Hot Diggity Dog

Aside from obsessing over American-worthy pickles in burger joints, I've got a real thing for hot dogs (which, I've already blogged about before, I know) - anything but the British kind (blech! bleurgh! yuck! spittoo, spittoo!). I like mine in a white bun (non-toasted), with ketchup, mustard, LOTS of relish (the kind you pump out of a vat of green stuff), and a sprinkling of white onions. Like tacos, I could probably eat two. Or three.

Below are some of my faves. What are yours?

1. The Costco Dog - I can't remember how much it is now. A dollar something? And that includes a drink. The part I enjoy the most is going around the corner and pumping out the sauces from the large, disgusting vats. And the fact that it's wrapped in foil. This is important. I don't know why.

2. The Copenhagen Dog - So, this is a new discovery. While everyone else in the wedding party last weekend was bragging (yes, really) about dining in the Michelin-starred restaurant, Noma, where the tasting menu begins at £150, John and I were happily consuming some of the tastiest (but probably still the most expensive, since Copenhagen is pricey) hot dogs we'd ever had. The secret? Crispy, finely chopped, fried onions and a secret, tangy sauce, topped with generous slices of pickles, of course. Yum, yum, YUM.

3. The New York Dog - I mean, I probably had one ... once ... at some point. When I was in college or something. Or maybe aged nine, when I was on the Chinese tour bus. Oh wait, did I just admit to being on a Chinese tour? With a tour guide who used her umbrella to herd us in and out of the Statue of Liberty? Anyway, I just feel like if I don't put this on here, I'll have NYCers jumping up and down going, "YOU HAVEN'T EVER HAD A HOT DOG UNTIL YOU'VE TRIED A NEW YORK DOG." Okay, okay, here it is. Grumble, grumble.

4. The IKEA Dog - This one only tastes really good after you've walked through the seven levels of hell that is IKEA. You know, you've jealously/critically eyed their perfectly constructed "rooms" (which NEVER turn out like that in real life, btw, NEVER), bought Swedish plastic thing-a-ma-bobs you'll never use, only because they're Swedish and therefore, cool, and cheap, and almost broken your back trying to heft a bed frame off the top shelf in the warehouse. Because there's no one around to help you. What's the reward at the end of this soul-destroying tunnel? A hot dog. Or four. For £1.

Apparently, there's a new place that's just opened up in Soho called Bubbledogs, which does champagne and hot dogs. I'm eager to try it out, but not so much with the champagne. I'd like to swig mine down with an ice-cold bottle of brewski, thanks, or Coke. I don't need to dress up my dog.