Mr. Rilch and I went to the “O” yesterday. This time, we did it right: we went during daylight hours, and before our blood sugar got too low to eat for enjoyment. He got a hot dog and a large fries, but I just got an extra large fries. Bar upstairs was closed, unfortunately, so we got a table on the right-hand side, by the pizza counter, sat down and fell to.
…
Ten minutes later, I raised my head to remark, “Do you realize how unusual it is for both of us to be speechless for this long?”
“The power of the fries.”
So you’re probably wondering what the “O” is. It is the Original Hot Dog Shop, on the corner of Forbes and South Bouquet, in the Oakland district of Pittsburgh, on the edge of Pitt’s domain. They sell hot dogs, obviously, beer, pizza, and I think sandwiches, but the main attraction is their fries.
Fresh cut, with a special machine. Technically not with skins on, but you usually get a little bit of skin on every twentieth fry or so. Cooked in a special, possibly patented oil. Served in quantities that would choke a Mardi Gras reveler. Sorry; I just can’t do them further justice in words.
Primanti Brothers (fries in the sandwich) would rule Pittsburgh if the “O” did not exist, but as it is, the “O” is the mecca. Now that almost everything else Mr. Rilch and I remember has closed, it’s the only reason we even go to Oakland. It’s been featured more than once on TV specials about junk food. As I said to Mr. Rilch, when I was in the second wave of consumption, “I’m glad Ken Starr doesn’t know about this place. If he did, he’d have tipped Bill Clinton to it, and Clinton would be dead.”
