november-2009

062
As a lifelong Chicagoan, I’ve enjoyed thousands
upon thousands of hot dogs. But when out-of-towners
ask me to rattle off my favorite, I simply can’t do it. For
me, choosing a favorite Chicago hot dog is like judging
the Miss Universe pageant; all of them are beautiful,
each wiener a winner. After years of neutrality,
however, I decided that it was my civic duty to take
a stand in the hot dog debate. To help me get to the
meat of the matter, I called Bruce Kraig, a local food
historian and author of Hot Dog: A Global History, who
agreed to accompany me on a journey.
Before embarking on our eating expedition, Kraig
set me straight on what makes a truly great Chicago
hot dog: First, it must have that distinctive flavor—less
garlicky than a New York dog, with hints of paprika.
It needs to snap when you take a bite, the result of the
sausage’s natural casing. The steamed bun should be
fresh. And its abundant toppings must provide a good
combination of flavors and textures, a mix of sweet and
sour, soft and crunchy.
Putting our midsections and cholesterol levels on
the line, we make our first stop during the lunch rush at
Jimmy’s Red Hots (4000 W Grand Ave; 773-384-9513),
a red-brick building that’s been serving the West Side
since 1954. I meet Kraig—a retired college professor
with mussed grey-brown hair—under a sign that reads,
appropriately, “Give Us a Test—Ours Are the Best.” He
can barely contain his excitement as we step inside.
Steam clouds rise from a metal bin as a worker
grabs a bun and fills it with a bright-red link. Kraig
explains that, while most respectable stands get their
product from the same local supplier (the venerable
Vienna Beef company), there’s an art to making them
properly: Heat the already-cooked sausages for too long
(more than 20 minutes) and they turn to rubber.
Standing at the counter, we unwrap our hot
dogs. They’re a bit slim, and
the greasy hand-cut fries are
smushed together in the same
wrapping as the sandwich. The
sausages have a good snap. All
in all, it’s a tasty dog. My only
complaint: It lacks tomato and a
pickle spear. “This is more like
what a Chicago hot dog would
have been like before the 1920s:
Thin, cheap and simple,” Kraig
tells me.
Many of Chicago’s mostbeloved
stands, I soon discover,
dish up dogs without the sacred
(this page) Murphy’s;
(opposite page) Superdawg
GO MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 2009
seven condiments. Our next contender, Jim’s Original
(1250 S Union Ave; www.jimsoriginal.com) a 70-yearold
survivor from the Maxwell Street neighborhood’s
days as an open-air market, also offers a variation on
this earlier, minimalist style (known in some circles
as a “Depression Dog”). These iconoclasts even serve
grilled onions instead of the usual chopped variety.
At the streetside service window, the heavenly smell
of the onions hits us right away. Hot dogs in hand, we
sidestep a growing crowd of cops, construction workers
and guys in suits, and take a bite. “These are absolutely
superior hot dogs,” Kraig says. “And you can taste … I
think it’s coriander.”
I’m taken by how beautifully the crunch and heat
of the sport peppers, which manager Andy Krupka
says are pickled in-house, blend with the sweetness
of the caramelized onions and the beefy flavor of the
expertly prepared link. “You might say this is a purist’s
hot dog,” Kraig says, “because other stands add [more]
ingredients to create those same taste impressions.”
This red hot is definitely a worthy contender.
Still, I’m yearning for a dog topped with all the
veggie trimmings. At Murphy’s Red Hots (1211 W
Belmont Ave; 773-935-2882), I get my wish. Opened
in 1987, this storefront a few blocks from Wrigley Field
is a relative newbie compared to other stands—and it’s
also the only one with a sister property in Japan.
We order two with everything and watch as the
dogs are piled high with toppings, including a few wild
cards from owner Bill Murphy: lettuce and a cucumber
slice. As I dive in, the pristinely layered ingredients
topple off. But I don’t care. I shove them back into the
bun and savor the meatiness of the sausage alongside
the freshness of the vegetables. Kraig and I agree: This
is the best dog we’ve eaten thus far.
After taking a few days off to digest our results,
Kraig and I reconvene for
breakfast at Hot Doug’s (3324 N
California; www.hotdougs.com),
the wildly popular “encased
meat emporium” on a mostly
industrial stretch of the North
Side. Owner Doug Sohn meets
us at his bright red-, yellow- and
blue-colored corner restaurant at
9:30am so we can avoid the lines
that form here every morning.
Sohn has been slinging
gourmet elk, alligator, fois gras
and other exotic types of sausages
since 2001. But he tells us his
Chicago-style dog—which, like
Jim’s Original, also includes