I would sooner put ketchup on a steak from Peter Luger's than desecrate a hot dog with that stuff. Ketchup on a hot dog is an abomination. It just is. In fact, our Creator prohibited the stuff on the Holy Frankfurter. It was one of the Lost Commandments that was originally handed down to Moses.
I know that some argue "that's how I eat mine, and who are you to tell me otherwise?" Well, if you want to defile a perfect food, I can't stop you. I just wish that you wouldn't do it in public. It's a shameful act that years ago was only committed in the privacy of one's home. I have to admit that my son used to engage in this behavior. I was shocked and had to question my wife regarding the boy's paternity. Nonetheless he stopped this antisocial behavior when he turned 16. Part of it had to do with the maturing process, while the rest of it was because I had threatened to put him up for adoption. My wife and I spent a lot of time and effort administering some tough love in an attempt to turn my son around. I'm glad things turned out ok.
My daughter (24 and out of the house) never put ketchup on a hot dog. But for some inexplicable reason, she stopped eating meat at the age of 16. But that's another story for another day.
The topic of ketchup on a hot dog has come up frequently on Roadfood. I am an opinionated person, especially when it comes to hot dogs, beer, religion, and politics. But I have refrained, until recently, from commenting on this subject. Why? you may ask. Because it scares me. I've been reluctant to discuss the issue, but I feel like I can share something personal with my Roadfood family. According to my regular family, I spend more time on these forums listening to you people than them. Anyway, about two years ago I had the most horrible nightmare I've ever had. Fascists took over the country and the first thing they did was take away the right of law abiding citizens to own guns. Then they decreed that hot dogs must be eaten with ketchup. As leader of the opposition, I was arrested. The fascists wanted to make an example of me, so they put me on national television and tried to force feed me a hot dog with ketchup on it.
Just before they were able to pry my mouth open, I woke up in a cold sweat. I was so scared that I jumped in my car and drove to my childhood home. I crawled into bed between my elderly parents and even insisted that my mother go up into the attic and bring down my old teddy bear and security blanket. With the help of a loving family and a good therapist, I have been making progress dealing with my phobia.
This whole ketchup on a hot dog abomination should have been nipped in the bud. Because it wasn't, we are reaping the consequences. Reprobates have opened trendy hot dog restaurants (in New Jersey of all places!) and introduced all kinds of deviations from the traditional hot dog. In addition to ketchup, we now have such things as cream cheese, peanut butter, broccoli rabe, corn flakes, and eggs being thrown at us. And that's just some of the things. The rest I've blocked out, fearing a relapse and a possible return to the psychiatrist's couch. I shudder to think what might be next. The rumor going around in hot dog circles is that two twenty something guys are looking to open their own place soon. Their goal is to outdo the existing hot dog eateries where the focus is the crap piled on the dog rather than the dog itself. Proposed toppings include raisinets, gummy bears, rice crispies, oatmeal, and sweet tarts.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.