Friday, September 3, 2010
After a night of arm wrestling ice cold beers into submission, buddy Jake and I decided to don our lab coats and make a lunch hour rendezvous to Uncle Franky's in Northeast Minneapolis. It was my first visit back in nearly a year, so I figured we'd better do something special for lunch.
Uncle Franky's is probably the most well known brick and mortar hot dog establishment in the Twin Cities. To make this real newsworthy, I had never been to this joint before. Totally odd and out of character for me, I know.
I picked Jake up in my sweet Grand Marquis rental car, turned up the KQRS and and tuned my gut for maximum expansion. Godspeed!
Here's our bountiful harvest:
Two orders of Cheese Fries.
One Diet Coke to make this meal extra-ironic.
Here's Jake's Chicago Dog and Coney Island Chili Dog. Hearty eats indeed.
I rolled with the Wall Street (grilled kraut, mustard and onions) and a Chicago. I got dissed on the sport peppers, but buddy Jake was kind enough to give me one of his own. That's what buddies are for buddies.
Probably one of the best bitin' pics we've done here at the blog. Jake is a fucking professional after all.
I put the smack down on that dog so hard the snap of the skin was heard miles down the old Mississippi.
As you can see from the portly gentleman sitting behind me, Uncle Franky's doesn't play to the waif hipster chick looking for hangover food. Nope, the standard patron here is the hard working, morbidly obese dude that's trying to sell one more Chrysler fuckin' Lebaron before the new year so he can buy his fat kids a new XBox.
In other words, there's good hot dogs and some decent people watching to boot.
*Take Note: The only way to break Jake off his cross-training, salad eating regimen is to get him so blind drunk the night before that he sleeps on his living room floor amidst a shredded Pretty Things album that his dog Harmon had his way with. That's how you make a Buddies & Hotdogs adventure come to fruition.