartoony-looking poster of the Chicago skyline with hot dog shapes randomly inserted where, like, the Sears Tower or the Ferris Wheel would normally be. Some kid walks by and stops dead in his tracks and yells "HEY MOM! HOLY COW! IT'S A CITY...MADE OUT OF HOT DOGS!!" This poster had absolutely blown this kid's mind--it was like this was exactly what he had imagined in his mind's eye when his Sunday school teacher spoke of heaven, and the poster was a window into his spiritual mind.
That, folks, is why I write a blog about hot dog places.
I give Doggie Diner the Nobel Prize for Awesome.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Monday, November 13, 2006
Hot Doug's is Like Winning the Lottery, Except You Aren't a Dirtbag, and You're Paid in Gourmet Sausages
I think the title of this blog post sums it up and I should stop right there. But I will elaborate at great length.
Hot Doug's resides on an unassuming stretch of California Avenue on the Northwest side of Chicago. (Note: Almost all of the hot dog places I talk about will be in or around Chicago. However, even if I didn't live here, I'm pretty sure that the Chicago metro area is home to something like 98% of the world's hot dog joints, so this would be the case regardless.) It's not very hard to miss--on one side there are a few nondescript office buildings, and then to the other side there's a big fenced-in lot that belongs to Com Ed, and a CTA bus turnabout. The big yellow and red sign at the storefront on the corner advertising Hot Doug's as "The Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium" kind of jumps out at you, as does the occasional long line of people that stretches around the corner. It's one of those places that you pass by and kind of say "What the fuck is that place?" to yourself, or perhaps to the people that are also in your car. Maybe a couple days later, someone tells you about it and you wonder if there is a name for when that happens. Then you eventually give in to curiosity and check it out. You stop by on a Sunday and they are closed. You get kind of pissed and look them up on the web and notice that they're only open Monday through Saturday, 10:30AM to 4PM. So you go back the following Saturday around noon. Then there's a line, even though the weather sucks. But you're there so you stick around.
So you finally get in the door and take a look around. It looks like a pretty damned good time in there--chock full of people extremely happy to be eating some very interesting sausages, lots of amusing crap on the walls, good music on the stereo. You look at the huge menu on the wall and notice something right away--nothing but hot dogs and various sausages with funny names. They call themselves "The Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium" because that is really all they sell--delicious, gourmet sausages. Unless you count the drinks and fries. (More on the fries later.) Hot Doug's has part of a menu that stays the same all the time. That's where you get your typical Chicago-style hot dog, Italian sausage, corndog, and my staple fare when I'm not feeling adventurous: the "Don Rickles." The Don Rickles is what they call a Thuringer sausage--beef, pork, and garlic. These are all cheap--$1.50 for hot dog or corn dog, $3 for the Thuringer, etc. But unlike any old cheap hot dog stand, they use some really fresh, high quality ingredients in everything from the buns, to the sausage, and right down to the condiments.
Then, to the side of the main menu, they've got a few weekly specials written on a whiteboard. Here you can spend a few extra bucks--up to around $8--and choose between things like:
Game of week--Rattlesnake, Alligator, Pheasant, to name a few.
Hot Doug's BLT--A sausage that tastes just like bacon, with avocado mayo, lettuce, and little cherry tomatoes.
The Pepper Lopez--a quarter pound dog wrapped in bacon, with onions and jalapeño mustard.
Reuben--a sausage that tastes just like corned beef, with sauerkraut and thousand island dressing.
And so many more. They rotate a few of them out every week. Not only are the sausages for these things interesting, obscure, and delicious, but the condiments that they put on them are very well matched. Hot Doug is well trained in the culinary arts. I think he went to Northwestern. Much like me and this blog, he decided "fuck it, hot dogs are awesome" and decided to apply his skills to hot dogs. Of course, this makes him a pretty cool guy.
Oh yeah, I said I would mention the fries. If you go there on Friday or Saturday, you can get an order of duck fat fries. Yes folks, french fries that are fried in rendered duck fat. I should not have to tell you this, but these fries are extremely delicious. Any fries that are fried in real fat are great, but the duck fat gives them a little extra crispness and sweetness that makes me about as happy as a man that has eaten some potatoes fried in the fat that has been rendered from a duck. In other words: very happy.
After you make your decision, you place your order with the owner, Hot Doug himself. He's a personable man, quick to crack a joke and offer any suggestions if you need help deciding on anything. Hell, he'll even tell you to get the small drink because they have free refills, if you try to order a large.
You are then, and only then, allowed to grab your seat. No saving seats, for you assholes out there. Because of this rule, though, no matter how packed they are, you always seem to get a seat. They're pretty quick to get you your order, which is brought out to you by an affable young gent or some girl that I have not had any interactions with as of yet, but who seems similarly affable. After you've had time to sufficiently savor your meal, you'd better not be a jerk and stick around chatting about something stupid. They will kindly ask you to leave so that the people in the enormous line will have a place to sit. You won't mind because you really want to go home and take a nice nap anyway.
So as you can tell, I really hate this place.
Just kidding. I wanted to start off the current incarnation of my internet ramblings with Hot Doug's because I think it's my favorite restaurant in the whole world. If you could somehow involve beer and sex into the equation, it would pretty much be how I would describe what my personal heaven will be like when I die. I give it 12 thumbs up and 6 stars.
