In Brooklyn’s halcyon days, when Coney Island was America’s answer to Karlsbad and Marienbad, the high point of many of my summer evenings was a bone-racking, brain-numbing ride on the Cyclone followed by a Nathan’s hot dog with all the trimmings. Once safely back on terra firma, of course–to reverse the order was to court disaster.
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According to information supplied by the Nathan’s Famous organization, 73 years ago founder Nathan Handwerker found himself possessed of $300–his life’s savings. A singing waiter by the name of Eddie Cantor and an obscure piano player called Jimmy Durante persuaded the young man to put his money where a great many mouths seemed to be congregating, on Coney Island’s boardwalk. “They figured what Coney Island needed was a good five-cent hot dog–and they figured right,” said Handwerker. The history of America is littered with such serendipities.
Now Chicagoans can sink their teeth into what Muscovites have been chewing on for a couple of months (the Moscow branch of Nathan’s opened last November): a genuine, all-beef frank made from a “secret” recipe handed down from generation to generation. (Nathan’s grandson, Bill Handwerker, is currently in charge of “recipe development.”) A somewhat untidy do-it-yourself condiment bar provides the trimmings. Hot sauerkraut (definitely an improvement on the cold variety), mustard (another secret recipe), dill pickles, sliced tomatoes (alas, the Chicago kind–mealy and tasteless), pickle relish, and ketchup. The last is presumably for the other offerings: burgers, sandwiches, and the like. No person worth his or her celery salt puts ketchup on a hot dog.
For the record, we counted three mink coats among the customers, which goes to show something, though I’m not sure what.
