On our previous discussion of hot dogs, now comes the erudite Bill Donovan:

“I ate a lot of dogs in my year in Chicago. Grew up on hot dogs. I have had a Coney Island Red Hot or two.

“(New York, by the way, is the Garden of Eden of U.S. hot dogs, and is also where the term ‘red hot’ comes from. Barkers for hot dogs, served at Coney Island, barked out, ‘Get your red hot wiener sausages!’)

“(’Wiener,’ by the way, means from or of Wien, which is German for Vienna. The term ‘hot dog’ itself is credited back to the 1830s in New York, when the content of a tube steak was often … you guessed it … dog.)

“However, once one has stood in line at Pink’s on La Brea in, of all places, nouveau Los Angeles, one has not been to Hot Dog Heaven. Forget Vienna. A Pink’s chili dog with everything is the ultimate hot dog. The chili burgers are right up there. Pink’s also serves what it calls a ‘Chicago polish sausage,’ either hot or mild, with mustard, relish, onions, tomato, and no chili. It makes a nice salad course alongside a Pink’s 10-inch chili dog with nothing but chili.”

And the ineffable Ed Zuckerman:

“My brother Bob and I were driving back to Phoenix last summer after a profitable visit to Las Vegas, proceeding along a two-lane highway through some of the most awe-inspiring vistas you’ll see anywhere in the country. The road — Route 93 — running between Kingman and Wickenburg is a real timesaver, and we were speeding along when we passed through Wikieup, which is marked by a sign and is nothing more than a dusty crossroad that goes back into the mountains. (And there are a couple of roadside businesses that sell snacks and Indian jewelry to tourists.)

“As we sped through Wikieup, in the middle of nowhere and hundreds of miles from somewhere, I thought I saw something familiar and hit the brakes. It awakened Bob. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

“‘I saw something back there. It was a sign,’ I said.

“‘Like from God or something?’

“‘Yes, a sign from God. We’ve been saved,’ I answered.

As we drove back, the sign came back into focus. Could it be? For real? Or was it a joke? A blue V with a red hot dog emblem on a yellow circle.

“There, in a dusty speck of a place, there is a Vienna hotdog stand. The owner knows how to serve up a real Chicago dog. He should know. He came here from Batavia [IL]. Said he wanted ‘to get away from it all.’”

On the tao of Chicago pizza, deposeth Dan Lauber:

“Frankly, I’ve always been disappointed by Uno, Due, Giordano, and Lou Malnati (with his alleged mob ties) — they are all tourist traps best avoided … Gino’s East used to be pretty darned good, but it just doesn’t come close to Old World Pizza’s league. The reality is that you will find all sorts of superb, tasty, deep-dish and stuffed pizzas in neighborhoods all over Chicagoland that are far better dishes than what the tourist traps offer. And there’s a plethora of great ultra-thin pizza joints appearing all over the place that come really close to replicating the ultra-thin pizzas we enjoyed in Italy. …

“Next time you’re here, you’ll have to try Old World Pizza in Elmwood Park (immediately northwest of Oak Park). This tiny treasure offers four types of pizza, one of which (the pan pizza — or deep dish — was named by the Tribune as one of the top 3 in the metro area a few years ago). …

“Bottom line, it’s a waste of time debating which pizza is best in Chicago. There’s a ton of great ones to satisfy every palate. On the other hand, this is more fun that debating the War in Iraq.”

More testimony on Chicago authors (and pizza) from Gary Goodman:

“Another terrific Chicago area writer was Steve Tesich, author of Breaking Away, a very successful movie. Although that story takes place in Bloomington IN, two of Tesich’s other novels were Summer Crossing and Four Friends (also made into a movie), both very evocative tales of life in the Calumet Region (East Chicago/Hammond/Gary). He also wrote Division Street and Other Plays … set in your home town in the early ’60s. Tesich unfortunately passed away much too prematurely.

“Giordano’s claims to have invented deep-dish, but Nancy’s also makes this claim … Most Suparossa and all Edwardo’s restaurants offer the more healthful whole-wheat-crust option.”

On Garrett’s Popcorn, witnesseth the honorable Lynn Straus:

“My daughter, who grew up in Chicago before Garrett’s (or B.G.) and would not miss a chance to grab a bagful whenever she is back in town (which in the opinion of her mother is not nearly often enough), believes that the unbelievable success of Garrett’s popcorn (after all, it’s only popcorn, for God’s sake — actually, it’s not popcorn, it’s caramel corn) is that the line out the door is so long, snaking several blocks down Michigan Avenue, that they can barely make the popcorn fast enough to keep up with their salivating customers and therefore, it’s always fresh. Obviously, someone needs to invent a faster popcorn machine.

“And by the way, it’s Gino’s, not Geno’s.”

And finally, from Richard Foster, a-freezin’ in the North north of Milwaukee yet yearning for the equable equanimity of the Equinox, comes this solipsistic solicitation of the Solstice:

“If one of your Chicago correspondents can tell me the name of the Chicago Cub who wore uniform jersey #14 before Ernie Banks, I would be most grateful. No guesses, e.g., Preston Ward. Just the fact. The name, please.”

Merry X ‘n’ Happy N!

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

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