I am not repulsed by what is inside the crisp skin of a hot dog. It always sounds like a good option to me. I will always want a hot dog, especially a dirty water one on the street in New York City, when its painfully cold outside, possibly right after we have finished ice skating, our breath coming out in big white clouds.
In addition to the delicious NY hot dogs, I love it when vendors sell sausages outside of nightclubs in Los Angeles, late night/early morning, fried with onions and peppers until the skins are blistered, served up with a heavy portion of grease spilled onto a stale-ish white bun. These are more of a sausage variety, the insides revealing chewy knots of fat and cartilage, as opposed to the uniform pink of a regular frank. The smell is intoxicating and good to soak up the booze and whatever else you might have enjoyed during your night out on the town. Its best to eat away the damage that bars and clubs and rock shows can do, at least I always have, the faster the food the better. Its disgusting in the brute sunlit reality of 9am, but I choose that dry mouth regret over an un-braced for hangover.
Generally, I am of the belief that hot dogs are made of the mess on the kill floor, the butcher’s aftermath, whatever can be swept and salvaged and formed into tubes. The mass of protein which is likely – blood, brains, nerves, glands, eyelids and eyeballs, teeth, gums, jowls, jaws, bones, marrow, organs, skin, jowls, fat, hair, a good bit of fear and terror and confusion in there too, all the chemicals and drugs they’ve been fed, as well as undigested grain and fecal matter – everything nose to tail – smashed up and spiced and heavily salted and packed into tight, toothsome skins, possibly intestines but maybe an edible beef extract injected plastic-like skin that spurts a tiny, satistfying spray of brine when bitten into, mimicking an itsy bitsy blood spatter. We are predators after all.
Yes they say hot dogs are 100% beef, which I do not doubt, but what makes up the 100% may not be the percentage of the beast you would choose to consume. 100% means all of it. Are you ready for all of it? All the truth? All the misery? All the offal? all the awful?
I say if you are going to eat the animal, eat the whole thing. Honor the life you have taken and don’t waste a bit. Make no assumption that you are humane by eating only the sanctioned portions of muscle neatly surrounding the bone, such as in an expertly seared, pepper crusted t-bone steak, and don’t think that you’ll be getting this when you come over to my house to eat. None of my heat sources will get hot enough to sear meat properly, and I refuse to light the propane grill outside. It’s always scared me and I have never used it with the simple ease or homey comfort that barbecuing is supposed to represent. My meat is always grey and tough and we should have hot dogs instead. That would be the better option.
If you think it’s inhumane, you are right. Yes, wake up and smell the blood. We who eat animals have no right to call ourselves humane. We eat, we kill, there is blood on our hands and in our mouths, meat is murder, it really is, and its real, and its ok and it’s pretty good. Admit it and pass the mustard.