We rolled up at the tail end of the lunch rush. The place was chaotic. I figure the whole joint could only seat about 30. People were scrambling to order and the lady behind the counter was sweating, getting it done. The Mrs and I studied the menu for a minute and wouldn't you know, two seats opened up at the counter. As soon as we were acknowledged we fired the order; "foot long chili with onions & cheese, Frito pie with everything, large tots plain."
We sat for a couple minutes and let our mouths water watching the butterflied foot longs sizzle on the flat top. When our food was placed in front of us, I could barely contain my excitement. I knew at that very moment, my hangover would be cured.
The foot long was magical. Relatively contained within the bun, sliced in half, it was pretty easy to eat (think sub sandwich). The chili was perfect for a hot dog. Almost creamy texture, no beans, crazy zesty kick. I threw a little bit of yellow mustard on it and went to town. It was my kind of chili dog. Sitting in that cramped restaurant, sweating out the Old Crow, chowing on magical mixed-meat chili dog, sweating more from the calorie intake, I was in heaven.
The Mrs settled on the Frito pie. Spicy chili over corn chips with ground beef, onions, cheese, chopped lettuce and a huge slice of tomato (which I sprinkled with salt and ate solo). You can never go wrong with a Frito pie. Chili and crunchy corn chips always play well together. We threw some of our tots into the mix with it and descended into fried spicy madness.
I don't need to talk too much about the tots. They were great.
I thought I was cured. Boy was I wrong. Cheap whiskey and strong beer the night before combined with the magic of greasy food left me in a rough spot for the rest of the day. I can't say it wasn't worth it. After all, Jesse Pinkman got his gun at the Dog House. Place must be legit, right? I have no regrets. The Dog House fed me the best chili dog I've had in a long time. Who cares if I spent the rest of the day choking down beers from Marble and La Cumbre and trying to get my sea legs back? What's the point of traveling if you don't sample the local hot dog culture?