I vividly remember my second grade teacher. Mrs. McQueen. McQuaid. Mc... something like that. Maybe not so vividly as I thought. Anyway, I do remember really loving hot dogs right up to the point Mrs. Mc...Quaid (that's definitely it, yes, McQuaid) told the class that they were made from pigs eyes. I was only in second grade! It was devastating, almost as much as watching that scene in the Lion King where Simba's dad died.
Her hot dog declaration scared the living daylights out of me, leading me down a sad and lonely frankfurter-free diet for several years. To think about how many backyard bbq hot dogs I missed out upon because of Mrs. McQuaid deeply saddens me. A piece of my culinary childhood gone. Forever.
Don't cry for me. It's okay. I've moved past it. Hot dogs are back to being a mainstay on the summer grill rotation at our house. Asheley would eat them every night for dinner if I allowed her (which I don't, sorry hun). And whenever we are in the East Village, our favorite hot dog joint is a must. I present to you the amazing, the magnificent, Crif Dogs:




















































































