One of the coolest things about this year has been all of the email I've received. The vast majority of it has been wildly supportive, but I've had a few people challenge my reviews and actually have received a few that could be best described as hate mail. The best ones, though, are from people reminiscing about their favorite hot dogs joints of yesteryear. Sometimes these messages are from people who moved away from West Virginia years ago and I get to tell them that their old favorites are still around and as good as ever. Almost always, these expatriates complain that they can't get a decent hot dog in their adopted lands. You can almost feel them wiping the tears from their eyes as they type about the hot dogs of their youth.
Today I got one that made me a little misty eyed. A man told me about how much his mother loved her hot dogs and how, well, I'll let him tell you:
My Mom died last year ( Aug 14 th 2005 ) - She loved to eat hot dogs - It was Her favorite choice - I had to cut it up in little bites so She would not choke on it - God knows she loved Her Hot Dogs - She had the money to buy anything - but it was always hot dogs She would ask for - and got - Mom died at the age of 92 and it was the Indian blood in Her or the Hot dogs that kept Her alive those many years.
I always knew I loved our West Virginia hot dogs, but in the past year I've come to realize just how special they really are.
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