I couldn’t wait to write about the most delicious hotdog ever created. Plus, I want to write about it before I get sick from eating street food–and it loses it’s luster.
So, I was walking home last night, and I decided to buy supper on the street. This was mainly because the Bodega has funky chicken and veggies right now. My first time there, a man asked me if the spots on the meat were normal. Plus, I was feeling pretty lazy.
I stopped at this stand on a side street. These people are there everyday, and sometimes they even have music. I thought it was a taco stand until I got close. I almost walked on when I saw it was a hotdog stand (these people eat a lot of hotdogs). In any case, I was curious and hungry. That’s usually a pretty good combination for trying something new… The street vendors seem to have a hard time understanding me though–as most people can [kinda] figure out what I’m saying.
Part of the problem is that I am thirsty for words (The teacher in me just sighed. What a beautiful phrase!), and so I ask “Que es?” and “Como se dice?” for everything. This tends to confuse people, as they wonder why I act like a child (Especially when the word for hotdog is…hotdog). Often they just laugh and say they have no idea what I’m saying. This is probably because I speak like an alien too: “Me come in peace. Want hotdog.”
I should have thrown all my doubts out the window when the first thing the cook did was throw butter on the griddle. Ummm, what doesn’t taste good with a 1/4 cup of butter? She is grilling these thin slices of meat, while I am thinking, “Hmmm. Weird hotdog. The picture doesn’t look like that.”
Finally she grabs a bun, and actually gets a hotdog out of the inside of the cart. Again, I’m thinking, “Weird. Wonder who that meat is for?” She quickly asks if I want it picante, to which I nod. On goes the hotdog, then grilled (fried, I guess in the same butter) onions, habanero sauce, some kind of pepper/cabbage relish, mustard, ketchup, mayo, and finally, the meat. Turns out, the meat was a kind of bacon. Soooo good, fried crispy on top of my hotdog.
I sure wish I had taken a picture of this thing. I ate it before I got a chance. I would like to get another, but I don’t know if that is a good idea. I find it is better to completely resist delicious Mexican food. I already walk by the bakery with my hands up shielding my eyes. The next person I’m going to avoid is the cheese lady (there is this amazing cheese that is salty and similar to mozzarella–it is like string cheese though). I suppose the hotdog stand lady will join her. Sigh.