 The Varsity might be an Atlanta landmark, but can its chili dog stand up against one dragged through the garden? Image provided by http://uchiblogo.uchicago.edu |
And why shouldn’t I? After all, this unassuming combination of an unassuming sausage placed inside an unassuming bun has proven itself an incredibly adaptable, versatile, and affordable part of everyday cuisine for over a century. Wherever this sandwich has manifested itself, enterprising vendors and restaurateurs have found a way to put their own spin on the dish. It’s been boiled, steamed, fried, grilled, smoked, nuked, and even served cold, then topped with an endless array of accompaniments.
Hot dogs often have the ability to send one who eats them to faraway places where its particular preparation is unheard of, such is the widespread history of the food. For example, despite the lore of the New York boardwalk, the Coney Island dog topped with chili and onions was invented over 600 miles away in Detroit; perhaps in response, greasy spoons in upstate New York refer to them more correctly as Michigan hot dogs. Even in the Teutonic world, the center of the sausage universe, countries pass the buck on exactly where the hot dog comes from: Germans and Swiss call it a wiener (after the Austrian capital of Vienna), while Austrians refer to it as a frankfurter (after the German city of Frankfurt). To make matters worse, American meatpackers typically bestow the name wiener to pork-based hot dogs and frank to beef-based hot dogs, even though traditional classification in Europe is the reverse! (Considering the fact that the wonderful people of Frankfurt and Vienna can’t decide which one of them didn’t come first, though, perhaps we Yanks have had the right idea all along.)
For all the intriguing regional variations and volleying geographical etymologies that the hot dog has to offer, though it pains me to see how such a venerable part of Namethecountry-ana much like the image of GIs raising the flag in a Chevrolet commercial, is routinely exploited while pandering to the lowest common denominator. Thanks to the need for ESPN to fill gaps in its programming schedule with anything that could be considered athletic competition, the first thing that comes to many minds at the mention of hot dogs is the grotesque image of Japanese gurgitators with elastic stomachs force-feeding themselves for a mustard-yellow belt. Meanwhile, the top sellers of hot dogs are convenience stores, whose pallid sausages endlessly turning on a fat-coated grill are far from my definition of good eats, even if they sell for 99 cents a pop.
No! When I want a hot dog, I make sure to seek it at a place where the food is given the respect it deserves, where the combination of toppings is only limited to my imagination and the quantity of condiments available. There are many such restaurants devoted to selling a top-quality dog at a fair price in the vicinity of the SPSU campus, and this article looks into detail at three of them, each giving its own interpretation of the iconic sandwich.
To begin, I head to the place whose name is synonymous with the chili dog in Atlanta: The Varsity (2790 Town Center Drive, Kennessaw; additional locations in Alpharetta, Norcross, Buckhead, and Midtown Atlanta). The original location near the Georgia Tech campus has been a local institution for 80 years, and the Varsity has responded to its enduring popularity by opening three new restaurants in the suburbs over the last decade. The Kennesaw location neighboring Town Center mall is easily spotted by the distinctive Streamline Moderne design shared by the restaurants of the chain. While the Varsity’s menu includes burgers, chicken, and various other sandwiches, it is most famous for its chili dog.
The first thing that I notice about the chili dog upon ordering it is how average it appears. For a place whose menu is the stuff of local legend, a dog at the Varsity has the look of an ordinary hot dog in an ordinary bun, topped with chili and mustard. When I eat it, though, I understand why people have been coming here since the 1920s (not literally here, since the Kennesaw Varsity only opened in 1999, but I count the chain as a collective property). The made-on-location chili is tangy and not overwhelmingly spicy, making a perfect addition to the dog. The only shame is that the thing isn’t bigger, as I finish it off in no time. At $1.78 apiece, though, the Varsity’s prices are cheap enough that ordering another chili dog is no worry at all. Better yet, it means that even those with the tightest budget can indulge on a Frosted Orange, the most tempting frozen beverage known to man.
Meanwhile, as much of an institution the Varsity chili dog may be in Atlanta, its legacy and grandeur shrivels in comparison to the pride Chicagoans take in their local cuisine. Food and lifestyle experts have long considered the Windy City the greatest culinary destination in America, and while Chicago’s upscale dining scene is world-class, its biggest strength lies in its unique proletarian fare. After all, only in a diverse working-class hub could vendors turn a flatbread into a casserole, a meatloaf into an ancient Greek specialty, a roast beef sandwich into the world’s most delicious meat sponge, and a hot dog into a salad on a bun.
