there was a month of my life during high school when my schedule was this:
8am-3pm: go to school
3pm-10pm: sit in my backyard around a fire with my two friends {regan and michael}, roasting wieners.
that era became known as the wiener era. and it was one of those most hilarious months of my life.
i mean, imagine a couple kids sitting in broad daylight, eating hot dogs and other roastable stuff, and talking about juicy couture.
we developed some pretty mean recipes over that month, including the kwinkie:
a marshmallow wrapped in crescent dough, set on fire, and then dipped in mustard. and then topped with a hot dog.
eventually we got real and realized that hot dogs wouldn't get us into college, so we stopped.
but forever remains the fond memories of the wiener era.
when michael moved to the Big City this year, the decision was made:
for the bougiest, most expensive, most done up hot dogs we could get our furry manhattanized paws on.
we are way too sophisticated for best kosher now. and cooked over a fire? puhlease.
it was the symbolism to end all cymbalism. look at how successful we are he is.
we're going to buy nice hot dogs now.
...ones that use azny spices and come with a cylinder of flied lice with a quail egg on top
and that taste like those little sausagey bits you get in those sticky rice bowls at dim sum
...ones that are supposed to be a dressed up version of a new york hot dog
but really end up making you miss chicago dogs {and george gershwin and gracie}
...ones that are accompanied by truffles but need pancakes.
...and ones that explode with glee and emmenthaler
it was the fanciest sausage fest evr. it came on a bed.