Get Yer REEEEED HOTS
A lot of people, I am told, apply for good jobs when they graduate from college. They enter the work force swinging, and they don’t stop until they’ve retired to that beach house or country home 50 years later. A lot of people, my parents often tell me, keep their eyes on the prize so they can land that six figure salary and send their own kids to college.
My parents dropped a cool hundred grand on my four years at NYU. And when I graduated, I wasted no time. The ink on my degree wasn’t dry yet, and I filled out my very first job application. I drove down to Coney Island, walked up to the first cashier I saw at Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs, and demanded an application and a hot dog with sour kraut and onions.
I neglected to mention my college degree to them. I also neglected to mention that I planned to triple the value of my hourly wage by consuming enough hot dogs to train for the International Hot Dog Eating Contest like Badlands Booker. Yet the manager looked at me like I was crazy and told me he’d get back to me. I called every day for weeks until I was finally informed that I was “overqualified.” I didn’t feel overqualified, and I was heartbroken.
(The true king of the open mouthed photo op and a personal hero of mine: Badlands Booker)
You have to understand, I am the type of person who stops for a hot dog on his way to eat ribs. I’ve based my entire philosphy of cab-driving on a chance encounter I had with a Chicago cabbie who pulled off the highway to get a Super Dog with me on the way to O’Hare.
Hot dogs, I must say, are one of my great passions. I consider it one of my worthiest accomplishments in life that it was my grilled hot dog during my bbq at my bungalow in Rockaway that was the first bit of meat my vegetarian friend Mark ate in close to a decade. “Is this a really, really good hot dog Dave? Or is this just what they taste like?” he asked, wide-eyed. I just smiled. Within days, he was eating multiple hot dogs per week, he was the star of the annual 7th Street Community Garden Pulled Pork Party, and he eventually moved to Argentina in part to partake of their bountiful and inexpensive steak.
During a stormy evening in Chicago a few years back, I was so overcome with the excitement of a coming hot dog run to Big Herm’s Hot Dog Palace that I decided to race the car to the store for the last long block. I was in the throws of a folk hero phase at the time and felt like the John Henry of the North Side that night. I jumped out of the car in the pouring rain and kept up for (as I recall) quite a while until my brother and cousins left me in the dust. The whole while I sang: “Big Davey when he was a babyyyy, settin on his mammy’s knee, picked up a hot dog in his little right hand, said this’ll be the death of me me meee, yes this’ll be the death of meeee.” As I ate that dog that night dripping wet, I felt I had become a sort of folk hero myself.
And I think I was right about it being the death of me. A couple of summers ago, I finally landed a job selling Nathan’s hot dogs in Coney Island. I worked as a vendor in the stands at the Brooklyn Cyclones minor league ball park. The Cyclones were not good that year, and crowds were sparse. That was not good for business (I’d take home $25 on a good night), but it was even worse for my diet. Since I got to keep the hot dogs I didn’t manage to sell, and the longer the season dragged on the more hot dogs I took home to my endless bbq, I realized almost too late that I was edging perilously close to actually becoming Ignatius J. Reilly. Ironically, since I had a rockin tan from living on the beach that summer, people kept telling me that I looked marvelous (tans have a slimming effect). I could honestly tell people, “Thank you, I’m on a hot dog diet.”
(Crucified by my own gluttony at Nathan’s Famous)
So when I saw A Hot Dog Program on PBS a few weeks ago documenting the nation’s best hot dogs, I was chomping at the bit. I’ve lived in New York for close to a decade, but I’d never heard of Rutt’s Hut just across the Hudson River in New Jersey. At Rutt’s Hut, they deep fry their hot dogs which burst open in the oil, and they serve them with a homemade relish that you can spread directly into the gaping wounds in the extra crispy dog. They are called “rippers,” and I had never conceived of something so enticing in my entire life of excess and gluttony.
Yesterday I made it out there at the beginning of a brief road trip I’m making down the eastern seaboard. I got lost and had to ask directions at an ice cream parlor. The girl there told me the deep fried hot dogs were “kind of gross,” but I paid her no mind.
When I arrived, I ordered myself “a hot dog,” too whimpy and out of my element to confidently ask for a “ripper.” What I got looked just like what I’d seen on the documentary:
My first, ravenous bite after so much anticipation and hullabaloo might be most appropriately described as the biggest disappointment I’ve had the displeasure to experience since the Yankees choked and then choked and then choked and then choked again in the 2004 American League Championship Series.
The skin looked the part, but it was almost rubbery. The relish was lacking something (I think it was the flavor of pickles). The meat inside had shrunken and shriveled and retreated from the lackluster casing. And the dog had not one bit of snap to it.
