Chicago Hot Dog

In the spring of 2009, we spent a fun-filled week in the city of Chicago.  One of the most unexpected experiences was at a nondescript lunch counter somewhere around the Roscoe Village neighborhood.  Our trio had just spent half an hour at Hot Doug's- more accurately, we spent thirty minutes in the line that was snaking around the venerable sausage establishment that cooks their french fries in duck fat.  Having moved less than a couple of yards during that time, we set off for the Loop in search of adventure.  Halfway there, our stomachs loudly shared their disgruntlement at being empty.  We happened to be in a semi-industrial area at that time.  To our surprise (and luck), there was a small eatery nestled amid the automotive repair shops and hardware emporiums.


The restaurant was tiny: a few circa-1980's booths lined the floor-to-ceiling windows in front, and a long counter with abused spinning stools separated the dining area from the small kitchen.  A faded menu offered what we'd determined were typical Illinois fare: burgers, hot dogs, gyros.  Still reeling from the letdown of not getting to sample Hot Doug's, I was still open to a dog-and-bun.  The female clerk- slightly smirking- asked if I wanted it "all the way, Chicago style?"  I agreed, not having a clue what I was getting myself into.


A few minutes later, deposited upon the counter in front of my salivating mouth and rumbling tummy, was the most exquisite preparation of an overly-processed, nitrite-filled meat product I've ever laid eyes on.  The soft bun (dusted with poppy seeds) was barely large enough to hold the sumptuous toppings: neon green relish, unrealistically fresh wedges of tomato, crunchy sweet onion, good ole' yellow mustard, exquisite dill pickle slices.  Somehow, it worked.  I mean, it worked really really well.


Two years later, I found myself a bit homesick for the Windy City.  A quick inventory of my pantry showed that I had the nearly all of the necessary ingredients to recreate the flavors of that little lunch counter.


Without any further fanfare, here's my cheap knock-off (albeit the bun is without poppy seeds, the relish is just normal 'sweet', and dietary restrictions means no sport peppers for yours truly).  The Hebrew National all-beef frankfurter was boiled, the bun lightly steamed, all condiments still chilled from the fridge.