It’s Not All Gracious Living Around Here
Hot dog parasites? Miraculous operation of wind in hurricane? Alien life form on plate?
Why, no! It’s just a BoingBoing inspired menu item which delighted the hot-dog eating members of the family. Except Little Sunshine, who is as opposed to all forms of food-mixing as any member of an ancient Israelite priestly caste could wish.
I consider it a much greater labor of love than any four-layer cake could be: I hate hot dogs. HATE them. I don’t like to touch their chill, clammy, stiff-yet-yielding, tubular selves (and aren’t you thinking about Twilight now?). I don’t like the way they smell. I hate the way their grease floats at the top of the water they’ve been boiled in. But I cut up two whole Hebrew Nationals (the only hot dog that will ever enter my refrigerator) and threaded spaghetti through them, just to create a plate that looks like this: