Perhaps the Greatest Food: The Hotdog and Decision Making

I have eaten many hotdogs. Some hotdogs are better than other, but there is no doubt, they are all good.

Recently, after leaving an eye exam at Cosco, I stopped in at the food stand to get a hotdog and a coke ($1.63 after tax) and had an amazing realization: there cannot be too much relish, onion, mustard, or ketchup on any given bite. This is, of course, a realization of the deepest profundity; namely, given certain factors, each bite of the hotdog can be the perfect bite.

Unfortunately, there are those who would attempt to bolster themselves in refuting this argument with little care for the advancement of hotdog eating and hotdog understanding. However, let us clarify two things. First, those who do not appreciate such things as 'pickle relish,' 'diced onions,' 'ketchup,' and 'mustard' are fools and heretics, and must understand that a hotdog can be enjoyed without any of these 'fixin's.' Indeed, for the hotdog purist, each bite is inherently the perfect bite. Second, let us be generous in our reading of this argument and assume that each person who assembles their dog does it with the sole intention of making it more delicious, and does not try to sabotage their own enjoyment.

The hotdog is engineered in such a way that only so much of any 'fixin' can make it into your mouth in a given bite. Imagine that some how, along with the onions, mustard, and ketchup, you managed to put too much pickle relish on a particular area (though I love pickle relish it is possible to have to much relish in your mouth when eating a dog). First, the somewhat cylindrical shape of the hotdog disallows excesses of any amount of toppings, resulting, usually, in large puddles of 'fixin's' on your shirt, lap, shoes, plate, etc. This alone is enough to convince me that no man has ever had too much relish, onion, mustard, or ketchup in one bite, but let us continue. Additionally, let us imagine that by some miracle, there is a five inch tower of relish on one bite. This tower is no match for one's mouth, which in conjunction with the size of the hotdog, delimits fixin's amounts in its own way. It is as though the hotdog itself knows whats best for you, governing, along with the dimensions of your mouth, the size of bite you are afforded to take. As i mentioned before, I have had too much pickle relish in my mouth while eating a hotdog, but this only occurred when I greedily took a bite of hotdog and then spooned excess relish into my mouth. This bite was not the best bite i've had, and upon looking at the hotdog I realized the error of my ways. It was as if the hotdog was saying, "if you would have listened to me, that nasty relish bite wouldn't happened, Trey;" and it would be right. Though this kind of strong paternalism is, in some cases, abhorrent; here, it is just right. Every bite of the hotdog (given certain circumstances) is just right. And though we may think we have ruined our hotdog by dowsing it with too much of any one ingredient, the dog itself will simply pick us up by our bootstraps, brush us off, and tell us to get back on the horse. And we will. And it will be delicious.

Finally, in hindsight, it must be added that there is a way to achieve the imperfect bite. This bite comes up only when those fixing the hotdog attempt to steady their hand, or use disgretion; namely, the imperfect bite exists as a result of not putting enough fixin's on your dog. A soccer coach once told me that if you pass a ball too hard it might be difficult to control, but at least it will get there. So fuck discretion, let the hotdog decide what is good for you. Give up control. Slather fixin's everywhere. You might think you added too much, but the dog will guide your hand. Therein lies the beauty; for when hotdogs do the deciding for you, everything is delicious.