A most delicious blog post from the archive.
Posted by Layla Morgan Wilde at 8/4/2011
Hot Dog! Three Years Later. Scroll down for the original post from 2008!
The other day, I had a hankering for a hotdog from Walter’s. I blogged about the famous hotdog joint three years ago and I just about fainted:
I’ve been blogging most days for three years. And if that was the best hotdog ever, why did I wait three years to taste one again? Talk about an anniversary wake-up call. Hotdogs as a spiritual teacher?
This is the latest menu and yeah, the prices have certainly gone up from the last time I was here.
If I’ve learned anything in the past three years about life, myself and the pursuit of happiness, it’s this: anything is possible but ya get off your ass and do it. Three years goes by a flash.
While the hotdog the other day wasn’t the best hotdog from my memory, the blog post was pretty darn good. It reminded me why I blog and how far I’ve come.
It’s good to stand back at life’s markers and reflect. But, the next time I find something that good, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it and not wait for three years to enjoy it again. What about you? Any wake-up calls lately?
*Please excuse our appearance. I’m monkeying about with a new blog design which will hopefully be ready in time for the official three year anniversary at the end of the month.
I’m still searching for that elusive 25th hour in the day. Do you know where it’s hiding?
The original post from 2008! I confess, I have not been to Walters in a number of years since I moved further north.
Quote de jour
“May the dragon of life only roast your hot dogs and never burn your buns.”
When I was a kid, we’d pile into the car on Sundays and head out for adventure.
Those were the days of Sunday drives and Sunday drivers.
My dad (coincidentally named Walter) loved driving and he was good and fast at it. It didn’t matter where we ended up. It was all about the journey. New scenery or neighborhoods sparked my imagination. It was like a moving picture show.
People going out for a drive with no destination were called Sunday drivers. That term eventually ended up reserved for old folks or slow pokes But in my childhood, it was anything, but.
We would do long drives From Montreal to Maine And we once did an amazing 3 Week road trip from Montreal to Los Angeles and back stopping at any obscure roadside attraction the classic Route 66.
With the price of gas these days and to-lists longer the The Great Wall of China, there aren’t many Sunday drivers left. Call me crazy, but I still do it.
My partner in crime is my hubby now. I look at Sunday drives as a form of Zen therapy. It requires a surrendering to the present moment. No agenda, no itinerary and no errands. No-thing. I know I never get to half the things on my to-list. Does anyone?
Right, so taking an occasional vacation from your to-do list is liberating. The weird thing is, when you do it, it creates a space for new energy and more productivity. It also provides the opportunity for serendipity take place.
On various drives, I’ve found yard sale treasures, gardening ideas, encounters with helpful people, unusual shops, scenic photo ops and intriguing new restaurants.
My mouth still waters at the thought of my most recent Sunday drive. It’s the middle of the afternoon. We didn’t have much lunch and I’m getting low-blood-sugar cranky. We’re driving through a run down neighborhood where it’s a good idea to lock your doors. A blink of an eye later, we’re in another world, rolling past manicured, Tudor style mansions.
I’m struck by the contrast how a few minutes drive can make. Shortly after, in the town of Mamaroneck, I notice a Chinese pagoda food stand with a line of people outside. I say, “Turn around. I smell lunch.”
It’s 4 PM. I don’t care what kind of food this pagoda place has. If people are lining up in between lunch and dinner, it’s for me.
The sign says Walters. Not Walter’s Chinese food or Walter’s burgers, just Walters. The line is so long I can’t see what people are ordering. I can’t see a menu. We inch along. Customers walk away with paper bags. I sniff the air. A yummy hint of grease but what kind, I don’t know. I want to know and badly.
Finally, I crane my neck to see a menu on the wall behind the order counter. Hot dogs and fries. That’s it. Hubby is vegetarian. So it’s fries for him. It turns out Walter’s has been tuning out first rate hot dogs since 1919.
Behind the building, is a row of battered picnic tables. I open the plain, brown paper bag. The fries look good but the hot dog looks odd. It’s been split lengthwise and then grilled on one side. The mustard has a greenish hue and a thin consistency. I’m not impressed.
Then, I take a bite and fly straight to hot dog heaven. “This is the best hot dog I’ve ever had,” I say. My only regret is ordering only one.
The split bun is buttered and grilled like a grilled cheese sandwich. There is a secret sauce with a homemade mustard/relish which strikes the perfect balance of salty piquant flavor.
I can’t believe we live only 15 minutes away and have never heard of this place. If you’re in New York, it’s worth the twenty minute train ride from Grand Central but please don’t go. The line is already long enough.
To learn about Walter’s history, buy their mustard, t-shirts, okay twist my arm, know their address, click here http://www.waltershotdogs.com
I can’t wait for our next Sunday drive.
