A Little Heaven In a Bun.

Over the past year as readership of our fair blog has steadily increased, we have guarded our posts, ever mindful of the fleeting nature of the trust our readers have bestowed upon us.

It is thus with great trepidation and only on rare occasions that we have strayed from our self appointed rounds as guardians and commentators on all things legal as they relate to the REGJB.

This is one of those occasions.

It was probably not DeTocqueville, (to whom we have been flatteringly compared to in the comments section) who observed that Americans can be divided into two camps. Perhaps it was someone more recent who had the flavor of the common man. In any event, we agree that Americans are two distinct peoples, into a particular camp one is easily placed, if the discerning eye knows what to look for.

Sliced tomato or gilled onions? Plain, or with a pickle spear? Ketchup (horrors!) or mustard?

We are speaking of course of whether you take your Hot Dog Chicago Style-dragged through the garden, or not.

The Chicago Style Dog starts with a Vienna beef hot dog, steamed to 170 degrees.
A slice of tomato (that will become important later) a dill pickle spear, some onions, relish, a dash of celery salt and mustard, all on a poppy seed bun, steamed soft and hot.

To those of us who have stood in line at the Bunny Hutch in Lincolnwood, it is a shrine to all that is good, and simple, and American. You can have Coney Island, with the dog and bun grilled, and ketchup-the ultimate insult. But then again, you can have New York lock stock and barrel, with their superior attitude, sour faces and sauerkraut, and burnt buns.

It was therefore with great surprise and delight that a few nights ago on our way to the cinema we happened upon Liberty Hot Dogs, proudly offering The Chicago Style dog.

A wanted sign should be hung up for the proprietors: dirty dog dealers, who are purveyors of fraud, pure and simple. Any decent Chicagoan should kick these miserable curs in their buns wherever they may be found.

Perhaps our first indication that all was not right was when the dog came out of the steamer and on to the grill.
We protested loudly: "Chicago style dogs are not grilled madam!"
only to be met with a disappointing: "Que?"

Next was a bowl of chopped tomatoes splashed on top- a sin. Followed by a sour pickle, another sin, some raw green peppers- a crunchy blasphemy, and perhaps the only three words of Americana this thief in a chef's hat knew: "Ketchup? Mayonnaise? Mustard? "

All was lost.

Mayonnaise?

There outta be a law.

Certain traditions need to be upheld. The line needs to be drawn and manned with those who can both protect - and serve a tomato properly sliced.

Would you serve pastrami at Noche Buena?

Would you serve chopped liver at Thanksgiving?

So we turn to the power of the pen, and in the traditions of our forefathers whose pamphlets in Philadelphia formed the basis for our Constitution, we take to writing our complaints and posting them for all to see.

For shame Liberty Dogs!

May your mayonnaise curdle and may your time serving such swill upon Miami be short.

It's almost worth a case North of the Border just to pay a stop at Reno's where our taste buds can be rejuvenated and our faith in America restored.



Note the sliced tomato and sliced dill pickle.