Sausage served saucy
I used to work at a movie theater. At the concession stand, in addition to serving the usual popcorn and Cokes, we sold hot dogs. We almost always had the dogs in stock, but nine times of 10, when someone would ask for one, my coworkers and I would lie and say we were out. We did this because they were time-consuming but mostly because they were gross.
And not just gross to eat. They smelled gross, looked gross and, most of all, they were gross to make. We might not have been storing them properly because they were coated in white ooze. This was also during my misguided days of vegetarianism, so those hot dogs were deeply appalling. Now that I don’t ever have to make them, I love them. There was just something about those hot dogs that really brought out the surly, annoyed side of my concessionaire personality.
The girl behind the counter at Sinbad’s Hot Dogs of Nevada conveyed a similar charm. Our brief yet memorable conversation was punctuated with an impressive array of irritated sighs, impudent gasps and disdainful snorts.
Danielle, David Bruce, Dan and I walked up to the counter en masse.
“Is this going to be all together?” she asked.
“Um, no,” replied Dan.
“Well … I’m going to take all of your orders at once because I do not feel like washing my hands, like, four times! OK?”
I thought it was a little strange that she would prepare the dogs with her bare hands. At the movie theatre, we wore gloves and used tongs.
Dan ordered a Polish dog ($3.21) with cheese and peppers (50 cents extra each).
“Spicy or mild Polish?”
“Um, spicy, please.”
“Well, the spicy ones aren’t ready. So … mild?”
I butted in, “How long before the spicy Polish dogs are ready?”
“Gee. I don’t know. Like, at least a couple minutes.”
“Well, I might just wait.”
“Yeah, well, it’s going to be at least … a few minutes … so you might as well have mild.”
At this point, Danielle started nudging me to give it up. When I told the girl that I’d just have the mild Polish dog, she rolled her eyes. Only a hot dog vendor could be so resistant to business.
I really do like Sinbad’s though. The interior is painted bright red and yellow—reminiscent of everyone’s favorite condiments. Their logo includes a scimitar skewering a hot dog, and this proves the name is a reference to the sailor and probably not the comedian.
The hot dogs are really good. They have tasty buns, and the dogs themselves are flavorful and filling. David Bruce had the regular hot dog ($2.47), and Danielle, hardcore vegetarian that she is, had a bag of chips (85 cents).
There’s not really anything on the menu besides variations on the hot-dog form, but what else do you need?
I assume many people have seen The Simpsons episode where Lisa becomes a vegetarian. There’s that great bit when she imagines the animals that constitute her family’s favorite meat dishes. She imagines the hot dog to be rat tail, raccoon, pigeon and boot. Man, is that funny. I think of that every time I eat a hot dog.
Sinbad’s is great so long as you can, like me, convince yourself that irritated servers are endearing and that you can really enjoy a food product that could conceivably contain boot meat.