Memories In Gustation-Hot Doug's (Chicago, IL)

Resplendence

The end of 2013 and beginning of 2014 was marked by some extreme financial stress. The perfect storm of the holidays, car repairs and extreme energy bills that were prolonged by relentless polar vortex left my wife and I in a pretty steep hole. Tired of playing the part of pent up curmudgeons, we agreed that when our tax return came, we'd split what was left after catching up and do whatever the hell we wanted with our respective halves. My wife, being of practical mind and body, decided to revamp our decrepit living room. I on the other hand opted for an all out culinary splurge in the great city of Chicago.

We drove to Chicago in the still frigid middle of March and met up with our friends with whom we made plans to spend our first night in town with. The whole day was an absolute blast. Starting with lunch at Cafe Spiagga and ending with a 4 AM bar who's name has been vaporized from my memory. Now, i'm a quaint little man from Wisconsin and am not used to quite the level of ravaging that was doled out to me by the dank dive I remember walking in to but have no recollection of leaving. The next day, brain exploding and stomach in knots, we cautiously ate some brunch and prepared for what was next.

My wife and I wanted to have one night of romance amidst our cyclone of dining and drinking. We got a nice room in MileNorth hotel in downtown Chicago where we rested up, got dressed and took a cab to Taxim for dinner. Taxim, a romantic but not at all stuffy upscale Greek restaurant, is a bit of a hidden gem. Our initial plan was to go to Taxim, hit a few bars, get a fancy drink at The Violet Hour and wrap our evening up with tacos at Big Star.  What actually happened was a traumatic alchemy involving a combination of a whole roasted sea bass, a bottle of wine, too much ouzo and a body that hadn't fully detoxed from the 4 AM bar. By the time we were done with our meal at Taxim we were in such a state of psychosis that literally our only choice was to go to our hotel room and pass out.

This sets the scene for our meal at Hot Doug's. We woke up in about as bad a state as you can imagine, checked out of our room and grabbed our car. The delightful combo of uninhibited binging and Chicago's insane parking prices left our heads, stomachs and checking accounts in mutual anguish. Frankly, all I wanted to do was put on some music, remain silent and drive home. Suffice to say that "eating a bunch of hotdogs" doesn't exactly live in harmony with the rest of those thoughts, but with rumors that Hot Doug's would soon be announcing their impending closing, we absolutely had to make a stop.

Getting off the freeway and making our way to Hot Doug's felt like a fucking death march. It took almost 45 minutes to make it essentially a half a mile thanks to construction and the thickest and most hostile chunk of traffic I've ever been in. My cynicism started to make me angry with myself. "How could a hotdog place really be this special? Could this even possibly be worth it? What kind of sick human being likes hotdogs as much as I do?" My mind raced with thoughts self-hatred and vows of future temperance. Fortunately for me, my adoration for hotdogs won out,

Pulling up to Hot Doug's when we did must have been the result of some divine inspiration. The hotdog god's awarded us for our determination with a gift of an uncharacteristically short line. The famous line around the block synonymous with Hot Doug's was pruned to a line of maybe five other people. Being rookies to the establishment, my wife and I naively showed up with only credit card in hand. Owner Doug Sohn himself was manning the front and informed us it was cash only. Before we could turn around to leave he told us to order and eat and pay him back "whenever", which was astounding. Popularity aside I can't imagine the profit margins for hotdogs (especially ones as specialized as Hot Doug's) could be that huge; and having never met us before there was no implicit reason to trust that we'd make good on paying him back.

The dogs came out quickly and deliciously. As evidenced in the picture above, we went a little overboard. We ordered a mountain of fries, I had three hotdog's and my usually less voracious wife had two. We both had the indispensable Chicago dog, which I maintain is the greatest combination of flavors humanity has ever created. As far as the specialty dogs go my wife had the Bo Derek sausage made with andouille and given it's name on account of being "very, very hot".  I went with a gin and tonic dog which was blended with juniper berries (interesting tasting but not necessarily delicious) and a Paul Kelly, which I lament to say was better than any bratwurst I've had in Milwaukee.

This isn't about the food I ate though, it's about cutting through the predictable hype that surrounds kitschy food and finding out what was so special about the now-shuttered Hot Doug's. To be honest, it's difficult to pinpoint the amorphous emotion that Sohn's humble establishment brought out for me. Being as forthright as I can be, it wasn't the food. That's not talking shit, I did eat probably the best hotdog of my life within the confines of 3342 N. California; but the best hotdog of my life doesn't necessitate this level of analysis, at least not for me. I think what made Hot Doug's a memorable experience for me was the feeling I got that this restaurant pre-dated kitsch and absolutely owned that fact. It's hard to imagine that Doug Sohn envisioned the kind of fame he had coming his way when he first opened his restaurant, and it didn't seem to phase his ethic at all once it showed up on his doorstep. I only made it through his door once, but my experience filled all of my most optimistic expectations. Familiar but not boring, special but not complicated, accommodating but not in your face. Good food, done right. And like a great television show, Doug made sure to end his vision before it got stale. Hot Doug's closed it's doors on October 3rd, 2014. Sohn simply stated that "it was time to do something else".

It might seem a little silly to eulogize a restaurant, and it might seem arrogant to try and encapsulate what that restaurant meant in my solitary experience; but from what I gleaned from the hour or so I spent in that restaurant, that's exactly what Doug wanted. I enjoyed myself thoroughly, I had good service, and I had an actually memorable hotdog. Simple as that. That platitude I tacked on up there, "good food, done right", is a basic thought that's executed all too rarely. When it is, magic happens, and people wait in lines for hours to experience. Our impatient and entitled generation doesn't wait in lines for kitsch or irony, but it will wait for something special. I'm grateful I got to experience that specialness, even if it was just one time.