Chicago Dogs are to all other hot dogs, like...

C) Heliocentrism is to flat-earthery.

This from the normally astute Steve Gilliard...

It's All in How the Dog Is Served

By ED LEVINE
Published: May 25, 2005
YOU know those hot dogs that you know and love, and can't wait to eat this time of year? The ones served at Katz's Delicatessen, Gray's Papaya, Papaya King, the legendary Dominick's truck in Queens and the best "dirty water dog" carts?

They're all the same dog, manufactured by Marathon Enterprises, of East Rutherford, N.J., the parent company of Sabrett. They may vary in size, preparation and condiment selection (and Papaya King has Marathon add a secret spice to its mixture), but they're the same ol' dog. In fact, until a few years ago, Marathon made Nathan's hot dogs.
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Mr. Gilliard add’s (although the emphasis is added by me)...

Empire is also sold in most supermarkets.

This is the annual debate over the best hot dog in New York.

Oh yeah, dirty water dogs don't count. They have their charms, the saltiness being boiled out of them, but no one takes them seriously. And after 30 odd years of eating both Grays and Papaya King, I can't tell the difference, except for price. Oh yeah, the Papaya King roll is pretty fucking toasted. Sometimes burnt. What I don't like about Papaya King is their addition of things like cole slaw and cheese. Cheese was a Nedicks thing. But you can avoid them for the traditional toppings.

OK, can people explain one thing: why do the people of Chicago hide their hot dogs under a salad?

OK, first the historifactual answer, if by historical and factual we can accept, say, the “Anointed” comic books series as actual Christology:

Take one town full of German and Polish immigrants. Add round-the-corner access to the biggest slaughterhouses in the world, a bakery every few block and wheeled-carts. Ladle on proximity to fresh produce and raw relentless, capitalism and Bingo…you have the perfect workingman’s lunch. Veggies, meat, bread and a pickle for what a day-laborer could afford.

That’s one of the traditional Chicago dogs. I have one from time to time, and they’re just fine.

The other is a Maxwell Street Polish or Vienna Beef dog (from the factory a mile away)– grilled – on a lightly toasted bun, garnished with onions – also grilled, preferably on the same griddle or grate as the dog – and sharp mustard. Visible-from-space-fluorescent-yellow mustard is the preferred variety, but I like mine with a more brown-and-horseradishy variety.

It is said that Chicago Mayor Anton Cermak was accidentally killed in Giuseppe Zangara’s 1933 attempted assassination of Franklin D. Roosevelt. That he hit Cermak by mistake (the alternate history of which was made famous by PK Dick in “The Man in the High Castle”). Every Chicagoan knows this is nonsense; that Cermak was part of a widespread conspiracy to embargo mustard in an attempt to force Chicagoans to put ketchup (catsup? This sinister condiment confusion is what got Montgomery Burns committed) on their dogs and for his sins, a Back-o-The-Yards crew put a hit out on him.

This is by way of warning travelers that if one were foolish enough to sully a Chicago dog with ketchup, six of Chicago’s Finest will materialize to beat you to aspic (since we’re doing meat-themes today) for such an offense against Heaven.

Anyway these ambrosial meatpoles are fit to be served to Emperors; kick in a side of wedge fries and a cold local beer (Goose Island is pretty good) and they are food for the Gods Themselves.

But in a larger sense, Mr. Gilliard – so right about so many things – has ventured into those, sad barren lands occupied by the Vaseline-spined MSM, where false comparison suck up valuable airtime and straw men make war.

Like the debate between Creationism and Evolution, one is honor-bound to point out that there really is no debate here. On the side of all that is Good and Virtuous are Facts, Evolution and the Chicago Dogs. On the side of Perfidy are Superstition, Creationism and All Other Pretenders to the Hot Dog Throne.

To even engage in the arguement is to lend credence to the fantasy that there is anything open to dispute.

Next up: Ribs, or why the episode of M.A.S.H. where Hawkeye wouldn’t settle for anything less than having Chicago ribs trans-shipped to Korea rings absolutely true.