If you have a moment:
I want to tell you a story about a Hot Dog.
First thing you should know about me
I hates onions. It’s a texture thing. And a flavor thing
An onion completely ruined a meatloaf for me
Way back when I was a kid
And I’ve had a chip on my shoulder ever since.
I loathe mustard. If ever a fast food place
Accidently adds mustard (to my special order)
It’s BACK TO THE WINDOW, CHARLIE!
For a harsh word and hopefully,
An untainted burger.
What I need you to understand at this point in the story is
That me, mustard, and onions are not friends
Barely on speaking terms
And we’d spit on the street when we pass each other.
NOT A FAN, Got it?
So between shifts at work yesterday
There’s this Food Truck
Let’s Be Frank
(That’s the name of the Truck)
It sold hot dogs.
The guy on the grill
He’s real nice
Tells me a story
About being from Rockaway Beach
An unknowingly golfing one time
With the drummer from The Ramones
He was still thrilled by that story
That it happened to him and
You could tell.
Someone pipes up
“Hey guy! Whadda-you put on them hot dawgs?”
Automatically, the answer is
A homemade relish
And GRILLED ONIONS
I nearly bailed. Afraid of my toddler tastebuds
Offending this maestro of the meats,
But he noticed my face.
“Wassamatter?” he asked.
“I’m… just not sure about the onions…
”A hush falls over the other customers
He stops what he’s doing.
Puts down his precision tongs.
Looks me DEAD in the eye,
And says:
“You’re taking the onions.”
What follows is,
Unbelievably,
A direct quote:
“Hey, take it from me.
I’ve been SLINGING THESE DOGS for 20 years now
I still make them for myself this same way.
All the flavors together. They work. They REALLY work”
My eyes are as big as dish plates.
“For real?” I say in awe.
“Don’t take it from me. Look at my awards.”
Upon second look, this guy’s truck is covered in
Awards. Accolades. Stellar Yelp Reviews.
THE MAN IS LEGIT.
I have no choice. My mouth says “Okay.”
Sssssssssss. That’s the sound
Of my onions on the grill. I’m nervous.
He smirks at me and
Hands me the steaming hot, all-beef frankfurter.
It’s piping hot and foriegn looking to me.
“That’s a grown up’s hot dog”
Is all my brain can think of to label it.
I look at the dog. I look at the man. He says:
“Only other thing I’d do:
I’d put a generous amount of that
DELI MUSTARD right on top o’ them onions.
Trust me.”
The thought “but I HATE mustard pops up” but
I already knew the score.
When in life,
If you ever happen to stumble upon
A MASTER
Of any given field
Do yourself a favor
Do not argue with them
Do not fuss or doubt
Just let them do
The thing they were put on Earth to do
And see if it might change who
You think you are.
I put the mustard on. Brazen, but
There was no going back now.
A moment.
A deep breath in.
Then,
Finally:
The BITE.
Let me tell you
There was a pronounced SNAP!
And then
Harmony. Bliss.
BALANCE.
“Make me one with everything”
As the old joke goes
And truly
I felt like I was
ONE
With EVERYTHING.
My German DNA was all
YES! SAUSAGE/ONIONS/MUSTARD
WUNDERBAR!!
A memory crops up
Among the flavors
Of me eating a hot dog as a kid
With Just Ketchup
Trying to get the right amount
Of meat, bun, and ketchup
With each bite, because
If there was TOO MUCH HOT DOG
And not enough other flavors
I’d flinch, feeling unwell,
Recognizing the imbalance
But with no clue what’s missing.
I thanked the Meat Master for his insistence
His guidance, and spryly
Set off down the city street
Eating an honest-to-pete Sidewalk Dog
Like a gosh-dang New Yorker (I assume)
But before I consumed it’s untold perfection
I took a picture, so I could share this moment
I hope your weekend is full of
LIFE CHANGING HOT DOGS!
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