“’Normal’ is nothing more than a cycle on a washing machine.” --Whoopi Goldberg
Just please give me a hot dog, you know, a "normal" one.
Normal. Fried on a grill until juicy and seared, then cradled in a soft white bun, then slathered with yellow mustard and topped by fresh diced onions. This is a how a hot dog is supposed to taste, especially in summer, right? At least in Boston, my hometown.
That’s how I best love to eat the humble hot dog, enjoyed by millions of us here in the United States, where historic lore reports this culinary treat was invented by a German immigrant, working out of a food cart in New York City, sometime in the 1860’s. That anonymous chef called their offering “dachshund sausages” for its shape, hence the moniker hot “dog”. According to the National Sausage and Hot Dog Council (yes, that’s a real thing), last year Americans consumed some 20 billion hot dogs, which works out to seventy tube steaks for every person.
Hot diggity dog!
Wait. What’s that you say? You don’t like to eat a hot dog in the same normal way that I like to enjoy my hot dog???!!! You put ketchup on it!? Use grey fancy mustard?! Well, la de dah! Or listen to this! I’ve heard some folks slather their hot dog with bright green technicolor hued relish, tomatoes, pickles and then top it off with celery salt? Apparently, that’s how those wacky Chicagoans like their dogs. What gives?
(Though I must confess it’d be fun to try one if given the chance.)
Or there was a time at Yankee Stadium when I asked for a hot dog and was served a “dirty water” dog; that’s when the meat is boiled in a concoction of water, vinegar, cumin, and nutmeg. Nutmeg!? Hmm. But it did taste good. Just last week in Cincinnati my friends got me to order a Coney dog, a mini hot dog parked in a little bun and covered in chili and a heaping mound of grated orange cheese! I really enjoyed that version too.
Which just goes to prove: to each his or her own hot dog. When in Rome eat a hot dog like the Romans do, though I’m not sure our Italian friends even know of hot dogs but what the heck. Why not top a dog with tomato sauce and mozzarella and maybe even sliced pepperoni? I’m sure someone, somewhere, has actually prepared a hot dog thus and enjoyed it too.
Conclusion? There is no “normal” way to fix and enjoy a hot dog. Or live this life either.
If there was one standard prescribed way to live, to eat, whatever: how boring life would be. Bland. Predictable. As monochromatic as a black and white movie and as tasteless as a white bread and mayo sandwich. Because if you think about it, there is no “normal” way to do many, most things, whether cooking up a hot dog or choosing who you love or what your family looks like or believing in God (or not) or supporting a political candidate or figuring out the place you want to call home or, well….
Maybe it is not normal to expect this world to conform to whatever you or I deem to be normal. Maybe, instead, it's abnormal to demand normalcy. Maybe the miracle of this world is how amazingly diverse we are: as human beings, as Americans, as citizens of God’s creation and yes, as consumers of tube steaks.
God: the same God we are told, in the book of Genesis, who created this beautifully diverse world and at the end of that process, looked at all that was made, and God declared it not just good, but very good. VERY GOOD! People of all colors and cultures and animals as tiny as a gnat and as large as a whale. A planet ranging in geography from the bone-dry deserts of the Middle East to the wild and wet rainforests of South America, to the frozen places at the poles.
If the Creator intentionally created this world of diversity, something tells me we ought to embrace diversity too. Diversity of thought and lifestyle and politics and education and culture and hot dogs too.
Sure, I love my Fenway Frank and yet…that Cincy dog was delish too and my New York dog was delectable and that Chicago hot dog? I can’t wait to try one.
Now please pass the mustard and onions.
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