First Bite

Gone to the dogs

By G.A. Benton

REBECCA ZIMMER PHOTO

Depicted on a vivid blue awning in Westerville is a wildly excited cartoon pooch with popping-out eyeballs fixated on a floating frankfurter. That funny puppy's tongue flops out and dangles from his happy, gaping mouth.

Well, it turns out the little restaurant beneath this awning has gotten tongues wagging also, because the lines are out the door at the recently opened Dog Joint.

And why not? The place serves juicy, great-tasting and snappy-textured hot dogs, and eating terrific hot dogs always makes people happy. Which is why the smiles on the adult Dog Joint patrons I saw stretched as far as those on its many younger indulgers.

REBECCA ZIMMER PHOTO

Nuts-and-bolts wise, there's more sandwich toppings than chairs in the tiny Dog Joint. And so this bright and smart independent 36-seater implements an expediting three-step process for choosing a meal.

First you select a bun style (a fresh, semi-soft honey wheat or similar "egg") and wiener. Dog Joint brilliantly uses the sausage company that made Chicago famous — Vienna Beef — in either 100 percent beef, turkey, bratwurst, Italian or corn-dog forms.

Next you pick a topping from the kitchen-sinker list that ranges from the tried-and-true (chili, sauerkraut, six kinds of mustard) to the possibly sacrilegious (cranberries, almonds and brown sugar sauce). At this stage, you can opt for one of the place's pre-designed combos — which I recommend.

Step three is to choose (or refuse) a combo-making side, such as distinct, lightly battered, fat-plank french fries, and a drink (they have sodas, shakes and suds).

I recently found myself in the Dog Joint doghouse, barking out my preferences to a grinning server. Given the barrage of questions necessary for my lengthy order, the rapid-fire Q&A session took on the feel of a game-show moment. Fortunately, there were no consolation prizes needed, as all my wieners were winners.

I (and a partner) had:

* a great big, fat fennel-seeded and chili-flaked Italian sausage done "Italian Stallion" style, meaning a super-sloppy pile-on of sauteed onions, peppers and shredded mozzarella that was as messy as it was delicious;

* a right-on, mildly garlicky genuine bratwurst given the reuben treatment, here called Wienerschnitzel;

* a slightly smoky turkey dog with the "Southern Belle" topping, which was a chunky chili and thick-cut fresh slaw unified through a smear of spicy brown mustard;

* and an all-beefer blowing in "Windy City"-style, i.e. with the familiar garden-full of piquant accessories that constitutes a classic Chicago hot dog.

Among a slew of other stuff, that Windy City dog had bright diced pickles, tomatoes and neon-green relish bits which, to me, glittered like little gems waiting to become a mosaic. I imagined them forming a smiley face as they came together in my belly.

April 3, 2008

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