August 7, 2026
It’s 3 PM and I haven’t had a hot dog yet. I am getting desperate. I believe I am in the throngs of addiction. My brain has been rewired where getting a hot dog is now my first priority on my Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Where once it was at the last point - Self-Actualization, it has now superseded all the other, Esteem, Love and Belonging, Safety and basic survival. My brain has been rewired. The binge intoxication that started in my prefrontal cortex has started to subside. My extended amygdala is reeling with withdrawal and negative feelings causing my prefrontal cortex to dwell on nothing but getting another hot dog, and I know the cycle will go on and on, burning a track in my brain. Hot dog. Hot dog. Hot dog.
At lunch time, I thought maybe I would expand my hot dog targets from local hot dog stands to include the hot dog at the hospital cafeteria. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, I think. I’ll try a cafeteria hot dog. The only problem when I get up there, hands shaking, was they don’t sell hot dogs. They have burgers, chicken tenders, pizza, grilled cheese, but no hot dogs.
I have to pick my daughter up at the camp where she is a counselor. I think maybe I can stop at the Asian grocery store where I know they sell a hot dog in a pastry. It won’t take me long to shoot over there, run in, grab a dog and a coconut water and then my daughter’s camp. I race through the city streets. I park and run in. The bakery display cases are empty. I am too late.
Back in the car, headed to the camp, I know there is a Cumberland Farms just blocks away. They have hot dogs -- hot dogs that have probably been there since 6 this morning. I pull in the drive, but I can see the line at the cashier is long and I am already past my daughter’s pickup time. I have to get her. The hot dog has to wait.
When I arrive at the camp, she is not ready. I hatch a plan. Instead of dropping her off at her waitress job in Bloomfield, I can have her drop me in West Hartford, where I can get a hot dog before my physical therapy at 4:40. I yelp Wurst House, a hot dog place on the best of Hartford list, only to find it is permanently closed. Next I looked up Max Burger, another p[lace on the lost. I search their menu. Just burgers, no dogs. No wait, they have kids weenies. No, I am not that desperate.
By now my daughter is out and we are on the way to her work. I contemplate stopping at Five Guys on the way back, but I went to Five Guys a couple days ago also while waiting for her, and even got excited thinking about their split Hebrew National dog on which I would add grilled onions and bacon, but the young man behind the register told me, they were all out of dogs. What! We’re all out of dogs, waiting on a delivery. Damn.
I also contemplate going to Saba, a Halal poultry and meat market near where she works. It is the kind of place where you pick your live chicken or goat and they slaughter it for you while you wait. If you order ox tail, they take a tail out of the cabinet and run it through a band saw. They won’t have pork hot dogs but maybe they have beef. I know they have cattle, A number of years ago there was an incident where one of their cows got loose and wanderer into the parking lot of Home Depot, where they tried to shoot it with a bow and arrow. Eventually, they caught it and slit its throat with a long knife right in front a kid and his mother. The local police officer who had responded protested. The man allegedly responded, they need to learn sometime. After I drop my daughter off, not in front of the restaurant, but a few buildings away. She doesn’t want to be seen being dropped by a parent. See the railroad tracks there, I point down the road. I’ll pick you up there on the other side of the tracks. She smiles and shakes her head. 9:15 okay. As you wish. Once she is gone, I check Saba’s web site. No hot dogs.
I need to get physical therapy. Hot dogs will have to wait. I have spinal stenosis, which causes numbness in my legs. I can’t run or play basketball anymore. When I visit the spine clinic, I tell them I am in the middle s between playing basketball and needing a walker. I want to move closer to being able to play basketball again, and away from needing a walker. Before I can get an MRI, I need physical therapy. On the first day of physical therapy, they have me get on all fours and try to touch by butt to my heels. I do my best. I wake up that night with knee and hamstring pain in my right leg. The last two weeks of PT have been rehabbing this injury, which causes me to limp noticeably. The rehab is working and it is getting better. I talk with the therapist and the talk turns to hot dogs. He gives me some tips about where I can get some Asian pastries with hot dogs in the middle. Later he asks me what I will be having for dinner. I look at him, pause, and say, what do you think? Hot dogs, he says. Bingo.
At home, I wrap a thin strip of bacon around a Martin Rosol dog. I actually do this on two dogs. I put it on a glass pan and put it in the over at 400 for fifteen minutes. When the alarm goes off, I am shocked to find the bacon is not cooked through. I end up cooking it for 30 minutes and still the bacon is uneven. I take the bacon off and finish frying it in a pan along with some onions. I pour some Trader Joe’s guacamole salsa on down the middle of the New England style bun. I put a slice of Pepperjack cheese in half and place those in the bun, and then add the large swollen and blistered hit dog. I cook it in the frying pan, pressing each side like a grilled cheese, helping melt the cheese and toast the bun. When done I pile on the bacon and the onions. Gooooood.
Later after picking my daughter up when her shift is done, I have the second dog before bed. Yes, sir.