Hot Doug's resides on an unassuming stretch of California Avenue on the Northwest side of Chicago. (Note: Almost all of the hot dog places I talk about will be in or around Chicago. However, even if I didn't live here, I'm pretty sure that the Chicago metro area is home to something like 98% of the world's hot dog joints, so this would be the case regardless.) It's not very hard to miss--on one side there are a few nondescript office buildings, and then to the other side there's a big fenced-in lot that belongs to Com Ed, and a CTA bus turnabout. The big yellow and red sign at the storefront on the corner advertising Hot Doug's as "The Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium" kind of jumps out at you, as does the occasional long line of people that stretches around the corner. It's one of those places that you pass by and kind of say "What the fuck is that place?" to yourself, or perhaps to the people that are also in your car. Maybe a couple days later, someone tells you about it and you wonder if there is a name for when that happens. Then you eventually give in to curiosity and check it out. You stop by on a Sunday and they are closed. You get kind of pissed and look them up on the web and notice that they're only open Monday through Saturday, 10:30AM to 4PM. So you go back the following Saturday around noon. Then there's a line, even though the weather sucks. But you're there so you stick around.
So you finally get in the door and take a look around. It looks like a pretty damned good time in there--chock full of people extremely happy to be eating some very interesting sausages, lots of amusing crap on the walls, good music on the stereo. You look at the huge menu on the wall and notice something right away--nothing but hot dogs and various sausages with funny names. They call themselves "The Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium" because that is really all they sell--delicious, gourmet sausages. Unless you count the drinks and fries. (More on the fries later.) Hot Doug's has part of a menu that stays the same all the time. That's where you get your typical Chicago-style hot dog, Italian sausage, corndog, and my staple fare when I'm not feeling adventurous: the "Don Rickles." The Don Rickles is what they call a Thuringer sausage--beef, pork, and garlic. These are all cheap--$1.50 for hot dog or corn dog, $3 for the Thuringer, etc. But unlike any old cheap hot dog stand, they use some really fresh, high quality ingredients in everything from the buns, to the sausage, and right down to the condiments.
Then, to the side of the main menu, they've got a few weekly specials written on a whiteboard. Here you can spend a few extra bucks--up to around $8--and choose between things like:
Game of week--Rattlesnake, Alligator, Pheasant, to name a few.
Hot Doug's BLT--A sausage that tastes just like bacon, with avocado mayo, lettuce, and little cherry tomatoes.
The Pepper Lopez--a quarter pound dog wrapped in bacon, with onions and jalapeño mustard.
Reuben--a sausage that tastes just like corned beef, with sauerkraut and thousand island dressing.
And so many more. They rotate a few of them out every week. Not only are the sausages for these things interesting, obscure, and delicious, but the condiments that they put on them are very well matched. Hot Doug is well trained in the culinary arts. I think he went to Northwestern. Much like me and this blog, he decided "fuck it, hot dogs are awesome" and decided to apply his skills to hot dogs. Of course, this makes him a pretty cool guy.
Oh yeah, I said I would mention the fries. If you go there on Friday or Saturday, you can get an order of duck fat fries. Yes folks, french fries that are fried in rendered duck fat. I should not have to tell you this, but these fries are extremely delicious. Any fries that are fried in real fat are great, but the duck fat gives them a little extra crispness and sweetness that makes me about as happy as a man that has eaten some potatoes fried in the fat that has been rendered from a duck. In other words: very happy.
After you make your decision, you place your order with the owner, Hot Doug himself. He's a personable man, quick to crack a joke and offer any suggestions if you need help deciding on anything. Hell, he'll even tell you to get the small drink because they have free refills, if you try to order a large.
You are then, and only then, allowed to grab your seat. No saving seats, for you assholes out there. Because of this rule, though, no matter how packed they are, you always seem to get a seat. They're pretty quick to get you your order, which is brought out to you by an affable young gent or some girl that I have not had any interactions with as of yet, but who seems similarly affable. After you've had time to sufficiently savor your meal, you'd better not be a jerk and stick around chatting about something stupid. They will kindly ask you to leave so that the people in the enormous line will have a place to sit. You won't mind because you really want to go home and take a nice nap anyway.
So as you can tell, I really hate this place.
Just kidding. I wanted to start off the current incarnation of my internet ramblings with Hot Doug's because I think it's my favorite restaurant in the whole world. If you could somehow involve beer and sex into the equation, it would pretty much be how I would describe what my personal heaven will be like when I die. I give it 12 thumbs up and 6 stars.
Hello? Anyone? Fuck?
Well, I guess I answered my own question by not posting here in about 3 months. This blog can get fucked.
OR CAN IT???!?!?!?
Yes--In its current state, that is. I've decided that for the foreseeable future, I'm going to blog about hot dog places that I have eaten at and might eat at in the future. If something really pisses me off I might chime in with a treatise on exactly why it can get fucked, but for now, it's fucking hot dogs.
Why? Because fuck you, that's why.
Sorry, I had to make this post somewhat of a segue. No offense, the three people that might still read this!
Edit: Oh hey, I forgot, the Quarter Life Magazine article came out a while ago. Seriously, fuck the Buzz Ballads CD.
OR CAN IT???!?!?!?
Yes--In its current state, that is. I've decided that for the foreseeable future, I'm going to blog about hot dog places that I have eaten at and might eat at in the future. If something really pisses me off I might chime in with a treatise on exactly why it can get fucked, but for now, it's fucking hot dogs.
Why? Because fuck you, that's why.
Sorry, I had to make this post somewhat of a segue. No offense, the three people that might still read this!
Edit: Oh hey, I forgot, the Quarter Life Magazine article came out a while ago. Seriously, fuck the Buzz Ballads CD.
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