Real hot dog connoisseurs don't just simply survey the scene from afar. Nope, certified tube dudes like me need to get their sweaty jowls within sniffin' distance of encased all-beef. Spies like us need the steam of a wiener bath to totally envelope our senses. To tickle our ivories, so to speak. So one Saturday afternoon I took my boo out with me on a bona fide beef frank bounty. The results were less then fantastic, but you wouldn't be shit for a power hitter if you didn't swing for the fences and miss every once in a while.
Introducing Diggity Dog in the Tangle Town neighborhood of Seattle. The definition of a mediocre hot dog establishment.
I ordered the Alabama Dog, and the little lady went with a naked Italian sausage (she's still learning).
The Alabama Dog featured slaw, chili and onions. Nothing really spectacular about the first bite, and the bun was the best thing about it.
A mediocre dog is still a hot dog. Down the hatch!
The lady wasn't complaining. Nom nom nom.
All-in-all, Diggity Dog was like an early 80's Deep Purple album. The album art had so much promise, but then it just went south when the keytars came out. Can't win 'em all.