So, I had a plan. That was my first problem... This last Friday, my friends Mark Frankel, C.B. Cebulski and Jimmy Keller had finally set in motion a hotdog tour of CT after months of trying to get our schedules to mesh. C.B. lives in NYC and travels the world so trying to lock him down is troublesome to say the least but he caught a train to Fairfield, CT that got him in around 5:30 pm. Mark works in NYC and had to get a later train so we all decided to meet when he got to Fairfield.
As I live near the train station, I walked through the throngs of suburbanites casting feigned smiles through the bright afternoon as the golden sunlight buried into my shoulders making me a slight bit uncomfortable. I am not a summer. I am a winter. And so you know, this is Joshua writing this. My bio is on the site.
All was going according to plan. C.B. was waiting at the station and we then went a block over to meet Jimmy at a place called Archie Moore's, a place for wings and reasonably priced happy hour drinks. This is a venue we have all been to many times over the years, so after a Sam Adams Summer Ale for me, we walked a block to a place called The Chelsea, a little more refined, a lot more crowded with women just off the tennis courts. Then it happened.
I got a text from Mark saying he was going to be late because his train was going backwards and C.B. had spotted on the TV hanging on the far corner of the bar that the Metro-North train had derailed near Bridgeport. There went the plan.
So what were we going to do? We couldn't continue on the hotdog tour without Mark. A few rapid texts flung swiftly through the ether and a timetable for Mark's arrival presented us with a few option as the clock was ticking down. Then, consensus. We would meet Mark at the first stop, a place called Super Duper Weenie. It closed at 8:00 pm and was on the other side of town. Problem was that we had no ride, that was Mark's designation, so with feet burdened with disappointment, we clopped back to the train station to see if we could get a cab. And....
No cabs. All gone.
What to do? What to do?
C.B., being the world traveler, is acclimated to such transportation quandaries and with a sharp decision went over to an airport shuttle service (a van really). With a few choice words, C.B. convinced him to momentarily obscure his duty to the passengers he was waiting for and take us across town, for a few bucks of course. The highway was rife with ill tempered traffic but we got to Super Duper Weenie.
Though we were sad Mark could not participate, we indulged.
That was my California dog with a mixture of a basic Americanized Mexican salsa and it was satisfactory. The cold salsa sort of overwhelmed the flavor of the meat proper so it was difficult to gauge the savory elements. The bun was toasted on the inside but not enough in my opinion. This place is good. I just made a bad decision. Wrong dog for the wrong time.
That would be C.B. above enjoying a variety of options. He seemed to enjoy the hotdogs but there was no exaltation. He's a tough sell though since he's been to every continent besides Antarctica and eaten just about everywhere. (Check out his blog eataku.com )
The cheese fries were fair. I prefer cheese sauces instead of just melting cheese on top.
A better look at C.B.'s choices. Wish I could say I remember, but I don't. All you need to know is Super Duper Weenie is a fine place. Most will enjoy it thoroughly but it is not the best CT. Not even the best in the town of Fairfield (that comes later in part two).
So after consuming the first course, we decided to consume a few potables of the hoppy kind and went in search of a place nearby to cleanse the palate. Yes, that's a euphemism.
At long last Mark meets up with us and we went to two places: The Merritt Canteen in Bridgeport where we actually met Miss Teen Puerto Rico (sorry I don't have any pics but Mark might in his posts) and Duchess.
That is Duchess where chilidogs were had by all.
Here's the Merritt Canteen with C.B. staring down that dog like it just challenged him to a dual.
A chilidog of mine. Simple and lovely. A hearty sauce combined with a mildly toasted bun gave just enough accompaniment to the hotdog. The hotdog gave just a little resistance when assailed by the incisors, which I liked. Not a huge fan of super soft, boiled, hotdogs but later on in the trip we had a couple that were nice. Sorry, I digress.
That is Mark's choice at the Merritt Canteen. Onions, mustard and relish I think. Can't be sure though because at this time the potables of a hoppy persuasion had begun its dance among the regions of harsh memory.
In the next installment, I will tell the tale of sangria, how we lost one of our travelers, and found the hotdogs we were looking for as well as surprise that put smiles on us remaining. Mark will be posting his recollections as well. That's Blackie's down there. Just so you know. Until next time... Cheers!
