A Dining Experience Like None Other

It's a local landmark. One natives of Birmingham, Alabama refer to with pride: "Best hot dog in the world. Not really arguable, either. Even national magazines say so." They take friends there.

First of all, it's downtown in a downtown that's seen better days. Restaurants with better ambiance or menus have come and gone. Department stores across the street have been vacant. But it's still downtown...which is cool. And don't bother trying to find a parking place close between 11AM and 2PM. I usually park around the block to the south and walk around. When I worked downtown I'd stop and get a shoe shine between lunch and the car.

Secondly, it's what the kids today call "old school." There's a neon sign above a screen door, but during the lunch hour, that screen door is propped open by whoever is waiting to get in. Here's what you'd see from across 2nd Avenue:



Is it sick that I have a painting of this on my wall in my office?

Anyway, when you go in you'll notice that Gus and his wife are still slinging the hot dogs. He's a gruff, tough old guy who slouches because of how he's been doing this for 40 years. See, the restaurant can't be 12 feet wide. His counter takes up six of that.

That means diners get the other six feet. Well, three feet actually. He uses the oppposite floor space against the far wall to keep crates of sodas and other things he needs to store. The length of the place is probably 60 feet. You'll see 10 or so folks standing shoulder to shoulder in order to eat lunch.

He'll ask you what you want and call you "buddy" unless he knows your name. When I was going in more regularly he referred to me as "Little Ed" because he knew my dad somehow. "What's it gonna be, buddy?"

"I'll have a special, Gus. Make it two."

"All the way?"

"Sure."

"And you want a pint of milk with that?" (Gus pushes the milk. It has an expiration date.)

"Nah. A Coke'll be fine."

"Grapico?" (It's a locally bottled grape-flavored drink that's pretty well known. Gus pushes the Grapico once you turn down the milk--I think he's buddies with the distributor).

"Sure, Gus."

"Kathy (his wife), get me a Grapico will ya and hand it to my buddy here."

Keep in mind that Gus is doing this with 10 or 12 people at a time as well as filling orders that have been called in, too. He's constantly in motion cooking the hot dogs or putting the special sauce on them or whatever. He'll push milk and Grapico like nobody's business.

Then when your order is done about 3 minutes or so after you order, he'll just put it on the counter in front of you like this:



You'll eat and most of the time you'll read the bumper stickers on the wall behind him while you're doing it. "You can have my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers." "An ARMY of One." "These Colors Don't Run (emblazoned with an American Flag)" Local football schedules. Magazine covers he's been on. Above him on a shelf are the buns.

If somebody orders a hamburger, he'll ask them if they read the sign outside. '

"Yeah, Gus. But my kid doesn't like hot dogs. Can you make him a burger?"

"Kathy, can you go into the fridge and get one of them buger patties out of there?" This will be accompanied by his eye rolls and Kathy's "Sure, Gus. Comin' right up."

"You want another special all the way, buddy?"

"Nah, Gus. I'm done."

"I already made it. Here. Eat it." It hits the counter top.

"I'll need another Grapico, then." The bottles he pushes only come in the 8 oz. size. Smart man, that Gus.

"Kathy, get my buddy another Grapico, too."

When you pay, you have to nudge past the other patrons to get to the back to the cash register. No one is annoyed by this...not the person with the cash or the other folks eating. It's part of the drill.

"What'd you have, son?" Kathy calls everybody "son" or "girl."

"Three specials and two Grapico's." You could easily lie and get away with it. No one does. Even the drunk fraternity guys play it straight on this deal.

Kathy punches buttons and tells you it's $8.74.

You hand her $10. She makes change and says thanks. I've never gone away unappreciated.

As you shoulder past everybody who's eating or trying not to fall down on the crates of root beer (which may have been there for two decades for all I know because I've never heard anyone order anything other than Coke or milk or Grapico), when you get near the door, Gus says, "Hey, thanks, buddy. See ya next time."

"Sure, Gus."

And the screen door widens. The next person comes in, and everybody dutifully slides down one spot towards the back near the cash register. The line outside shrinks by one.

They don't complain about the heat or the cold or whatever happens to be seasonal weather-wise. They know it's part of the penance you pay for getting the best hot dog on the planet.

They don't come like this anymore. And Gus actually takes vacations these days. You have to call from day-to-day to see if it's open...but most days it is. But when he passes (I heard Kathy has some sort of degenerative illness, but I can't verify that), Birmingham will lose the best eating experience it has. And that will be a shame.