(This candid, greasy-mouthed shot of me eyeing the ripper says it all)
I marched back up to the counter, having heard one hefty local order a ”ripper” (or three) loud and clear. I asked for one “ripper” and was met with the same sad dog. I hung my head. I’d been duped.
As a consequence my faith in PBS has been shaken at its very core. How can I ever trust Public Broadcasting again, or, for that matter, any other grand public institution (regardless of the systemic corruption and cronyism). I let my belly down, so I’m going to blame some of the people in this room - and then I do not forgive. The next hot dog I eat, I assure you, will be from a place good enough to work for.
Nathan’s Famous, 1310 Surf Avenue, Coney Island, Brooklyn
Rutt’s Hut, 417 River Road, Clifton, New Jersey
Go to www.famousfatdave.com for a laugh or to book an eating tour
on May 19th, 2006 at 2:38 pm
Dave- In the hotdog eating world, disappointment runs rampant. I have learned to trust only a select few, and toss all others by the wayside. I am a firm believer in Nathan’s and Gray’s Papya. There was once a place on the west side of the Hudson (terra incognita) called Callahan’s. I was told by friends that it has recently closed. (Ahh the childhood memories of a dof that snapped and more condiments than could fit on a single foot long). Now on the west coast, I decided I could try the local estblishments. The first, Pink’s (on N La Brea in LA) seems a bit like Rut’s hut- no snap and a soggy bun- plus the chili that everyone raves about fell flat. I still don’t understand why I see the locals lined up till closing, but there’s no accounting for some taste. I managed quite well on my second try though. I went to a place called Skooby’s on Hollywood Blvd. Small little shop with a menu of 4 kinds of dogs, fresh cut fries and house made lemonade. I ordered my chili cheese dog, fries, and lemonade and got into a conversation with the guy behind the counter. Turns out that not only is he from NY (+1 point in my book) the owners are from Ireland by way of NY. After a few minutes, I was presented with a bee-u-t- full chilli cheese dog. First bite spoke volumes! Crisp roll, good snap, and a hint of Guiness in the chili. Dave if you find your way out here, this should be one of your side trips, as surely as you should avoid Pink’s. Keep on keepin’ on- you’re callin me home!!
JC
on May 19th, 2006 at 2:43 pm
I saw that same PBS show, but it didn’t make me want a ripper. Glad to know I won’t be missing anything.
on May 19th, 2006 at 2:44 pm
Dave,
If I didn’t already think you were a god, you would have nailed it with the hot dogs. I think hot dogs are the ULTIMATE comfort food. If you work your way down the eastern seaboard, keep on scooting South. In North and South Carolina you have to order a slaw dog all the way. Mustard, onions, chili (no beans) and slaw on top of a pinkish red dog. I’ll tell you up front–the dog isn’t the best part of it. I doubt you would like it on its own. The beauty is in the combination of flavors. And the bun. Soft and steamed, it all just melts together. Damn, now I am really hungry. I really should wait to read your blog AFTER lunch.
on May 19th, 2006 at 3:51 pm
The picture of you looking at the hotdog is too funny. Thought bubble: “Is that all you’ve got? Shame on you. Have you nothing else to say for yourself?”
Fun to read blog. Keep it coming!
on May 19th, 2006 at 3:58 pm
I had a Ripper in 1991, and had to pretend to like it because my then-boyfriend and his pals were so excited to be introducing a Californian to one of their legendary treats. I couldn’t see what the big deal was.
Three years ago I flew out from San Francisco to Brooklyn for a friend’s wedding, and in the time between the ceremony and the reception, I jumped on a train to Coney Island and had a Nathan’s Dog. I figured if I was SO close, I couldn’t bear to miss the chance! It was godlike.
Two weeks from now I’m going to Atlanta for a medical conference- and A Hot Dog Program has inspired me to seek out The Varsity for one of those “Whadd’ll ya have?” dogs.
on May 19th, 2006 at 5:19 pm
Dave,
i think you would enjoy the Indian street-food at Bombay Kitchen on Mac-Dougal Street (W3rd)
There’s loads of tasty snacks and they’re all really cheap.
Also I think you should open your own fast food restaurant. None of this organic, vegan, whole-food, natural bollocks - we want grease, big portions and tasty food please!!
on May 20th, 2006 at 2:23 am
Dave,
The description of the ripper reminds me of some duds I dated in college–very disappointing after the first bite.
