Doggie Diner, You Make Me Feel Somewhat Hypocritcal When I Tell Smokers They Are Treating Their Bodies Like Shit

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.