a) Use Google Maps to find the most efficient drive possible. Look into potential construction zones and alternate routes in case of road blocks.
b) Follow the highway signs as you go; you'll eventually there. Or end up in Canada.
c) Research major metropolitan areas along the way, and make reservations at the local Four Seasons.
d) Drive 50 miles out of the way to detour past a hole-in-the-wall joint, which is legendary for serving the best western North Carolina-style barbeque. Get lost and wander around in the dark on rural backroads for 20 minutes, as you struggle to figure out how to interpret the address "Hwy 29-70 South." However, as you sink your teeth into a tangy chopped pork sandwich and hush puppies, you decide the side trip was totally worthwhile.
If you chose (d), you might be a foodie. Welcome to the club!
This morning, I needed to pick up my car from the shop, and unfortunately, the mechanic is located in a really inconvenient location (it took me over an hour to get there via public transportation). On the other hand, it was relatively close to that foodie pilgrimage site known as Hot Doug's. When I put two and two together, it was clearly time to stop there for lunch.
There are no finer words in the English language than "encased meats," my friend. -slogan painted on the wall of Hot Doug's
For those unfamiliar with the restaurant, it is a temple devoted to the worship of sausage excellence. Among other press, Hot Doug's has been profiled by Zagat and Anthony Bourdain's show No Reservations. Owner Doug Sohn is also infamous for being the only restauranteur in Chicago who was fined for flouting the ban on serving foie gras. I've been to Hot Doug's one other time, when Megan visited Chicago at the beginning of the summer. When we got there, the line was so long it stretched out the door and around the side of the building. But surely, with the onset of chilly weather, the line will be shorter this time, I said to myself.
No such luck. Once again, by the time I showed up around noon, the line was spilling out the door and around the corner. Part of the reason the line was so lengthy is that Fridays and Saturdays are the only days that Hot Doug's serves duck-fat fries, and these are unctuously delicious. I dug my heels and settled in for the 40 minute wait. (After waiting similar lengths of time for sandwiches at Katz's Deli and bagels at Russ & Daughters, this sort of thing no longer fazes me.) People began lining up behind me, and one gentleman wondered aloud, "Is it just today, or is it always like this?" I smiled and said, "Nope, it's pretty much always like this."
The line was composed of an eclectic array of people, young and old, black, white and peanut, all united in their determination to taste the Ultimate Hot Dog. We hailed from all over Chicagoland, from Lincoln Park to Lincolnwood. The group behind me was full of newbies, while another girl said that she came regularly, and had tried almost every special. When pressed for a reason why Hot Doug's was so great, one guy said, "I'm actually a vegetarian, but I come here all the time for their veggie dog, which is fantastic." Another lady recommended the polish sausage, a favorite of her mother's.
Eventually, I made it inside the building. After scrutinizing the menu carefully, I settled on a chipotle-cilantro smoked chicken sausage with mole sauce and cojita cheese. For good measure, I ordered the Pete Shelley vegetarian hot dog as well. I'd worked up quite an appetite while waiting in line, so why bother with only one hot dog? Doug himself was there to take my order, and he joked and waved at customers waiting patiently in line. I plopped down on a stool at the counter, and a few minutes later, my order was brought out to me.
The chipotle chicken sausage had a nice amount of kick in it, though the cojita cheese wasn't quite the type of cheese that I was expecting. But hey, I'm open to trying new things. Slathered over the sausage was a dark, hearty mole sauce, with some spice and chocolatey undertones. My vegetarian dog was impressively indistinguishable from a regular meat hot dog. In the classic Chicago hot dog fashion, it was topped with sliced tomatoes, spicy brown mustard, unnaturally green relish, sauteed onions, celery salt, and a pickle spear. (It is unholy to put ketchup on a Chicago dog.) I scarfed both hot dogs down in quick succession, as I watched more people get into line.
On my way out, someone asked, "How was it?" I beamed and replied, "Worth every minute of the wait!"
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