My Name is Not Eddie

My husband recently took on a part-time job in addition to his 40 hours a week as a career services advisor.  We have some financial needs.  It happens.  I don't see him much anymore, which is definitely not cool.  Tonight was the first time we'd get to eat dinner together in a week.

I know, my charming, clever, domestic self thought, I'll make my beloved hunk of man-candy something truly spectacular - an Eddie Dog!

If you lived in Clarion, PA, for any amount of time, you know what I'm talking about.  If not, then please go with me to a magical place that sparkles mysteriously in the starlight and only smells just the slightest bit of stale beer and regret.

The Hot Dog House was known affectionately as Eddie Dog's.  An Eddie Dog was also the product of said house.  You went to Eddie Dog's to buy an Eddie Dog.  Simple.  Which was good, because most of the people who went to Eddie Dog's were drunk.

It was only open between 9:00 PM and 2:00 AM.  It pretty much only sold about 4 different kinds of hot dogs and Coke products.  That was it.  

Eddie, you smart, smart man.

I was one of those rare college students who abstained from alcohol but still went to parties.  (With all due respect to my boys, the Phi Mu Alpha house, full of Star Wars posters and action figures, was definitely NOT the wildest place on campus, but that's probably why I felt safe there.)  Still, no matter the hour, I was always up to accompany an inebriated friend on a stumble off campus to Sheetz or Eddie's.

Because food.

Eddie was (is?) a character.  He was always in short sleeves, reaching into his bun warmer and slapping ketchup on lukewarm weenies.  He always miscounted change.  Always.  You could hand him a $5 bill for $3.15 worth of dogs, and you'd get $3.78 back in quarters and pennies.  And woe, woe, WOE to the unsuspecting student who commented snidely about the political news he always had on the TV.  Eddie was remarkably outspoken about politics.  And if a drunkenly slurred comment was slung his way, he was able to launch into a pretty impressive tirade about - whatever.  Immigration, the deficit, trade agreements.  

Stuff that drunk college students are really good at ignoring.  Or not.

On a few occasions, one of the more, um, belligerent of the fraternity brothers I was with decided that he wanted to get into a political debate with Eddie.  I left and sat on the shop's cold stoop, watching the misty midnight air swirl around the street lamp on the corner.

Those cheap little frankfurters were worth it, though.

Poor college kid chow.

So of course I thought I'd make one for The Hubbs.

Behold THE TACO DOG in its majestic, chili-smothered splendor!

Yeah...

...um, it was kind of awful.

I guess I just don't have The Eddie Touch.  

I used turkey dogs, which were probably 60 or 70 calories less than an authentic Eddie Dog.  I was really disappointed, especially because they were from Aldi and I really, really like most everything I've tried from Aldi.  The dogs themselves had kind of a funny aftertaste.  

I like to toast whole wheat buns and bread for sandwiches, which is exactly the opposite of the moist, limp, starchy white Eddie Dog buns.  Failure, again.

I used the Hormel chili with beans.  Also a mistake.  I remember Eddie's Taco Dogs being beanless.  

The cheese happened to be made with 2% milk and was acceptable.

The tortilla chips were slightly stale.

My husband ate two, then the last bite of the Faux Eddie Dog I left on my plate.  "These aren't that good," I apologized, but he shrugged.  "They're fine!"  He didn't seem to care, but I died a little inside.

I guess he'll never REALLY understand me, and I'll never understand that you do NOT mess with an original.