The King of Concession Stands
and all about my love of hot dogs
My earliest memory of a live sporting event is probably from a Yankees game when I was around seven or eight. I don’t remember much besides our seats, which were right behind the home team’s dugout. We’d gotten the tickets from a friend and I was so excited at the prospect of catching a foul ball. I’d even brought my youth pink and black mitt just in case. The hours ticked on in the hot summer sun with no end in sight as I complained to my mom about the possibility of leaving empty-handed. She agreed to let me have a hot dog to distract me from my incessant worrying. As last week’s post mentioned, our family wasn’t into the American hamburgers and hot dogs tradition. They were more of a special occasion affair, to be had at friend’s barbecues or pool parties, but rarely in our home. Momentarily distracted by the joy of a stadium dog, I missed out on a play that landed a ball a few rows over from us. But, before I could despair, a player from underneath the dugout popped his head out and subtly rolled a baseball over the top and into my lap. He must have heard my pining and took it upon himself to make an eight-year-old’s day. Stunned, I looked around as if I was worried this was some sort of a prank, but no, I had myself a signed baseball in one hand and a hot dog in the other — nothing could be better.
My affinity for hot dogs began when growing up on the Upper East Side. They are a ubiquitous Big Apple staple and can be found on almost every corner of the city. When looking for a hot dog vendor, keep an eye out for their colorful umbrella and a panoply of signage. The image that comes to mind is the sprawling number of carts parked outside of The Met. After our Sunday drawing classes at the museum, my sister and I would beg for a taste but were usually denied. The history of the NY hot dog begins on Coney Island in 1867, where Charles Feltman, a German immigrant, sold his red hots on buns. Bringing the idea of the frankfurter over from Germany, Feltman is credited with inventing the hot dog on a bun. It is rumored this invention came about so that he could avoid the usual requirement of plates or utensils, and beachgoers wouldn’t have any trash they needed to dispose of thus creating a portable, hand-held treat. In 1916, a former employee of Feltman’s, Nathan Handwerker, opened a competing stand, selling hot dogs for half the price of his competitor. Nathan’s is still around today and is arguably the world's most famous hot dog stand. A day at Coney Island isn’t complete without having a Nathan’s dog while watching the Brooklyn Cyclones.
The ever-evolving state of the hot dog lends itself to its ability to withstand the test of time. There are many variations on the original, including the dirty water dog, the chili dog, Chicago style, corn dog, and one of my favorites, pigs in a blanket (yes, I consider these hot dog adjacent). The Austrians and Germans still have their versions, and they are so good that they stick out in my memory. While visiting Vienna a few years ago, Liam and I encountered such a dog in a Christkindlmarket. Ironically larger than an American hot dog, this delicacy is a thin parboiled sausage made of beef and pork with a lighter casing and color. Ours was topped with fried onions encased in a long bun similar to sandwich bread and had more of a crunch than the typical airy buns in the States. I still think of it.
For me, there are two standouts in the hot dog realm, the first being the Papaya dog. Papaya King reigned supreme on the UES as the original location was on 86th St and 3rd Ave, a few blocks from our old apartment. The colorful exterior, as did the wafting smell of comfort, would often beckon when passing by. My dad would take my sister and me to that location after school concerts or parent-teacher conferences, usually without my mom’s knowledge. He’d order a dog with all the works, going for sauerkraut, relish, ketchup, mustard, and a papaya or coconut juice. I’d be content with just ketchup, and he’d sit me up on the counter to enjoy the special treat.
This week’s best focuses on my other favorite subset. The stadium or ballpark dog. I was lucky enough to experience this phenomenon yesterday when my friend Max invited me to a NY Rangers game. Ice hockey is the one sport, besides swimming, I follow closely, and the Rangers are the sole team I cheer for. As a child, I’d watch the games on TV alongside my dad, who inspired my love for them. I never truly understood the ingrained affection for a sports team until I got to see them play live at Madison Square Garden. Again, this game was with Max, who graciously offered me a seat next to him during the Stanley Cup playoffs a few years ago. The atmosphere was electric, a sea of blue and red, popcorn going flying, and strangers cheering together. In between periods, I found myself drawn to the concession box and willingly paid for a $10 dog. For some reason, it tasted better there, with all the excitement and nostalgia surrounding the experience. I cannot go to a game without getting one.
There’s something about being at a sporting event and hot dogs that go hand in hand. Even Humphrey Bogart knew that, as he once said, “A hot dog at the game beats roast beef at the Ritz.” They’ve been a ballpark concession staple for seemingly forever. As the stadium culinary scene diversifies, the classic tube steak stays the same — it’s a constant. I looked around at Madison Square Garden yesterday and saw sushi, barbecue, and pierogis. Yet, even with all these options, the hot dog remains king. It’s a simple pleasure that can’t be beat, served piping hot and wrapped in foil. The buns are steamed, leading to a squishy, soft texture, and the first bite always provides a sharp snap as you break the casing. The choice of toppings is customizable, and everyone has their own way of doing it. An invitation to a hockey or baseball game ensures the synonymous hot dog experience, and I count my lucky stars whenever I get one. Before forgetting, I also want to give a special shoutout to the Fourth of July and all-around summer dogs. The quintessential American snack just tastes better on the 4th, especially around a pool with friends. The ease with which they can be made and handed off to the hungry sea of partygoers inspires, and I look forward to it every year. So, with summer approaching, I urge you to take part in the joy of a stadium dog or street cart glizzy. For just a few bucks, I’d say they’re more than worth it.