I love hot dogs.
I don't care what people say about nitrates and ass and feet and whatever else may be included in those neat little tubes of salty-tastiness. Really, I've read Upton Sinclair. I know what happens in hot dog factories. I'm sure even today it's probably closer to what he described in 1906 than any of us care to admit. However, I love hot dogs. Yum.
Down here in near-eastern NC, where we like our barbecue with vinegar and collards (also with vinegar...we just really like vinegar), we like our hot dogs one way: mustard, chili, and onions (slaw is accepted but optional). Most people in the area I live in also prefer the ubiquitous "red" hot dog, which I can tolerate at an occasional softball field church gathering, but generally think is kind of gross. There is one rule when it comes to hot dogs in NC: DO NOT PUT KETCHUP ON A HOT DOG. EVER. (There are more than a few local grills in Raleigh that will not serve ketchup. One has a tiny bottle on a shelf behind the cash register that you can purchase for $99. I'm not even kidding, and neither is the Roast Grill.)
Another place with this lovely rule? Chicago, home of my second favorite hot dog: the Chicago Dog. I love a good Chicago Dog. The more crap you can throw onto a juicy, sizzling case of meat, the better. I never knew the joy of a "sport pepper" or weird fake-green relish until I had my first Chicago Dog, and I was hooked. And thanks to KLZ at Taming Insanity and Liz at a belle, a bean & a chicago dog, I am now shouting HOT DAWG!!!
Because my post about my husband and his vocabularity limitations not only earned me Nerd Mafia Made Man status, but they liked my word "pedantic" so much that they are using it as the next Word Up, Yo! word of the week.
You know what I deserve for all of this recognition? MORE RECOGNITION! If you agree, please click that little white picket fence linky. Pretty please? Oh, and join Word Up, Yo! this week. It's fun, y'all.
Almost as fun as eating a hot dog!