I really don’t know how to grade this.
Technical fail: Hot dogs have all kinds of not-good-for-you things in them. Ingredients and whatever that one is really not supposed to eat, or at least eat in very limited quantities. And I don’t really like hot dogs except at this time of year.
Heartfelt pass: It’s a combination of season and sentimentality. Grilled hot dogs in the summer with the grand trio of yellow mustard, ketsup, and relish. Can’t say no. And I’m just snobby enough to insist on Hebrew National (Costco!).
And last week while I was in Chicago, I made the pilgrimage to Portillo‘s and did the full-on Chicago-style. So the annual rise above the recommended levels of hot dog consumption has begun. When my mother was elected village clerk (very much a part-time position), I was a pre-schooler. She took me to the office on Fridays, and we’d often go to Portillo’s for lunch. I distinctly remember standing at the window of the ‘dog house’ to place my order.
The nostalgia cools as soon as the days begin to noticeably shorten; I rarely have a hot dog between August and May. Until then, I’ll just enjoy.