Just went to a hot doggery by name of Skippy's. It is a rather intersting spot selling grilled hot dogs on pretzel bread. It makes for a very chewy hot dog experience. The shop is very popular, though I think I still prefer my doggies steamed or boiled. There's just something about grilling (or, God forbid, deep frying) a dog that brings out tastes that just shouldn't be there*. Another thing that shoudl just never be anywhere near a hot doggie is mayonaise. Oh yucch.
*Grilled white wurst is fine, though.
Anyway, all those rules aside, watching the workers at Skippy's, I realized that there is another element that goes into a good dog, and that is the passion of workmanship. Last time I was at Skippy's, I watch the grill cook at work, and he really seemed to be into it. It seemed as if he really cared about his dogs, at how they were grilled, at how the pretzel bread was doing on the grill, and at how everything just went together properly and in the right colors and hues. The same was true of the final assembly person, who added the various toppings of choice: kraut, mustard, catsup (oh, please), mayonaise (God save us), chili, slaw and so on. These were applied to create a dog that, if not to every dog lover's purist tastes, would at least strike the customer as visually pleasing.
But then there was today - the grill cook (the owner, I suspect) and all the other counter staff were out there doing their best as always. But then there was a newbee at the helm of assembly, and I have to say he looked as if he had been trained in the back kitchen of a Taco Bell (not to bash them, of course). I mean that he didn't have that same sense of purpose. Mayonaise (from a a foil pouchette!): splat, splat, splat. Slaw: kaplunk, kaplunk, kaplunk. Chili: shhhhhlopp! His actions were perfunctory and almost careless - no, actually uncaring, and that flavor of disinterest punctuated by a yawn carried over into the flavor of the dog itself. . . or at least my perception of it (mayonaise on a dog aside).
