Dragged through the garden

That the cradle of wienerology should reside in Chicago is not up for debate. Dating back to the Depression, the hot dog was the food of the Chicago proletariat, a meal born from scarcity. A modest serving of frankfurter and bread would get bulked up by lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers—whatever was around, and cheap—to better satiate the customer. This hot dog looked like it was assaulted by a salad, hence the phrase “dragged through the garden.” Eventually, around the 1970s, the Chicago hot dog would codify into a specific, non-wavering set of components: an all-beef hot dog on a steamed poppyseed bun, dressed with mustard, diced raw onions, neon green relish, a dill pickle spear, tomato slices, and a dash of celery salt. Any modification nulls the “Chicago-style” label void. Adding ketchup, Chicagoans like to remind you, is a seditious act punishable by forty-seven lashings.
Kevin Pang @ Lucky Peach