My last year living in Winnipeg, I went to my first Jets game since the franchise came back to Winnipeg.
It was my birthday, and my best friend Stacy took me to the game. We got “Jets Dogs”. Foot-long in a garlic bread bun. Served with grilled onions, bacon, and mini perogies.
It was so good.
Holy shit. There’s a place that tops hot dogs with pierogi? That is a fusion of cuisines I never imagined. I just love the sheer ridiculousness of it. I need one now.
Pierogi and kielbasa, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! A match made in heaven! :o
Despite living most of my adult life in Chicago, if someone says, “hot dog,” I immediately think of Russ Ayres hot dog stand on Rt. 206 in Bordentown, NJ (not too far from Hamilton).
They weren’t great hot dogs. Boiled, supermarket buns, standard accoutrements like mustard, onions, sauerkraut, etc. It was, essentially, a hot dog cart with the barest minimum of a building around it to meet code. You could probably buy sodas and bags of chips to go with the dogs, and that’s about all.
Russ had this…rhythm to assembling a dog, with exaggerated arm motions as he dipped tongs into the water to pluck out a dog, or to pull out sauerkraut. He hardly (if ever) spoke to anyone. In my mind’s eye he never spoke at all. His actions were very fluid, almost like a dance.
It was also the place that I learned something about community. Russ was epileptic, and would occasionally have seizures while working. They were somewhere between what I think of as petit mal and grand mal. He wouldn’t visibly convulse, but he would start to waver a bit on his feet, and would eventually seem to just faint away. Unattended, he would fall to the floor, at risk of injury to himself due to the fall, or striking his head on something. After 5 minutes or so, he’d come back to himself and resume work.
I speak of community because everyone around knew this about Russ, so whenever I was in his shop and he started to seize, there was always someone who would run around the counter to catch him and gently lower him to the ground until the seizure passed. He didn’t have a caretaker or minder or anything; these were just customers. I don’t remember him ever saying, “thank you,” when he came to (like I said, I don’t remember him ever speaking at all), and whoever helped him never asked for thanks. The rest of the customers never commented, remarked, or made a big fuss. It’s just what happened sometimes when you went to Russ Ayres for a hot dog.
The shop is still there, but Russ died a while back. I don’t go there when I visit my folks; it’s not the same place. It does make me a little wistful whenever I pass it though. For all that I grew up in pretty bog-standard suburbia, I’m coming to realize that it was also kind of small-townish.
Anyway, whenever I hear the words, “hot dog,” that is the very first image that comes to mind, and I smile.
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Well, I looove a Chicago style dog.
But the Icelandic hot dog is easily its equal.
It was on the occasion of my early Illumination, when on Friday I Went Off Alone and Joyously Partook of a Hot Dog.
Did they make you One With Everything?
Did Change Come From Within?
I do not remember the food I eat. None of it, let alone junk snacks. I don’t understand how anybody can even remember anything like this, let alone think back on it fondly. The amount of detail some of you can recall is remarkable.
This is all very weird to me.
If he were a cannibal, he’d order One with Everybody. 
Go forth, and read Proust!
Well, yeah…on a plate. With knife and fork gripped securely in each hand.
Kielbasa and pierogi served on a roll is a carb bomb. I don’t think I could finish one, even if I could fit it in my mouth.
Our Los Angeles office has a cafeteria where the menu changes daily.
Every now and then they offer the ***‘L.A. Street Dog’
It is a 1/4 lb dog, wrapped in bacon and grilled. The bun is toasted on the grill, then they add mayo.
They put the two together and cover with Pico De Gallo.
I miss the Los Angeles office. 
What a great story. 
I wouldn’t necessarily consider a hot dog a junk snack. For me, it’s a satisfying and reasonably low calorie lunch, especially done Chicago style (about 160 calories on the dog, and then another hundred or so calories on the bun and then you got, what, onions, relish, pickle, hot peppers, mustard on a Chicago dog, so under 400 cals.) I personally eat it as a proper meal (skipping the fries, though.)
As for memory, well, some people live to eat, and other eat to live. You sound like the latter, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people just don’t get excited by food (which is something completely alien to me, as a lot of family and friend bonding I have is over food and the culture behind food), but surely you have something that triggers memories for you, like smells or hearing a piece of music, or seeing a movie, etc… Same sort of thing for the rest of us in this thread, except with food. Some of my strongest memories involve food, and it’s almost never a particularly “foodie” meal, but rather some little bit of local culture or food that brings back memories of a friend/acquaintance, family member. Or simply just a time in my life.
A lot of great stories here-I’ve had to loosen my belt just from reading them.
This makes me sad.
At the end of a week of camping at Assateague Island, Maryland, I caught a bushel of blue crabs and raked a bag of clams. I kept my catch alive and happy for the 8(?) hour drive home.
The next day I bought some freshly picked corn and invited friends over for crabs, corn, and clams. Some of my friends had never been outside of Pennsylvania, and had never seen a live crab in person. After a brief demonstration, everyone dug in. Although I don’t remember most of the people’s names, I can remember the tastes, smells, and happiness I experienced.
I’m somewhat like this for many foodstuffs; however, I’m currently in my own happy world of rediscovering foods I have been unable to eat for over seven years.
A few weeks ago I stopped into my favorite Polish meat market and picked up some old fashioned hot dogs. It had been at least seven years since I had any kind of hot dog, and probably 35 years since I had a real butcher shop old fashioned hot dog. Alas, they are no longer sold in a large string.
Simple roll and slater of mustard only. It snapped. It was spicy. It was so good, and brought back memories of hanging out at my grandparent’s house, my grandmother fussing at my grandpa in Ukrainian, him fussing back at her in Czech.
Well, I do have sense memories, and I can recall a multitude of events throughout my life in great detail, it’s just that none of them are in relation to food.
You aren’t instantly transported back in time when you taste or smell something you sampled many years before but haven’t thought of since?