There were several food items that Dick always talked about doing. Sooner or later, he would try selling these items during weekends when the Old Town Mill was having a special event. The additional volume of people would give him a better chance to see if there was a demand for these foods. Som eventually found a spot on our permanent menu, most notably cheesesteaks and sweet potato fries.
Other times, they would gather an initial boost in sales but fizzle out after the initial hype and curiosity. We tried to sell Jalapeno poppers for a couple of weeks. The last time I looked in the fridge, they were stuffed into the back corner of one of the shelves, buried in bags of sweet potato fries. If the restaurant portion of the business was still around, there is a good chance that bag of Jalapeno Poppers would still be there buried in a thick layer of freezer burn.
There was one item that, despite several attempts (and failures), Dick kept trying to add to our menu: hot dogs.
“Wouldn’t it be great?” Dick would say. “We can keep it real simple. Option of relish or chopped onions. We already have ketchup and mustard. It’ll be like a carnival.”
The first time he brought this up, I was optimistic about it. Everyone was, except for Lou. She just shook her head, then shrugged.
“Whatever you want to do,” she said.
Later, I asked her why she seemed cautious about the ordeal.
“I’m not being cautious, Mouse. I know how this is going to play out.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is not the first time he has tried to sell hot dogs. And if it fails this time around, he is going to bring it up again at some point as if he has never tried before.”
And she was right. We sold maybe 5 hot dogs over 3 days. Not enough to justify adding an entirely new item to the menu.
For a while, I thought that would be the end of it. I had completely forgotten about it until several months later when the Mill was putting on a community event. I think it was some small business awareness day and all of the shops were participating in discounts and special offers.
There was also going to be a fashion show from Miss Leona, who ran a series of classes for children aspiring to be fashion designers. She had talked to Dick already, who let her use our eatery to host the event.
“Hey Mouse,” Dick said to me several before, “We should try selling hot dogs this weekend. For the event.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. Why not? We have a big group of people that are going to be sitting right there. They are going to get hungry. When they get to our counter, they are going to see a nice big sign for a juicy hot dog.”
“I mean…I personally don’t think it’s a good idea considering last time but I’m down to try again if you are.”
Which was another way of saying ‘you’re the boss. I’m just the boy so it doesn’t really matter what I think.”
That weekend, I walked into work and the first thing I saw sitting on the kitchen counter was a giant box full of hot dogs packs.
“So how do you wanna cook them?” I asked.
“I think we are going to boil them in a pot,” Dick said.
“Ok. How many?”
“All of them.”
I looked at the box and estimated that it was roughly 16 cubic inches. That is a lot of hot dogs. I watched Dick bring out a large pot from the back. He filled it up with water and put it on the stovetop. As the water was boiling, he ripped open each package and dumped the floppy pink sausages into the water. After he emptied the last bag, he covered the lid of the pot just as the water was starting to boil. Bubbles and steam rose from the pot.
The box was left forgotten in the corner, filled with hot dog packages still slick with hog grease. They reminded me of tiny little body bags and I felt like a grave robber who just dug up a bunch of carcasses.
Before the event kicked off, Dick asked me to come back to the kitchen and try a hot dog. He opened the pot. A bloom of sausage steam rose and the smell of hot dogs hit my nose. He pulled one out with a set of tongs and placed it on a bun. I asked for onions, relish, and mustard. He set it up on a paper plate and slid it across the counter to me.
I took a bite. It was pretty good but I wasn’t the best judge of quality in this regard. I loved hot dogs and my bar wasn’t very high.
“You like it?” Dick asked.
“Yeah, it’s great,” I said.
“Good. This is going to be good. After all, who doesn’t love hot dogs?” he said.
Lunch rush came. Sure enough, it was busy. Not only did we have the usual Saturday rush but we also had the people for the event and Miss Leona’s Fashion Show, all concentrated in our eatery. We were grabbing orders customer after customer.
In the height of the lunch rush, I went to the back to drop off an order ticket to Dick.
“Fuck,” Dick yelled as I was about to leave the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?”
“I keep bumping into the fucking hot dog pot. It’s hot as shit.”
The pot was massive, taking up nearly two different stoves. It jutted out a bit, making me anxious as I thought what would happen if it tipped over and fell. For a moment, I could see a party of hot dogs sprawled out across the floor and how much time and absurdity would go into cleaning it up.
That’s when I realized that it was 2 hours since the lunch rush started and the pot was still full. I recalled selling two hot dogs during that entire time, even as I made sure to bring up the special to everyone I talked to. The top layer of the boiling water revealed a bunch of sausages sticking out of the water, leaning against the back of the metal pot as they stewed like people in a hot tub.
When I clocked out for my lunch break, Dick said I could have as many hot dogs as I wanted. Being the glutton that I am, I made myself three. For the next half hour, I decided to change up my usual routine of sitting alone in peace. Instead, I sat in on Miss Leona’s fashion show. She had students from middle school to high school and most of the audience were parents, grandparents, and families. Most of the clothes reminded me of things my little sister used to wear as a kid. I guess it was a combination of glitter, pins, and feathers but it all reminded me of early 2000’s teen pop culture. All of the models were friends and family members.
It reminded me of my childhood and when my parents went to some of my school performances or my martial arts belt tests. For a moment I was incredibly thankful and sorry to them from the bottom of my heart. Because unlike the children on stage presenting their artistic merit, I was a pretty talentless child and my parents were great actors.
As I was finishing up my lunch, I looked around the lunchroom to get a feel for the room. There were certainly a lot of people with our food. Grilled cheeses, fries, sodas. I saw Christian going over to the trash can, the top lid several inches from the actual rim, and replacing it with a new trash bag. So we had a very good day in terms of sales.
But no hot dogs.
At the end of the night, Dick asked us again if we wanted to take any hot dogs home. Again, being the glutton that I am, took him up on the offer and packed 10. Still, it barely made a difference. The hot dog hot tub was still fully inhabited.
By this point, Dick had turned off the water, too. At least when heat and steam are rising from the pot, creating fog spots in the metal, there is a delectable quality to it. Now, it was just a pit of cold sausages and sausage water. It didn’t make them any less appetizing to me, but it did make me sad somehow.
I do wonder what Dick did with the rest of the hot dogs. I have been told that in Chicago, hot dog places will let those hot dogs sit in that sausage water for days to enhance the flavors. I wonder if this is true. I never got to see Dick try to sell hot dogs again. That said, I think he might try again at least once before he dies. He has mentioned at several points that he would love to start a carnival in his retirement. Maybe, he still has that hot dog hot tub. He might be letting them stew up in some fridge, letting the juices soak into the flavor.
Maybe, he is just bidding his time, waiting to try again.
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Danger Wonka 