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Item: Sonoran hot dog
Location: Rose Quarter, north of Moda Center
Time: 10 pm Sunday, Aug. 18
Price: $10
Background: Tiny hot dog grill carts started appearing outside large events last year, like the LGBTQ+ Pride Festival and major stadium concerts. This reporter figured the carts must be another sleek take on the classic New York hot dog cart, designed to prep and serve squeaks at the speed ugly Americans like me expect.
Multnomah County thinks otherwise. The health department sent out a bulletin Aug. 15 urging Portlanders to forswear unlicensed street wieners. Internal correspondence first obtained by WW showed the rationale: “The vendors are unlicensed and selling food and alcohol, and appear to have ties to trafficking and gangs,” Stacy Borke, deputy chief of staff to Multnomah County Chair Jessica Vega Pederson, wrote to the city of Portland’s director of community safety, Stephanie Howard, on Aug. 12.
Thus, a crackdown. The joint operation on Friday, Aug. 16, involving members of the Oregon Liquor and Cannabis Commission, the Portland Bureau of Environmental Services, the Portland Bureau of Transportation, the Portland Fire Marshal and the Multnomah County Health Department, seems to have successfully kept the pink meat tubes from touching Dave Grohl’s lips at Providence Park, and thunder and lightning likely did the agencies a solid on Saturday.
But I was undeterred. Call me Jennifer Coolidge the way I want a hot dog real bad.
The goods: Following my gut, I headed to Moda Center on Sunday, Aug. 18, around 10 pm, when headliner Lamb Of God and Mastodon would have to be onstage. Sure enough, three carts were set up on the complex’s north sidewalk, prepping for the post-show exodus, not a cop or health inspector in sight.
I went to the cart closest to me, run by a Latino man. English wasn’t his first language, nor that of the woman running the cart next to him, but he asked if I wanted a dog “with everything.” You can ask for subtractions, but the works are a bacon-wrapped frank with grilled onion and bell pepper slices and a messy slather of sauces: ketchup, a weak mustard, and what tasted more like a cream I’m used to seeing served with tacos. A little orange chile rested on top, either as a garnish or a heat source. The transaction took less than 30 seconds, and while I had no idea what would happen when I forked over my Jackson, I got two Lincolns back, with no napkins. Tip inflation was not an issue here.
The hot dog was slathered in sauces, none of which were especially flavorful. The vegetables still had a slight crunch to them, and while I prefer my bacon crispy, the strip wrapped around my dog was fully cooked, not slimy. It’s a thicker brat, a meal on its own without chips. It would have hit the spot if I needed a nightclub nightcap. I found two hairs in three of my past visits, but none on this one. Still, at 10 bucks a pop at the speed those grillers can sling them, it’s possible that someone turns a tidy profit over a busy weekend. I can’t speak to any sinister currents operating under the surface, but the frankfurter? It satisfies.