As a samurai's sword could not be returned to its sheath ere it had seen battle, thus I could not, once my hot-dog quest had begun, return without quenching my insatiable hunger for a West Virginia dog. Therefore, I made tracks for the nearest dog joint I knew of – the Montgomery Dairy Queen.
I can honestly say that I have had very few dogs at Dairy Queen and it had been so long that I couldn't remember what they tasted like. A dog with everything, my host told me, had the correct combination – slaw, chili, mustard and onions.
There was a long line and as I understood it, some staffing issue that left the joint's crew shorthanded. They handled the situation calmly and professionally. There was no evidence that my dog had been hurried in its preparation.
The dog, while genteel in appearance, automatically raised suspicion with its New England bun. I don't mind a New England
I was quite pleased to see that the slaw was a properly-appearing creamy slaw. The problem is I cannot tell you what the slaw tasted like. That chili was so overpowering, I only knew I was consuming slaw by the soft crunch of the cabbage. The wiener may have been grilled, but who knows? Nothing but the chili could be tasted. In fact, it appears that the slaw only functioned as a sarcophagus to lock in the vapors of that pungent, noxious, virulent, rot-gut chili. This dog should be instead be called the U234 dog. The half-life of Uranium 234 is about 25,000 years – approximately how long this toxic chili churns in the stomach. If ever a dog deserved a one-weenie rating, it's this one.