Snack Time: Soft Pretzels featuring The Pretzel Wrapped Hot Dog
I’m headed home from New York after a day of thought provoking TED-like talks about vibrating panties and overcoming adversity then emerging from the dust storm like a hero without a spot of dirt on your white tee, both of which were real topics that made me a) question the contents of my underwear drawer and b) wonder if I need more dramatic things to happen when I wear my white tees. As I entered Penn Station two distinct smells penetrated assaulted my nostrils: piss and Auntie Ann’s pretzels. Despite the fact there are a stupid amount of shitty food choices in NYP Station, the only one that speaks to me is Auntie Ann’s soft pretzel with hydrogenated oil disguised as cheese dip. The twisty carb treat is sweet and buttery, salty and puffy and most importantly, greasy as fuck.
A few weeks ago, I was in Santa Barbara for work and I was telling my colleague how the metallic-dirty-sock smell of Subway makes me want to die or vomit, whichever happens first. She agreed but then said the smell of Auntie Ann’s was worse. I nearly stopped dead in my tracks, almost rebutted, but politely agreed. For a quick moment in time I thought “Are Auntie Ann pretzels not as good as I think they are?” and “Do I admit that I find this delightfully repulsive mall snack high on my list of things I like to eat before bikini shopping?” So I pretended I didn’t like them, sucked down my fresh pressed juice and secretly prayed there would be an outpost at my layover in Phoenix (which I knew there wasn’t because I know that airport better than my own vagina, which is irrelevant). Confused, we carried on with our conversation as we walked down State Street, though my mind was preoccupied with the only thing better than an Auntie Ann’s pretzel: a hotdog wrapped in a salty carb blanket.
I’m no stranger to soft pretzels as the frozen boxed variety were readily available as an after school snack growing up. You know, the kind where you have to splash the pretzel with water to get the salt to stick? When my mom and I would go shopping, we would always split an Auntie Ann’s original pretzel and large lemonade. While I love my mother, do you know how fucking hard it was to split the soft twisty center part of the pretzel? I am a selfish, selfish human being and ALWAYS HATED SHARING THAT PART WITH HER! It was – and still is – the best part of the pretzel and I wanted it all to myself. Sorry mom, I’ve been holding that in for over a decade and I felt inspired to tell you because the girl next to me on the train is wasted and she seems like the type that would tell her mom these things unapologetically.
I’ve done some research about the pretzel and I’m going to give you my abbreviated version since we are dating back to medieval times and we are all on schedules here:
610: Soft pretzels were spotted in monk communities as rewards or “pretiolias” for children. They called it a reward back then, we call it ‘don’t take candy from strangers” today.
1100s: Carb treat makes some appearances in ancient literature but historians are confident they existed long before said literature which makes sense because monks were creepily handing them out to children.
1440: St. Bartholomew spotted in a prayer book surrounded by soft pretzels (are we noticing a theme here of holy figures and their affinity for junk food?).
1500s: German kids made pretzel necklaces to signify good luck and good fortune around the holidays. We do something similar in the U.S. but it’s to counteract the possibility of vomiting on yourself at a beer festival.
1700s: Soft pretzels made their transatlantic journey and landed in Pennsylvania because it’s the greatest place on Earth most of the time.
1800s to Present: Someone burned the soft pretzel, it turned into a hard pretzel and now 80% of the commercial pretzel production exists in Pennsylvania. This story is not likely true but the results were tasty.
It wasn’t until I was in college when the pretzel dog was introduced to the mass market of malls and Einstein Bros Bagels. Ain’t nobody got time for Hot Dog on a Stick when there are foil wrapped grease traps waiting to be consumed by unassuming college girls who departed from their diet with wild abandon, such as myself. After perusing the sale racks at Neiman Marcus (thanks Gracie for the discount and free candle!), I found myself sitting on a bench near the Auntie Ann’s outpost with the foil wrapped snack nestled against my fancy ass pale pink jacquard Marc Jacobs shorts, unaware of my unintentional highbrow meets lowbrow moment. I unwrapped the pretzel dog and found a buttery, flaky pretzel blanket enveloping a delicious, greasy 80% real beef / 20% mystery meat hot dog (possibly the same formula as the Taco Bell meat). I bit into the hot dog and before I could enjoy the mystery meat, grease shot into my eye, and more importantly, directly on the crotch of said fancy pants.
I suppose that’s what I get for mixing highbrow with lowbrow.