After the Wrigley Field-less trip on the Chicago Transit system, we walk down the stairs of the Randolph/Wabash “L” station only to face a Gold Coast Hotdog storefront. It was as simple as could be. I ordered a “chicago dog” char-style. After a few minutes, and after I few minutes of listening to the employees talking about me in a foreign language after I corrected my order, my hot dog arrived with mustard, relish, onions, tomatoes, a pickle, hot peppers and celery salt. Honestly, it was the best hotdog I have ever had.
That was Thursday. Friday passes. On Saturday, we took a drive to Michigan, only to find a hot dog stand. We drove a few miles and could not find anything besides gas stations. At the last minute, we see a certified hot dog stand. A storefront selling nothing but hot dogs. We stop. Another chicago style hot dog. One trip, two states.
Saturday night, we head down to The Huttle, Notre Dame’s student union store. After midnight, they sell hot dogs for a quarter. No tax, just a quarter. It wasn’t a bad hotdog, plus it was only a quarter. One trip, three states. God must be smiling down upon my endeavor.