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We last tackled this topic in 1999 in Roadside #29. That's our dear and passionate foodie friend Gary Zemola on the cover. Since we ran that story, he's "graduated" from the Super Duper Weenie truck to a full stand in Fairfield, Connecticut.
The Super Duper continues to garner accolades around the country, including a spot on "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" as well as the New York Times, and more. But remember, you read about the Super Duper in Roadside first.
We still judge all hot dogs by his standard.
The "Michigan" from Underdogs: Is this Philadelphia's best hot dog? Read on and see what part of this dog is just too much of a great thing.
Why isn't Philadelphia known for its hot dogs? As I complete my tenth year living in this city, my exhaustive search for an exemplary hot dog joint had so far come up empty. Yes, most neighborhoods and many surrounding suburbs have hot dog stands, but I have yet to find one that could displace any number of wonderful places I've visited back in my New England stomping grounds.
Long-time readers of this site and of the magazine know of the high praise we bestow upon the Super Duper Weenie in Fairfield, Connecticut, and I continue to believe that Gary Zemola and partners John and Loren Pellegrino set the standard as they have for over twenty years. The food at the Super Duper is so good, you don't know if you should put it in your mouth or in your pants.
First stop, a hot dog place that has wreaks of Philadelphian character. In a town where throngs of tourists line up to gobble cheesesteak mediocrity at Pats and/or Geno's, it's a damn shame a place like Moe's has to toil in their neon-cast shadows.
These lovely ladies will take your order at Moe's.
I've had Moe's on my radar for a couple of years. It regularly gets the nod whenever anyone puts together a top-ten dog list for the city. I give it high marks for history and atmosphere, but the place loudly promotes its association with Levis and serves not only the same dog as Levis (Scott thinks it's Dietz and Watson), but the soda Levis made famous — the Champ Cherry. If you like cherry soda, as I do, then get it. I normally steer clear of sodas for diet concerns, but diet is the last thing on my mind at any given hot dog stand. Let's face it: We don't know and we don't want to know what goes in America's favorite sandwich.
I have a soft spot in my heart for places like Texas Weiners, which you find scattered all over the Mid-Atlantic states. In downtowns with almost nothing left after the invasion of the interstate highway and Wal-Mart, you might still find a little hot dog joint with the grill in the window where you buy them in pairs or more.
John (at right) stands proudly with the crew that churns out the dogs by the dozens.
Located just a stone's throw from the Melrose Diner, Texas Wieners serves up miniature dogs snuggled in club rolls topped with the "secret sauce." This size means one or two just won't do, and between the two of us, I think Scott and I had six.
Most of the top ten lists around here also point to Johnny's Hots as a favorite, and again, you get a good dose of the Philadelphia sidewalk food experience here. Johnny's is a relatively simple walk-up stand with stainless steel trays bolted to the pillars supporting an overhang, but most people seem to grab and go here.
John Danze, Jr. and his lovely assistant carry on a family tradition stretching back to the Jazz Age.
Johnny's started out a little further south down Delaware Avenue, according to John Danze, Jr., the second generation owner of this Philly institution. Senior originally set up in a shack down by the pier not far from the Ben Franklin bridge. His new digs bring major upgrades to the kitchen and its capacity, but dog law dictates volume and seating just slows things down.
After laying the groundwork with a choice few of the city's old-school neighborhood classics, Scott and I went in search of a few of the new dogs on the bun. Anyone familiar with the Philly restaurant scene recognizes the name Steven Starr. The guy owns nearly two dozen restaurants in the city, each with a distinct concept, but all highly polished, well-run, and popular.
Nothing but the basics at Frankford Hall, and to this New Englander, the bread yields gladly to the main event.
A recent issue of Philadelphia magazine pointed to one of Starr's latest, Frankford Hall, a recreation of a German-style beer hall and outdoor courtyard with tables and benches, a simple menu, and an assortment German and German-style beers on tap.
Hot Diggity owner Keith Garabedian represents a new wave of very forthcoming dog stars more than happy to serenade you about the joys and possibilities of hot dogs.I found Hot Diggity thanks to a bit of carelessness, after too-quickly reading an article about Levis in the Philadelphia City Paper. In my misplaced excitement for "finding" a hot dog joint that doesn't exist, I overlooked the part mentioning Levis's demise over thirty years ago. The next day, I made a beeline down to South Street in search of it. Thankfully, I didn't waste a trip, because I stumbled upon Hot Diggity, a year-old dog house on the block within a hundred yards of the original Levis location.
With a menu of about a dozen different dogs and sausages and a monthly special, Hot Diggity embodies the rediscovery of the hot dog as the base for one amazing all-around meal. Credit where credit is due, our dear friend Gary Zemola kickstarted this trend twenty years before, although Hot Diggity takes it to a new extreme. Some might not think this is a good thing. Hot dogs can be best in their most minimalist forms, but this reporter completely appreciates it when talented foodies try new tricks.
I discovered Underdogs at Dirty Franks, a young-guy bar in Center City with old-guy pretensions. On a random night-time walk, I stumbled upon Dirty Frank's "first annual" hot dog contest sponsored by Underdogs, whose owner Robert Amar served as judge.
There's no need to fear! A fresh-faced crew is always there to greet you at Underdog's.
Before I even had a chance to sample his product, Robert and I immediately got into a toasted discussion about bread. He dismissed my Yankee preferences for the soft roll, reminding me that they do make hot dogs in places other than New England and New York (Whaaaa?), and that different regions have their own styles.
Robert makes the claim that his rolls more closely adhere to tradition. "Bakers in the business for years tell me that my rolls are more like what they used to make" before the post-war push to white bread. Yes, but that begs the question, are the hot dogs the same as what they put in those rolls, or are hot dogs now the meat equivalent of white bread?