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John Ate A Hot Dog In A Waffle Cone So You Don’t Have To

June 7, 2015
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A little while back, I went through a bit of crisis of opinion in regard to writing about hot dogs. I decided that I would give up valuable space and words only to talking about Really Good Dogs, rather than bothering to tell people where the sub-par doggage was lurking like a troll beneath a bridge. Who am I to belittle someone else’s well-intentioned efforts to make a little dough off our love of the encased meats? In fact, Boy and I recently had an extremely disappointing run-in at a cart where the dogs were so lackluster, when we drove by a few weeks later and saw that the cart was gone, we admittedly cheered.

Yeah, I raised him right.

He asked me if I would write about it. No, I said. Why even bother?

So my intention is to just write about Really Good Dogs. Except this once. Because, you see, this one is so left-field, so what-was-I-thinking and what-were-they-thinking that my bloggerly instincts insist that I tell you about it. I will not, however, tell you where.

Let’s just say I was in a densely tourist-populated part of Massachusetts on a beautiful June day around noon, and yes, I was sort of hoping to run into some funky cart or joint or what-have-you. A couple of random turns later, there was a sign: Hot Dogs. Home made chili. I banged a U-turn and headed up to the window. And there I saw that they have a specialty which you, as an astute reader, have already gleaned from the headline. Two Pearl dogs in—and here is where my error of judgment began—”a waffle shell.”

Back up the hot dog truck here a sec. “Waffle shell.” Yes, I was at what is mostly an ice cream place. Maybe I should have figured it would be a waffle cone. But it said shell. I figured maybe they had figured out how to do something funky with dough and a waffle press. Or maybe it was made of one huge waffle fry! How amazing would that be? A hot dog in a huge waffle fry. I should patent that shit. So, with visions of things not a waffle cone dancing in my head, I ordered one with onion and spicy mustard. Although I had been lured in by the mention of chili, I wanted to be able to focus on this shell.

It arrived, after almost 10 minutes and an apology for the delay later, looking innocuously like this.

waf_1The shell was hard. The dogs peeked out from the end of the burrito-like housing.

waf2At this stage of the game it looked promising. Then I took a bite. Mind you, I am okay with the whole “sweet and savory” combo. Something here just didn’t work. I had good, slightly spicy Pearl dogs, the tang of onion, a lovely standard-issue brown mustard—and a hit of sugar that threw the whole thing off. That, and the realization that, yes, dummy, it’s a freaking ice cream cone because you’re at a freaking ice cream stand. And then, juuust to put the finishing touch on my crime against good doggery, the crispy shell did what it probably had intended to do from the first bite. Effing explode.

Viewers with weak constitutions may wish to look away from the carnage.

Viewers with weak constitutions may wish to look away from the carnage.

This is why we don’t easy crispy tacos, people. The whole thing came apart in one loud crack, and made me quite glad I hadn’t opted for the chili.

I’ll say this much for this place: the dogs themselves were good. Onions fresh, dogs nicely griddled. But, man… I am now two for two on the season for un-great dogs.

I promise that in my next write up, whenever that is, I will present a Really Good Dog.

Without sugar.

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