The idea of cosmic balance is not as complicated as it is uncomfortable. Isiah 45:7 reads, “I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the LORD do all these things.” The internet’s uncanny ability to constantly reaffirm our Correct Opinions can leave us with a false sense of moral superiority, that evil is something that only other people do. This isn’t to say that there isn’t unambiguously evil shit going on in the world, but as Hannah Arendt has pointed out, it’s more-so spread through ignorance and indifference rather than proactive malice. The lesser of two evils framework has allowed Democratic voters to tacitly accept a genocide in Gaza in hopes of warding off the spectre of The Orange One, while MAGA cultists gleefully contort themselves into mental knots to justify overt corruption because they’ve convinced themselves that they/them pronouns are the real fascism. The traits that inspire us to do good can also turn us into monsters: Protection becomes control, discipline becomes obsession, and conviction becomes cruelty. If the means always justify the ends, then we’re not the villains, of course, we’re just doing what’s necessary. If you never question yourself, if you’re arrogant and self-righteous enough to believe that you are not capable of evil, that’s when the shift happens. Maybe the goal is to recognize that both good and evil lurk within us, and we should choose the righteous path to the best of our abilities and circumstances.
In a similar vein, we’re all capable of refined taste and scumbag proclivities. Despite my best efforts to put on a professional facade or to enrich my soul with quality films and literature, at my core, I’m just a greasy bitch. I don’t believe in guilty pleasures; rather, you should enjoy what you enjoy as long as you’re self-aware about what you’re consuming and aim to achieve balance between quality sustenance and vices—whether that be trashy reality TV, YA fiction, or junk food. I’ve written before that pizza is the most utilitarian food because there is no mood one could be in that a cheesy slice wouldn’t immediately improve. Likewise, the hot dog is unbeaten as a disturbingly cheap vessel to transport quality condiments into your gut. I think about glizzies all the time: I sleep on a bed of them every Tuesday, and I dress my fiancee up as one and make sweet love to her at least once a week.
My idea of a perfect hot dog, at least as a base, is the meat should be at least as long as the bun, the Weiner should either be scored or butterflied, a steamed or lightly toasted brioche bun, slightly charred, mustard, ketchup (depending on the style of dog), and a general feeling of dishevelment. Sometimes, I’ll eat hot dogs in a tortilla.
I’m not here to debate whether a hot dog is a sandwich; the contrarians will argue that it is a taco, but if I had to stake an opinion on the matter, it intuitively strikes me as a miniature sub. And this is a meal that is neither underrated or overrated—it just is. I think the Dali Lama said that.
I can respect that different regions have different methods of serving hot dogs that reflect the attributes and cultures of their surroundings. When I visited Chile a few years ago, I learned that there was a Santiago-style called a “completo,” invented by Eduardo Bahamondes who became obsessed with hot dogs after a business trip to the Big Apple. Twice the size of a typical American wiener, they are typically served with chopped tomatoes, smashed avocados, sauerkraut, and mayonnaise. But what I like most about them is that I can feel like I can partake in a local cuisine while indulging in my trashy American tourist tendencies.
There are plenty of studies that have revealed how salts and sugars are addicting, and my best guess as to why hot dogs are so delightful is because of their specific ration of sodium, fat, smoke, and spices. Our bodies are wired to crave these and to our taste buds, we are still surviving on the plains, one bad hunt away from starvation or being eaten by a leopard.
Oddly enough, much of the hot dogs sold at grocery stores are of worse quality than what you get at the ballpark. I don’t think it’s much of a debate that 100% beef wieners are the way to go, and that the camp fire is the optimal way of getting that char and smokey flavor, but pan frying or cooking them on a griddle are also valid methods of cooking them.
There is one method I have found that works at getting that ballpark feel:
NYC hotdog cart dogs are boiled and gray and make the buns soggy. I ate them same as anybody, mostly when I was in college and in too much of a rush to go to my usual Greek diner.
Chicago dogs are quality but it's like eating a salad.
At home, I have to be sneaky as my girlfriend hates me even bringing them into her kitchen. She's Boston Italian and eats pizza 19 times a week, but she thinks hot dogs are basically cancer.
I score mine, prefer a potato roll, and use a spicy mustard. Sometimes saurkraut. That's it.