There’s a reason the humble hot dog is considered a representation of the American Experiment: a food item descended from immigrant cuisine, but bastardized beyond recognition both in serving format and industrialized production. The hot dog is an affront to nature in its manufacturing and to arteries in its nutritional value. The name itself carries the connotation of “don’t ask”: a tube of mystery meat that satisfies any diner who can manage the cognitive dissonance between the taste and both its nutritional facts and its construction. No one needs to see “how the sausage is made”, as the idiom goes.
And yet, like the nation it represents, the hot dog is a two-sided coin: an ugly, off-putting, processed, unhealthy, cheap indulgence, and also an icon for community, special occasion, personalization, and abundance. Try to think of the last time you ate a hot dog alone. If you can think of a time, first of all, I’m sorry, and second of all, I bet that you really wished you weren’t alone in that moment. Ask anyone from Chicago what goes on a hotdog, and you’ll get an impassioned list of colors that really shouldn’t ever be mentioned when discussing things that are edible (sorry, Chicagoans, but I love ketchup on a hot dog, and your snootiness about the most low-brow food in the entire country won’t change that).
Therein lies the beauty of the hot dog: the customizability. Each hot dog is not only a reflection of yourself, but a reflection of where you came from, and nothing communicates a more sincere and nostalgic sensation of hopeful patriotism than biting through a crisp frankfurter casing and soft, sugary white bread bun. Whether you like relish, onions, sauerkraut, chili, or peppers—whether it’s pork or beef or vegan or horse meat—whether it’s grilled or boiled or microwaved—a hot dog is a hot dog: you’ll know it when you see it, and you’ll know you want one. The hot dog is the final remnant of the comatose American Dream.
Culturally, hot dogs are tied to our sports, to our holidays, to our childhoods (I could really go for some enhanced Kraft mac & cheese right now). The most American of foods is more than Calories and sodium—it’s the symbol for the world we want to live in. It’s a world in which food is cheap and abundant, and meals are shared with friends and family. It’s a world where we all have the day off from work, and where the sun is out and the music is on. A few years ago, we read (poorly researched) articles about how every hot dog consumed “reduces your life expectancy”. All I know is that I’d rather die happy than live hungry. All I know is that smiles and sunshine and friends and 0.8 grams of protein per kilogram of body mass are good for me, and I think, at the end of the day, that all balances out.
