Chicago, Kim and Ems Style: Part II

If Xoco weren’t enough, we headed to the famous Hot Doug’s on Saturday around noon. Now, Hot Doug’s opens at 10:30 a.m., but the idea of eating hot dogs for breakfast somehow seemed ludicrous to me, and, well, we didn’t even haul ourselves out of our beds until about that time. But when you arrive at the restaurant, you understand why you’d want to get there at about 10:30 a.m.—because by the time you make it through the line it will be at least noon, if not later. So, we made our way around the building and to the back of the 90-minute-long queue baking under the mid-day sun. An opportunistic ice cream truck sat at the curb, selling water and ice cream to grumbling bellies along the way. Admittedly, I was turning into a bit of a crab, what with the lack of food and the sun heating beads of sweat down my back. As we inched closer and closer to toward the entrance, it became a greater and greater tease, and my impatience started to take hold. Once we could see the food, though, the excitement became fully re-ignited, and everyone around us grew lively. In fact, by the time we were close enough to view the menu on the wall, I started to panic that I wasn’t going to be finished deciding by the time we got up to the counter! Could we just order one of everything?

Soon, however, we were met with a jovial cashier who acted as though there weren’t sixty people crowded at the door, waiting to get in. Once you’re inside, time slows down and everyone just seems so relaxed. Despite the long lines, there were open tables, with diners slowly savoring their meals. There wasn’t a thing frantic or stressed about it. After expertly ordering a Chicago dog, a blue cheese pork sausage with almonds, a jalapeno and cheddar beef sausage, French fries fried in duck fat (with cheese on the side), and a couple of drinks, we took our seats to await the artery-clogging goodness. And boy was it goodness. We split the Chicago dog, and it was amazing. It was perfectly tangy, and I am convinced that I will never, ever, eat a hot dog with ketchup again in my life. Then I dug into my blue cheese sausage, which was good, but didn’t even compare to the $6-cheaper Chicago dog. Kim asked me if I could taste any difference in the duck fat fries, and I honestly could. But maybe it’s because I routinely eat my fries with nothing on them but salt.

After leisurely eating our lunch, shooting the shit (we do a lot of this), and enjoying the mix of tunes that took us back to middle and high school, we headed out, our full stomachs in tow.