A Boy and His Dog

I grew up in Elgin, Illinois, about 40 miles and potentially several hours travel away from downtown Chicago.  Of course, when I started college at Iowa State University, none of that mattered.  The people I met at school came from various backgrounds and a wide geographic range.  They were from rural areas, small towns and bigger cities, but very with a handful of exceptions, very few of them came from suburbs of any sort.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I met people who weren't familiar with even the concept of a suburb.  There were some fellow Chicagoland expatriates who heard "Elgin" and gave a nod of name recognition, but by and large I found it easier to simply say that I was from "Chicago."

Note to all real Chicagoans: I realize that this is heresy, and it is insulting to sully the name of your great city with claims to Elgin.  I'm not sure all Elginintes want to claim Elgin, so I feel pretty confident in saying that Chicago certainly doesn't want it.  I'm just saying that in some instances it was easier and not everyone really needed the complete story.

The upside was that people I didn't necessarily want a long conversation with were content with my explanation.  The downside is that they pictured my home being this.

When it was really more like this.  I can see my house from up here!

Again, not really a problem, but their logical assumptions about my Chicago life just didn't jive with the reality I hadn't bothered to explain.  I have never seen Blues Brothers, I've never shopped on Michigan Avenue, I've been to two Cubs games in my life, and I don't especially like Chicago Style Pizza.

For some reason that last one really gets people, which caught me off guard.  How could I not like the food that my city is famous for?!?  Well, to me, it just didn't register that pizza was that famous, since we didn't do the whole Chicago-Style deep dish all that often.  So I started to think about what I did like from Chicago.  Eli's Cheesecake, for sure, but New York apparently claims cheesecake as its thing.  Then it hit me one day as I was grocery shopping.  I hadn't realized how much I'd missed this item, simply because it isn't even available in Iowa.  Without seeing it for the years I'd lived in the state, I'd almost forgotten all about it.  So what is this famous, and Greg-loved Chicago food?  Well, it's this.

A hot dog?  Well, yes and no.  This is no ordinary hot dog.  It's a Chicago Style hot dog, and until recently I thought you couldn't get them in Iowa.  Let me break it down for you.  First, and perhaps most importantly, is the dog itself - all beef, usually Vienna Beef brand (from whom this picture comes).  The flavor is totally different, and the skin has a snap to it that the soggy flavorless Oscar Mayer dogs don't come close to replicating.  You'll also notice the bun has strange little black specks on it.  No need to fear - those are poppy seeds, another key ingredient.  If you walk into a grocery store in Elgin looking for hot dog buns, you will be faced with many different brands of poppyseed buns, but in Iowa, nary a one.  They don't impart a ton of flavor, I'll admit, but it's tradition!

The other thing that might look different about this hot dog is all the stuff on it.  Chicago style dogs are described colloquially as having been "dragged through the garden," with necessary toppings of tomato wedges, pickle relish (optionally neon green), diced onions, mustard and a sprinkle of celery salt.  I've seen dogs with either cucumber or pickle wedges, but you need to have at least one.  The little peppers are called sport peppers, and I wouldn't begrudge you leaving them off.  Some like 'em, some don't; I personally feel they overpower the other flavors so all you feel is heat.  I usually order them, then pull them off and munch on them on the side.  It's a kick, but a fun one.

One last thing - the one item you absolutely do not see on this hot dog.  I hesitate to even speak the k word here, but you shall not defile your Chicago style hot dog with ketchup.  Not that I have a problem with ketchup in general.  It has its place, on things like french fries, and you can even douse your Ball Park hot dog in it if you so choose, but never ever on a Chicago style dog.  Again, this is largely tradition, but try tasting a true Chicago style hot dog and tell me it would be better with ketchup on it.  And then run, because I'm not going to be pleased...

So what's a Chicago(land) boy to do when he has a craving for home?  Well, there are three options.  1) Drive back to Chicago, go to Portillo's or one of the many dog stands I've not tried, and order a hot dog.  Do-able, but a long drive just for a meal.  That said, I can't remember a trip home in recent history in which we've not had hot dogs, either out or at home.  I'll get these when I can, but there are times that it's just not feasible.  Which leaves option two.  2) Go out to eat at a place in town that has Chicago style dogs.  I never knew these existed, and satisfied myself with periodic trips home for hot dogs.  But lo and behold, there exist three locales in Des Moines in which such succulent wonders can be found.  Principal Park, home of the Iowa Cubs serves them.  Nice for a gameday meal, but on its own merits not the best dog in town.  Chicago Dog and Deli is a cute family style restaurant on the North side, which expectedly has Chicago dogs on the menu.  Very nice, but the bun was a bit chewy, more like a hoagie roll than a steamed hot dog bun.  And last but not least, Ted's Coney Island, the victor of the Des Moines dog shootout.  Given the New York-centric name of the joint, I wasn't expecting much, but their dogs are faithful to the Chicago formula.  This was a major happy find for me.

And option three?  3) Make them yourself, which is what we did this past weekend.  You can mail-order Vienna Beef or bring them back from Chicago, but this time we came very close with some natural casing Niman Ranch all-beef hot dogs from Gateway Market.  Major snap on these casings, but also a significant cash outlay for hot dogs.  But hey, they're from humanely and naturally raised cows, so it's all good.  Unfortunately we couldn't find a single poppy seed bun in Des Moines, so we had to make do with regular buns.  Fortunately this wasn't a huge problem, since as I said the poppy seeds don't really add flavor.  It did make our hot dogs just a little less authentic though.

Dragging the dogs through the garden felt a tad bit disingenuous at the end of winter.  Our tomato, cucumber and onion traveled a ways farther than I typically prefer to get here so much out of season, but the flavors were right.  Our relish wasn't neon green, but I'm not one who feels it needs to be.  And we even grabbed some La Preferida sport peppers, though Stacia and I both opted to keep them on the side and leave our delicious hot dog flavors intact.  It wasn't totally authentic, but I bet there are lots of Chicagoans you could serve it to without missing a beat.

The first bite of our homemade, 340-miles-from-Chicago-style hot dogs reminded both of us why we'd gone to the trouble and expense of making such elaborate dogs when you can get plain Farmland ones for 99 cents a pack.  The casings snapped between our teeth, the crisp tomato and cucumber lent a cool fresh flavor, and the relish, onion and mustard melded together with the celery salt to make a dreamy tangy concoction.  We'd planned to each only have one dog and accompany it with sides to make a meal, but within moments we'd finished our first and wanted more.  Our eyes met with the well-known "I'm having another, you do whatever you want" glance, and we rushed to the kitchen to restart the assembly line.

Two dogs, a side of baked beans and a Birch Beer later, we were stuffed and totally satiated.  I've heard all the exhortations about how good Chicago style pizza is, but there's no way I would have traded one for our dinner that night.  I may not be from Chicago, but I know at least one thing I love about it, and I'm glad I can replicate it without a five plus hour drive.  That said, when I travel to Elgin next month or so, you'll know where to find me...