Over the holidays, I literally ate my way through Chicago. As a result, I must fast track my New Year’s resolutions so that I don’t end up looking like Bibendum, the marshmallow-like Michelin man. Working out is high on the list. So, too, is drinking less. And gluttony, perhaps, is not on the agenda in 2010.
Ah, but how I savored the final wastrel and wanton days of 2009 in the so-called Second City. Among my most favorite eateries: The Berghoff, The Publican, La Madia and Avec. But my hands-down favorite was fabled hot dog purveyor Hot Doug’s, tucked away in Roscoe to the northwest of Chicago.
Practically every gourmand and gourmet-catering magazine has profiled Doug Sohn, the very affable owner of Hot Doug’s, and made the pilgrimage to his decadent dogs and duck fat fries juke joint, so it was time for this Jetsetter to pay his regards. And, oh, sweet decadence!
If you’re expecting fancy and high-falutin’, forget it. Hot Doug’s looks like a pizza parlor with its jaunty yellow walls, counter service and mismatched furnishings. And if you are looking for fast food, forget it. The queue stretched out the door and around the corner, but don’t let the line dissuade you. We waited for a mere15 minutes before passing through the multiple doors leading into this sanctum sanctorum of encased meat products (and remember that this is Chicago—not New York—so everyone in line was polite and chatty).
We perused the menu and the daily specials before settling on a corn dog for John, my partner in crime; the daily special, the Francis Rossi, a smoked crayfish and pork sausage topped with shrimp remoulade and goat cheese, for me; The Elvis (a smoked Polish sausage) for Jasper, our much-pampered pooch awaiting his meal in the car; and a mess of cheese-topped fries. The very friendly Doug himself took our order, and then we settled in to await our meal delivery at a window-facing counter.
We rocked out to the blaring tunes of Luscious Jackson, the Violent Femmes and the Ozark Mountain Daredevils as we dove into our meal. Wow! Wow! Wow! “Pass the napkins!” “Divine!” “Are you going to eat that?” “This is SO good!”
We lapped up everything and anything and practically licked our plates. Satiated, we returned to our car where Jasper blissed out, too, as he pounced on his own personal Elvis.
Yum, yum, yum.
If you visit Chicago and haven’t hit Hot Doug’s, pay homage, and pronto!