Hot Dog Stands
I'm trying to remember how to write online. I was never particularly good at it. or writing offline, for that matter. making this harder, I feel rushed. I don't know when Dan's going to get home and need back on his computer.
I can't fathom why I'm even bothering typing this out, but I feel like I need to. desperately.
I'm fascinated by hotdog stands.
growing up in Bellingham, we really don't have the downtown foot-traffic that's required for these sorts of businesses (is that even an appropriate label? entrepreneurships?) to thrive. well, that might not be true, I don't really know. all I know is that for the first 21 years of my life, I never went to seek one of these carts out. I just assume that this is a big city thing, and one that I wasn't formally, and properly, introduced to until I spent late-August through early-September volunteering at Toronto's International Film Festival. I stayed there for about three weeks before I dared to go up to one. I always need to work up the nerve before venturing into a new, uncharted territory, and usually need to be accompanied by multiple people. I've worked around that last bit over the years --out of necessity-- but I'm still, maybe, easily intimidated. and in this case, for what might just be good reason(s). who are these greasy men behind these counters, and do I even really like hot dogs? but before long, I began finding myself intrigued. the prices looked all right on the big wooden stand-up menus. and they were just everywhere. Spadina. Dundas. Queen's Park. College. every-fucking-where. on every corner. still, for the first three weeks, as long as I was downtown, I was happy with my BBQ burger place next to the University. tasty tasty burgers.
it was Islington --near the end of the train-line, halfway between my hotelroom in Mississauga and civilization-- where I took the plunge. after an hour on the bus, and not having enough time (and, more importantly, cash on hand) to go anywhere else, I patronized the stand next to the entrance of the subway station. barely understanding anything the man taking my order was saying, I bravely stepped up and ordered myself a foot of Polish Sausage. that might not be accurate, but trust that it -was- fancy, whatever kind of weiner it was. the cart had all of the common condiments, and I covered my dog in relish and sauerkraut and a couple sweet peppers (why don't more places have sweet peppers available for hot dogs and burgers here? they're amazing). I was sated for the ride downtown, but getting there, and after walking from St. George to Dundas, I was ready for another. I picked one of the three on that block within fifty feet of each other --around that one corner being crossed by two streets I can't quite recall the names of-- probably by some sort of eenie-meenie-minie-etc. process. and, boy! you wouldn't believe the toppings. this was when I knew I was hooked. corn relish. bacon bits. green olives. various kinds of salsa! excitement could not be contained.
I had the runs later that night, and didn't visit another stand for the duration of my stay in that beautiful, urban sprawl of a sprawl of a province's capital, but recently I went to the store and bought all the required fixin's for my own hot dog meals. minus the bacon bits, the green olives, the various kinds of salsa, or the corn relish, because I couldn't find them or they seemed too expensive to really be worth the trouble (I'm on a budget, you know). I -did- get some weird pickled beans, though. so that's something.
I need to fix this color scheme, it's hideous, but I don't know how.
I can't fathom why I'm even bothering typing this out, but I feel like I need to. desperately.
I'm fascinated by hotdog stands.
growing up in Bellingham, we really don't have the downtown foot-traffic that's required for these sorts of businesses (is that even an appropriate label? entrepreneurships?) to thrive. well, that might not be true, I don't really know. all I know is that for the first 21 years of my life, I never went to seek one of these carts out. I just assume that this is a big city thing, and one that I wasn't formally, and properly, introduced to until I spent late-August through early-September volunteering at Toronto's International Film Festival. I stayed there for about three weeks before I dared to go up to one. I always need to work up the nerve before venturing into a new, uncharted territory, and usually need to be accompanied by multiple people. I've worked around that last bit over the years --out of necessity-- but I'm still, maybe, easily intimidated. and in this case, for what might just be good reason(s). who are these greasy men behind these counters, and do I even really like hot dogs? but before long, I began finding myself intrigued. the prices looked all right on the big wooden stand-up menus. and they were just everywhere. Spadina. Dundas. Queen's Park. College. every-fucking-where. on every corner. still, for the first three weeks, as long as I was downtown, I was happy with my BBQ burger place next to the University. tasty tasty burgers.
it was Islington --near the end of the train-line, halfway between my hotelroom in Mississauga and civilization-- where I took the plunge. after an hour on the bus, and not having enough time (and, more importantly, cash on hand) to go anywhere else, I patronized the stand next to the entrance of the subway station. barely understanding anything the man taking my order was saying, I bravely stepped up and ordered myself a foot of Polish Sausage. that might not be accurate, but trust that it -was- fancy, whatever kind of weiner it was. the cart had all of the common condiments, and I covered my dog in relish and sauerkraut and a couple sweet peppers (why don't more places have sweet peppers available for hot dogs and burgers here? they're amazing). I was sated for the ride downtown, but getting there, and after walking from St. George to Dundas, I was ready for another. I picked one of the three on that block within fifty feet of each other --around that one corner being crossed by two streets I can't quite recall the names of-- probably by some sort of eenie-meenie-minie-etc. process. and, boy! you wouldn't believe the toppings. this was when I knew I was hooked. corn relish. bacon bits. green olives. various kinds of salsa! excitement could not be contained.
I had the runs later that night, and didn't visit another stand for the duration of my stay in that beautiful, urban sprawl of a sprawl of a province's capital, but recently I went to the store and bought all the required fixin's for my own hot dog meals. minus the bacon bits, the green olives, the various kinds of salsa, or the corn relish, because I couldn't find them or they seemed too expensive to really be worth the trouble (I'm on a budget, you know). I -did- get some weird pickled beans, though. so that's something.
I need to fix this color scheme, it's hideous, but I don't know how.