This cookout classic is beloved in the US. Personally, I'm not a fan.
I'm not going to become one of those people who loves hot dogs.
Despite being carnivorous and not having any dietary restrictions, these sausages just don't appeal to me. Every year, from Memorial Day to Labor Day, Americans eat approximately 7 billion hot dogs. That makes me an extreme oddity, almost like a traitor. How can someone not enjoy hot dogs? It's almost unpatriotic, similar to disliking football or Dolly Parton.
I wouldn't judge anyone for liking hot dogs. They're affordable, quick to cook, portable, and flexible. They're the perfect outdoor companion: You can hold a hot dog in one hand while holding your drink in the other.
At the renowned Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, Joey Chestnut ate 75 of them in 10 minutes. I watched this on TV, and it was distressing.
My dislike might stem from my early years. My mother recounts an incident when I was roughly a year old, where she cut a hot dog into small pieces and placed it on my highchair tray, within reach of my hands. I swallowed one bite and started choking. She flipped me upside down and shook me until I threw up the hot dog.
After that day, I never ate hot dogs. I was a well-behaved child who would eat a range of vegetables (except for beets, which I didn't appreciate until well into adulthood). But hot dogs were a no-go. Perhaps I had some subconscious hot dog trauma.
As a child, I didn't have to deal with hot dogs at home. However, at birthday parties, the parents would usually serve hot dogs. I didn't want to be the oddball sitting there with an almost empty tray. Drowning hot dogs in ketchup, mustard, and relish helped me swallow them. Then I'd focus on the birthday cake.
Baseball games presented another challenge. I love baseball for its rhythm, the excitement of a ball hitting the outfield wall, and the thrill of emerging from the ballpark tunnel to take in the expansive field.
In the '70s, ballparks had limited food options. Fenway Park in Boston, where I watched many of my early games, had vendors marching up and down the aisles shouting, "Fenway Franks! Get your Fenway Franks!". Their morale-boosting sales techniques didn't sway me, but they did sell roasted peanuts. I ate many of those.
So, you might wonder, why should you be interested in my dislike of hot dogs? It's a valid question.
Think about a time when you didn't like something that everyone else seemed to enjoy. It can be quite lonely. You even question your own judgment. Since everyone I knew liked hot dogs, I wondered what was wrong with me?
At such moments, you encounter a choice: You can pretend to like something, feeling slightly inauthentic. Or you can embrace your uniqueness and go against the grain. Hot dogs are low-risk, but it's a different story with more significant things like democracy, love, or grandmothers. Perhaps even pizza.
For years, I concealed my non-affinity for hot dogs, but by the time I was in college, I made a decision to speak my mind.
During one summer when I turned 18, I shared a beach house with three friends, including two brothers whose mother occasionally visited and invited us to lunch. When I learnt that hot dogs were on the menu, I announced, "Hot dogs? I hate hot dogs!". Their mother gave me a withering look. In an attempt to be a charming guest, I ate my dog, sulkily.
Over the years, I haven't had any issues with hot dogs' various relatives. I enjoy eating Italian sausages, andouille sausages, and chorizo. Bratwurst is fine as long as it's slathered in spicy mustard. But by the time I reached my twenties, I had largely stopped eating hot dogs. To me, their taste was musky, sour, and curdled.
It's now 2024, and hot dogs, despite nutritionists saying one could subtract 36 minutes from your life from eating one, continue to be popular. There are plant-based versions, which are likely more disgusting. People are having viral debates about whether or not a hot dog is a sandwich. I doubt I should answer that question.
I realized as I prepared to write this that I hadn't had a hot dog in many years. It had been a while since I experienced one up close. Perhaps my taste buds had changed over time? So, I decided to conduct some research.
Luckily, my girlfriend's father was willing to assist me in acquiring supplies. We picked up an eight-pack of all-beef hot dogs and some generic hot dog buns from Walmart.
My girlfriend, her parents, and I cooked the dogs in a hot pan, placed them in the buns, and added ketchup and yellow mustard.
Taking a big bite, I could see my three dining companions watching me intently, trying to gauge my reaction.
My conclusion?
It was okay. The hot dog wasn't as bad as I remembered, but it also wasn't exactly tasty. The aftertaste remained, lingering in my mouth like an unwelcome visitor.
I did my best, and that's all that matters. Elle wraps it up: on this Memorial Day, I hope all hot dog enthusiasts out there have a delightful meal. It's people like me who don't enjoy hot dogs as much that make more available for the rest of you. Bon appétit!
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Even among my carnivorous friends in the US, I'm an unlikely hot dog outsider.
Despite living in a country that loves hot dogs, I've never developed a taste for them.
Source: edition.cnn.com
