In a list of my most loved foods, hot dogs would be in there somewhere. They are difficult to find at restaurants (at least here), so I make them at home. Sometimes I get the weenies at Omaha Steaks, but most of the time good ones at the grocery. I'll make chili or use canned chili with my additives, diced onoins, and put together some darn good hot dogs.
However... when I lived in St. Louis we naturally went to the Cardinals baseball games. We would first get a Busch beer (only one sold) in a wide cup. Then it came time to watch for the guy with the hot dogs.
These hot dogs were made with cheap-butt weenies, a bun with mustard, then squished into a carrier to keep them hot. When he handed them to you, they looked like they had been handled by everyone in the stadium. But, my God, were they ever good.
After the hot dog, it was time for peanuts. Now I like salt. I put it on everything but ice cream. They had the shell on them and were all the salt I could take. But my God, were they good.
Any place I go, a baseball game, a state fair, it doesn't matter, I'm looking for these almost despicable little hot dogs. Or those salty-assed little peanuts. Or actually, many other piled on confectioneries someone brewed at home threw together in a hut.
I have never understood why this food is so good. Even I can cook better.
But I just can't help myself.