Whereas hot dogs in most parts of the world may add a topping or two, a Chicago-style hot dog contains seven – count ‘em, seven – condiments: mustard, sweet relish, chopped onions, tomato wedges, a dill pickle spear, sport peppers, and a dash of celery salt (preferably in that order). Due to the vast array of vegetables represented, albeit mostly in pickled form, a Chicago-style hot dog is commonly referred to as being “dragged through the garden.” Ketchup, chili, or any other tomato-based sauce does not belong anywhere near a Chicago dog: a violation of this rule is viewed by many Windy City natives as a cardinal sin. In addition to all these toppings, an authentic Chicago dog must be assembled on a poppy-seed bun; the sausage itself must be from Vienna Beef, whose natural-casing hot dogs make a distinctive snap when bitten into.
Considering all of these particulars, it’s no small wonder that metro Atlanta is home to a number of Chicago-style eateries catering to transplanted residents. (Having spent the first sixteen years of my life in downstate Illinois, I remain astounded by the fact that it is easier to find such establishments here than if one took an hour’s drive from Wrigley Field.) Among these, the nearest to campus is Chicago Delights (10 Chert Road), located just to the east of the Big Chicken as Roswell Street crosses under I-75. From all appearances, this is a no-frills place. The interior seating is 1970s fast-food chic; the walls are sparsely decorated with Bears and Cubs memorabilia; the menu is displayed on a cork bulletin board; the register has no credit card reader; behind the counter, gyro meat spins slowly on an electric rotisserie. For anyone not taken aback by the lack of modern amenities (and with the good sense to carry cash), $2.25 buys a Chicago dog in all its seedy, snappy, savory glory. Honorable mention goes to the Maxwell Street Polish, a kielbasa topped with grilled onions and mustard that holds a similar cult status as its better-dressed cousin: a Maxwell Street Polish can be ordered for $3.45.
Returning to another hot dog stand with local roots, the third and final entrant in this battle of eats is Barkers Red Hots (3000 Windy Hill Road SE, Suite B-6), which in 1984 was the first licensed street vendor to be licensed by the city of Atlanta. After selling the business in the mid-90s and seeing the eventual decline in product quality, the original owners recently bought back the rights to the Barkers Red Hots name and have opened a new stand-alone location at a retail center catering to the lunch crowd from the many office buildings in the Vinings-Cumberland area. Despite its roots in yellow pushcarts around downtown Atlanta, the interior at Barkers has a boardwalk motif, with hues of blue and sea green dominating the eyes and an ambient soundtrack of crashing waves playing in the background.
The major selling card at Barkers is that unlike other quick-serve restaurants, where hot dogs are typically steamed or boiled, Barkers’ sausages are broiled over a charcoal grill. As a result, the hot dog develops a crispy skin and a smoky flavor. A typical red hot comes topped with mustard, onion, and Barkers’ “famous” hot sauce, actually more of a spicy-sweet chili sauce which counters well with the flavors of the hot dog. A basic red hot costs $2.59, a higher price than the previous vendors reviewed, but a regular hot dog here is noticeably larger than at either restaurant. Barkers also offers a steamed hot dog for $1.79, as well as vegetarian dogs (the only location out of the three reviewed to have such an option) and grilled Italian and Polish sausages at an additional cost.
Can I pick any one of these restaurants’ hot dogs as superior to the others? Absolutely not, because each one has its own endearing qualities. Judging by the quality of the sausage itself, the chargrilled dog at Barkers is without a doubt the best. However, the variety of flavors and textures provided by the dog at Chicago Delights is more than enough to give it a try. As for the chili dog at the Varsity, my feelings toward it can be best described by alluding to the old Schaefer beer slogan: “The Varsity is the hot dog to have when eating more than one.”
With that note, I conclude this article. As I do at the end of every article, I tip my glass to you, wishing for you to eat well, drink well, and live well…I’ve reached my dog quota for this piece, so I leave this space reserved for clichéd salutations vacant.
