The Leap

Thanksgiving passed without incident, if one ignores my mother's repeat performance of "Why I Should Be Able To Drive As Fast As I Want," something I, of course, did not ignore, thereby touching off a storm of fingerpointing and recriminations which did not end until the ceremonial Serving of the Pies.

Friday was nice too. Lunch with a couple friends at a local delicatessen, followed by a movie, followed by coming home and doing something so routine I can't for the life of me remember it, probably yelling at my kids.

Soon enough Saturday was here and with it came the promise of a quick trip out of town to see a football game. I'm only mildly interested in football but this was a chance to go see a game in one of the great NFL stadiums. Besides, spending four days in a row with my children was simply too horrifying to contemplate, a sentiment they emphatically shared. So off I went, leaving them in their mother's tender care.

And a lovely time was had by all. A good game and a stadium that's everything it's cracked up to be. The real highlight, however, came on Saturday night. After enough to drink, which is to say too much, we asked a bartender if he could recommend a place to eat.

"I'd look for a hot dog cart," he said.

"A hot dog cart?" I asked. "At this time of night?"

"Yeah. There are usually a few around."

Now, keep in mind we weren't in the sort of city in which one would expect to find hot dogs being sold on a street corner at 1:30 in the morning, especially in air temperatures sufficiently cold to to keep my drink chilled without the benefit of ice. Keep in mind too that the bartender was perfectly capable of yanking our chain for his own amusement. Nevertheless, we were hungry and we departed on our quest.

Lo and behold, he was telling the truth. An actual hot dog vendor not too far from the hotel we were staying.

This wasn't just a hot dog vendor, though. This was a chili dog vendor.

And these weren't just chili dogs. These were chili dogs of the highest order, top quality hot dogs enveloped in perfectly steamed buns before being topped with a pleasantly spicy chili, shredded cheese, and a sprinkling of onion. Were they better than the chili dog I had last year with Chuckles? I'm not sure any food could be better than that, but these were damned close, perhaps even a tie. Good enough that I ate three of them.

When we got in the car this morning, it still smelled of chili dog. Like Proust's madeleines, the chili dog's essence transfixed me.

"Christ, it stinks in here," said my friend.

"No," I said. "It smells like a good time."

"You're a freak," he said.

"I hope they have chili dogs at the game," I said.

They did.