As this summer’s self-appointed Hot Dog Princess of Brokelyn, my responsibilities have ranged from educating the masses by shining light on the myth of my beloved Detroit Coney Dogs to exposing the salty underbelly of the return of the Coney Island Hot Dog Wars last month. But the time has come to get something off my chest, for I have my own dirty water secret: this Michigan girl has never had a New York City Hot Dog. And frankly, it’s a relief to finally type that out loud.
Upon making the move from Detroit to New York more than a year ago, I’ve abstained from all-wiener consumption outside of Michigan state lines. I’ll admit, I’ve dabbled with some local artisan sausages here and there (you should check out Jake’s Handcrafted in Park Slope = yum), but my harsh reality is that I crave what I can’t have: My beloved Coney Dogs of Detroit.
The time had come for me to put my stubbornness and fear of meats unknown aside, suck it up, and eat a NY hot dog. (more…)
Personally, I think American is trying too hard. Via Facebook.
The warm weather finally hitting us brings with it thoughts of Coney Island and hot dogs. But for me, I’m not talking about the ones in Brooklyn. You see, for me, you can take the girl out of Michigan, but I still got a lot of Midwest quirk when it comes to adapting to the BK lifestyle. My hand still makes the perfect map of Michicgan to show people where my hometown is. Once at a Checker’s, I accidentally referred to wanting a Coke as “pop” without realizing it and was given Pip’s because that’s what the employee thought I meant. Prepping for brunch at work, I misspoke referring to the bodega across the street as a “party store” and was met with confusion and questions from my coworkers from what exactly makes it a “party.” I’m constantly craving Detroit Made BBQ Better Made Potato Chips, Faygo Red Pop and Ghettoblaster from Motor City Brewery, I have strong opinions on Motown and a love/hate relationship with “Don’t Stop Believing,” and though my love for Zetterberg’s beard is eternal while love for sports limited, I lose interest in the NHL season soon as the Red Wings are out of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.
But what I’ve been finding myself pining for insistently lately (mostly when drunk) are Coney Dogs from D1 (Detroit One) Coney Island in Detroit. That’s right, both hot dogs and diners where they serve the hot dogs are called “Coney Islands” in Detroit. (more…)
Starting Wednesday July 1st, and continuing every Wednesday this summer, you can satisfy your craving for summer hot dogs at Sycamore’s Bar and Flower Shop in Ditmas Park. According to The Coney Island Blog, Feltmans’s of Coney Island, the original Coney Island hot dog franchise (whose founder is credited with creating the hot dog in 1867) is returning to Brooklyn after shutting down in 1954. It will be a part of the Flatbush Food Market, “a group of vendors that serves a variety of different foods daily at the hip Ditmas Park venue.” (more…)
Something has gone terribly wrong when you’re making Jimmy Kimmel look like a paragon of humility.
To be perfectly honest, I’m still not entirely over the Rangers/Kings Stanley Cup Final. It’s nice to not have a beard as it gets hotter, it’s less nice to deal with drunken party monster Jeff Carter kissing the Stanley Cup instead of Brian Boyle kissing it. Still, I was getting over it, until L.A. mayor Eric Garcetti decided to call Gray’s Papaya hot dogs “a steaming pile of New York garbage,” after Bill de Blasio honored one of those stupid mayoral bets and delivered a bunch to Jimmy Kimmel’s show. (more…)
Reason #89: Super Summer Man is here! Flickr photo by Quiet Storm!
We tell people all the time that NYC is a great place to live even when you’re broke, and never is that truer than in the summer, when the city splits open at the seams and releases everyone into the wide open. The almost nightly barrage of free movies, free concerts, cheap drinking spots and no-cost revelry makes you drunk on the idea that this is indeed the best city in the world, even if you don’t have a dime. And there’s seemingly more every year. Here, in honor of today’s high temp, our top 88 reasons why summer belongs to brokesters: (more…)
Mayo here would be a crime. Flickr photo courtesy or jslander.
So a couple of weeks ago, everyone got all eye-rolly when we told you guys about an artisanal mayo shop opening in Brooklyn, some declaring it the end of civilization, others moving to Queens and still others heading over for some bacon-infused egg- and-oil emulsification. Now there’s more news on the condiment front: there’s a whole festival devoted to mustard on Saturday, where you can slather mustard with green peppercorn on an artisanal (shut up) pretzel or mustard with Six Point beer on your tongue. Now, this is the kind of party we can actually kind of get behind, because mustard is so much better than mayo. (more…)
I’d considered the $8 lobster rolls sold at the Red Hook Fairway’s cafe a great hidden deal, until I lined up for one last weekend and learned a couple things. First, if it was ever hidden, it’s not any more—about 90 percent of the people in line ahead of me seemed to be ordering one. Second, the $8 lobster roll is now a $10 lobster roll. (more…)