Monday, December 8, 2008
Hungry Like the Wolfy
I've seen a few flashing neon signs in my day; but none quite like the one on 2734 W. Peterson Ave in Chicago, Illinois. There's something about an 18 ft. tall grilling fork spearing a 10 ft. long weiner that makes me laugh out loud even after driving 12 hours in a U-Haul truck from Pittsburgh in a snow storm all by my lonesome (unless you count The Original Motor City Mad Man, Bob Seeger, whom I feel a close and almost spiritual kinship with).
Anyway, this place was amazing. I was immediately greeted by two grown up humans (like over 50 years old) dressed from head-to-toe in what I'll try to describe as achingly adolescent and garish streetwear screaming at each other really loudly about who was getting the bowl of chicken noodle soup and who was getting the cup (they serve chicken noodle soup at Wolfy's along with about 80 other menu items in addition to hot dogs). I'm not sure why they both didn't just get the bowl, they must have been really strapped for cash. After slinking past them I made my way to the counter and ordered two Chicago Dog's, fries and a Coke. It seemed a little arrogant to order a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of the arguing couple so I passed on that.
I got my order and plopped my ass down right underneath this fella.
I'm not a huge fan of the Chicago dog, but these were probably the best two I've ever had. Incendiary sport peppers, giant and miracolously fresh tasting tomatoes, just a touch of celery salt, a soft but not too poppy seed bun and snappy pickles that were nearly as large as the red hot Vienna beef dog hiding undearneath it all like a stripper in a cake. Surprise!
I ate quickly, left quietly, and belched the sweet burn of raw onions all the way to Minneapolis.