I feel somewhat responsible for your obsession with food; I think I was the one who introduced you to gluttony when I ordered a whole cheesecake for you when you were three. And I think I was the one who encouraged you and my guys to stop for a hotdog on the way to picking up our order of take-out ribs. This July, we’ll have to explore more gluttonous behavior.
on May 22nd, 2006 at 5:16 pm
Your parents got their money’s worth. You can write.
on May 22nd, 2006 at 7:46 pm
Hot Dog Johnnie’s, Rt. 46 near Belvidere, NJ
My favorite hands down. Deep fried (I believe in peanut oil) with pickle, mustard and onion. You can taste all the ingredients, but with a nice balance and blend.
Toby’s, Phillipsburg, NJ
My second favorite. Also deep fried in peanut oil, with pickle, mustard and onion. Unlike the other two listed here, somehow Toby’s dogs have a taste of their own. Same list of ingredients and toppings, but it has “one” taste. You don’t really discern between the toppings, etc.
Jimmy’s — used to be in Phillipsburg, NJ, now in Easton, PA
A close rival (in proximity as well as taste) to Toby’s.
I don’t go for that Nathan’s crap, and keep that nasty relish, chili and other alien fixings off my dog. It’s like putting A1 on a perfectly good steak.
on May 23rd, 2006 at 8:17 pm
Dave -
Really enjoy your blog. In my experience, a deep-fried hot dog can be pretty good, although like deep-frying anything if you cook it too long and let the skin burst open all of the juices will run out leaving it flat and soggy.
The best deep-fried hot dog I ever had was at a little mom and pop stand (I don’t remember the name) just outside the entrance to the Star Lake Pavilion outside Pittsburgh. The skin wasn’t ripped open, the dog was juicy and very tasty, and I remember wanting to eat about 6 more before the concert.
on May 23rd, 2006 at 10:57 pm
What a shame! I live close by Crif Dogs on Avenue A and St Marks Place and they also deep-fry their hot dogs New Jersey style. However, their hot dogs actually pop when you bite into them. Perhaps you should try one of theirs instead.
on May 24th, 2006 at 5:50 pm
That is such a sad story. Thank you for saving me from making a ripper-seeking trip to Jersey. I’ll just take the N train down to Coney Island and have a hot dog the way God intended it to be.
on June 16th, 2006 at 10:19 am
[…] But some of the desperate, unemployed denizens of the South Bronx tried to cut in line, and some other desperate, unemployed denizens of the South Bronx with overdeveloped senses of propriety didn’t let it go. The shouting match turned into a fist fight, the fist fight turned into a brawl, and I high tailed it all the way to Coney Island where I languished selling hot dogs in Single A ball for a summer. […]
on November 3rd, 2006 at 3:24 am
Either Rutt’s has gone south or you are deranged, because the ripper is the dog that haunts me. That all others have to measure up to. Granted, it’s been about 15 years since my last one- but those things are awesome!
on November 16th, 2006 at 6:18 pm
I saw an episode on FoodTV that mentioned “Rippas”, and they looked so good I just bought a oil thermometer to make my own. Now upon reading your blog, I wonder if I really should take the time to do so.
If you are ever in the New England area in the month of November, Sullivan’s on Castle Island have hot dogs at half price until Thanksgivings, when they close until the spring. 70 cents and I usually walk away with 6 and eat them before I get back to work.
Good luck in your hot dog endeavors.
on January 14th, 2007 at 5:29 am
[…] My dad, on the other hand, really did start out honest-to-goodness blue collar. His father ran a convenience store on the North Side of Chicago. My dad sold tube socks on the corner because he had to. I sold pickles on the sidewalk because it was my idea of a dream job. He drove a bus because it was a steady job. I drove a bread truck to get free, fresh rye bread. He sold lemonade at Wrigley Field and Comisky Park because that was how to make money at his age in Chicago. I sold hot dogs at the ball park in Coney Island because it was fun. […]
on May 12th, 2007 at 5:50 am
You need to go back to Rutts and order the “IN and Out”. It’s deep fried but not to the point it rips open. Then come out to Grants Pass Oregon and have a Casper’s at Johnny’s
on July 3rd, 2008 at 7:56 pm
[…] Badlands has been a personal hero of mine for a number of years already, if only for the open mouthed poses he has mastered for the camera. But when I was told I’d be going up against him in battle, I did a little research. I knew he held some records, but I didn’t realize he held records for some of my favorite foods: corned beef hash, matzo balls, donuts. And it’s HIM up there in the middle of the big board staring at Tekeru The Tsunami Kobayashi, hot dogs at the ready. […]
on July 30th, 2008 at 1:29 am
[…] You MUST visit I am an American, and I eat Hot Dogs. And Fat Dave’s Hot Dog Adventures. […]