Look to the Char Dog

The perfect summer wiener

Since the 4th of July is coming up, I figured it was time to discuss one of my favorite topics of all. But before I do that, I wanted to remind you about the paid members-only Tinned Fish Book Club and our upcoming first selection, The Slip by Lucas Schaefer. We’ll be kicking things off a couple of days after the fireworks die down (I’m thinking the 7th of July) so there’s still time to get the special paid membership deal I’m running. In the meantime, enjoy the hot dogs.

As much as I love rolling up to a summer grilling sesh, I’m almost always disappointed at the lack of respect the encased meats get. Burgers, chicken, and fish get treated like Prince Akeem getting a bath at the start of Coming to America, while hot dogs are almost always an afterthought. My thinking is most people consider franks something for the kids, and that if adults want them, they’ll be fine mustard and—if they’re nuts—ketchup¹ for their condiment choices.

I’ve also heard people try to claim that grilling dogs zaps them of flavor, and that, I say, is either the grill guy’s fault, or the hot dogs just suck. Part of the reason I love char dogs so much is probably because I grew up going to the first place to specialize in them: Wolfy’s in Chicago’s West Ridge neighborhood was my childhood spot, and it’s considered the first place to make cooking a dog over charcoal a thing they offer on their menu, but I only learned that bit of trivia recently. Before that, I just assumed people knew you could boil your dogs or grill them, and that both options offered different, but equally wonderful outcomes.

I first thought about that last summer at a rooftop party for a friend of a friend of a friend. I showed up late and was alerted the host’s supposedly famous burgers had run out, but they still had plenty of hot dogs. I was more than fine with that—until they lifted up the grill lid and I saw what looked like logs of pinkish beef jerky dead on the grate. I think I gasped—possibly shrieked—and decided I would just eat some chips instead. I can’t stand a poorly-treated hot dog. It offends me that people don’t respect their wieners.

Boiled or off the flattop grill at Nathan’s Famous is obviously wonderful, but you get a char-broiled dog, and it’s absolute heaven. I’d actually say that if you visit Chicago and get the charred version of the city’s famous “walked through the garden” wiener that you’re adding a whole other dimension to it that boiling water doesn’t offer. You get all the ingredients that touch back to the days when the city was full of Greek, Italian, and German immigrants who all added toppings their cultures to the dog, but I like to think when the char is done right, you get a hint of the South that also plays such a big part in the city’s story, like something a pit master from Texas or Tennessee might offer you up if you’re not feeling brisket or pulled pork.

But that’s all me getting a little too philosophical. This is about you and your grill, wherever you are. And I’m telling you to take your char dog more seriously this summer. How? Well, first, if you’re going to do it then I hope you’re cooking those things on actual charcoal. Otherwise I can’t really help you. I don’t like cooking dogs on a gas grill; it just doesn’t feel right for some reason.

If you’ve got the coal, however, then we can move onto the next step, and it’s the most important besides the fire: all-beef hot dogs. I’ll be the first to admit my Hebrew school education, viewing of the film Babe when I was at a tender age, and Cook County connection all factor into me always telling people beef hot dogs are the only way to go, but I believe it even more when it comes to the char dog. The absolute peak is the is the classic Vienna beef. I know that sounds like an obvious choice, but I was talking to somebody the recently about the iconic Hot Doug’s, and they were asking me what hot dogs Doug Sohn used for his take on the classic when he wasn’t making duck or lamb or komodo dragon² meat. I told them I was preeeeeety sure it was just a simple ol’ Vienna, but the person I was talking to didn’t accept that. I get why: we’re all sort of warped into believing everything good has to be some small, artisanal, collab, limited edition mishegoss. But if you want my personal favorite, I have literally driven from Chicago back to NYC with a cooler filled with dogs from Romanian Kosher Sausage Co. more than once.

But when I’m not looking to pay a lot for shipping or drive halfway across the country hoping I’ll be able to find a place that will sell me more ice for the cooler, Nathan’s and Hebrew National always do the trick. Those are honestly the only brands I bother with, especially when it comes the charring. Don’t let yourself get fooled into spending more for Wagyu or anything like that. Fancy hot dogs are almost always disappointing. Also, if you can find dogs in natural casing then that’s a plus. Nathan’s is usually the easiest to find no matter where you are, and I really do like the flavor, but the Chicago dogs are just better to me. So plump and natural, like the covers of those magazines you used to see your dad sneak into the house used to say.

Now one thing I’ve found out, and fixed thanks to a Serious Eats article on the topic, is when to slash your dogs and when you don’t have to. I’ve tried it a whole bunch of different ways and slashing skinless franks and leaving ones in natural casings alone is the way to go. And since I don’t especially like the extra work, not needed to slice up the naturals makes me like cooking them even more.

I’ll let you figure out ingredients on your own, but the one thing I’ve gone back and forth on is the bun: some people toast it, others just want to warm it up a little. Personally, since you’re already giving the hot dog some burn, I go with the latter. I try to prop my dogs up on something in the grill and let them get a little bit of heat about a minute before I’m pulling the dogs off.

1. I recognize that my anti-ketchup stance isn’t all that different from people demanding that you can’t toast bagels, but I’m fine with my contradictions.

2. This is a joke and also a little easter egg for my fellow fans of the 1990 comedy The Freshman.