I’ve described how fucking my way up through the Twin Cities art scene has enabled me to help out up-and-cuming (from my keyboard to God’s ears, lol) musicians like Casey Call and how Honey Buns inexplicably rewarded my bitchy blog rants about our demise with a pair of tix to the Basilica Block party.
But those instances are small cookies compared to the excessive aural swag I received recently. A reader who has asked to remain anonymous (which is unfortunate because his real nickname is food-related and would provide oh-so-many pun opportunities!) has been e-mailing from the deep South (no, not there) for several weeks. Initially, he wouldn’t reveal his identity as we exchanged missives about pussy hungry yogis and inhibition-free musicians. Then he told me that whilst sharing a meal with a couple of my former conquests, the topic of the Man Eater blog was broached…and lively conversation between the sexes ensued.
Mystery Reader dropped enough clues so I could figure out which dudes we knew in common. Once that connection was confirmed, Mystery Reader disclosed his identity and we became fast friends online.
Though Mystery Reader resided out of state, he seemed to know everyone in the Twin Cities arts community. Over his Fourth of July weekend sojourn to my hometown, he offered to comp me tickets to The Heavy, Taste of Minnesota, and The Hold Steady (at The Cabooze and First Avenue!).
I took him up on half of those offers (as I’d already purchased tickets for some of the aforementioned concerts) and the weekend culminated with him and I sitting down to coffee, conversation, and a big bag of my muffins.
Mystery Reader asked if I’d like to extend our meet-and-greet with a stop by The Depot Tavern for a hot dog eating contest. I’d never witnessed competitive eaters in action (and didn’t have a particular hunger to do so) but the Nathan’s Hot Dog contest was all over the news and since I’m always hungry for new material, I accepted. After taking my muffins up to Mystery Reader’s hotel room (no, you need not read into that), we headed over to First Avenue’s new culinary venture.
Mystery Reader, while a virtual unknown to me prior to that weekend, was very popular with the rest of the locals. He pointed out a series of Twin Cities celebrities in the crowd, most of them so unremarkable, appearance-wise, I never would’ve guessed they were famous.
Just before the competition began, I nabbed a chair up front and snapped pix of the Diamond Dogs (deep fried hotdogs wrapped in bacon and nestled in a pretzel bun). I asked Mystery Reader if he’d tried one yet; he had, though only managed to eat a few bites.
“How was it?” I asked.
“It was…a hot dog,” he said with a shrug.
Understood. I used to think hot dogs all tasted the same…as in: disgusting. The Diamond Dogs, however, looked really sexy. And they smelled so naughty. I wasn’t hungry, but knew I wouldn’t be able to leave without wrapping my lips around one of those wieners.
The musty air in the restaurant turned both stifling and expectant as the eaters, wearing black t-shirts as identification, took their places behind the banquet tables. The mostly male cohort wore serious expressions. One dude, donning a red bandana around his head, was bouncing up and down in anticipation, equal parts anxious and excited.
“Do they have buckets back there?” I asked one of the organizers. I sure as hell wasn’t going to risk getting splattered with masticated hot dogs in the name of blog worthy photography!
“They have garbage cans, yes,” she said. Even better.
Mystery Reader started taking guesses at which contestant was going to win and which was going to puke first. Then the clock began and the panel attacked the Diamond Dogs, dunking them in water to aid in swallowing as many as possible in under ten minutes.
I was studiously taking pictures the entire time, but the crowd was really into the competition. They yelled and cheered and marveled as the eaters uncomfortably stuffed themselves. Bandana Dude was the only one who barfed. In the end, the winner downed five wieners. The prize was a gift certificate for First Avenue.
Given the number of hot dogs I devoured in my single days (as well as my pretzel twisting abilities and bacon making talents), I totally could’ve won that contest. (My daughters affirmed my binging ability when I told them about the event later.)
Upon our departure from The Depot (me with a stolen Diamond Dog tucked in my purse), Mystery Reader and I ran into a musician on the street. Within a minute of introductions, this guy was blabbing about two-handed masturbation and pissing on other people’s coffee tables.
Ewww, right?
Yes…but he’d have been perfect for Man Eater’s new Rock Star Guest Chef series. Mystery Reader thought so, too, and made an impressive pitch to the musician on my behalf. I whipped out my business card, expecting an enthusiastic “yes!” from the guy. (I’ve yet to be turned down…which means the blog will be burning up with artists’ eats for the rest of the summer!) Instead, the musician sort of scowled, unimpressed, and said he didn’t cook.
“It could be a cocktail,” I suggested. He said he didn’t have any recipes for drinks. (Really? I wondered. ‘Cause you seem a tad tanked to me right now!)
He couldn’t make his own cocktail, but he sure as hell was cocky. This musician (whose name I didn’t recognize and forgot immediately after) was apparently well-known…though his sense of self-importance was way out of proportion (and I should know, shameless egomaniac that I am). Per a Facebook photo, he just earned a star on the wall of First Avenue. Still, that doesn’t justify refusing to cook for Man Eater.
I walked with Mystery Reader back to his hotel, where he graciously footed the bill for valet parking. (Though that might have been out of pity. “I’ve never done this before!” I exclaimed as I fumbled for my ticket.) He lamented that before his next musical engagement, he had several hours of down time and didn’t know how to fill them. I was on my way to have my much belated birthday dinner at Joe’s Garage in Loring Park. I half-assedly invited him along but didn’t insist when he didn’t take me up on the offer (he would have been bored to tears and I would’ve been terribly embarrassed by my very UN-foodie and musically uninteresting family).
There was a rare, and rather weird moment there, however, when for once, I felt like the less lonely one. The night before, I’d had the second longest date to date with New Dude, rocked out to Pictures of Then, now had a birthday dinner to attend, followed by canceling nighttime plans with another musical suitor (as I was official New Dude’s girl and neither of us was interested in watching fireworks without making fireworks). I’ve never felt so popular as I did that weekend. If only Cupid could balance out the action a little better!
On the rooftop patio of Joe’s Garage (overlooking the Basilica where I would party hardy one week hence) that night, I ordered from the "Mashed Potato Bar", but my plate was hardly packed buffet-style. There was a sole scoop of garlic mashed potatoes, several sprigs of asparagus, and a seafood skewer. The cook had really skimped on the shrimp. (You think Man Eater fills up on only five of those guys?!)
Just as I was about to swallow my pride and order entrée number two, I remembered the Diamond Dog in my purse! Despite my family’s raised eyebrows, aghast expressions (and perhaps envious glances), I wiped my plate clean with my napkin, pulled the Diamond Dog out, and daintily sliced that naughty dog right there at the table. Then I popped each super salty, greasy coin of pork into my mouth.
Though my b-day meal was almost a month late, that wiener was worth the wait. The only fireworks I experienced on Fourth of July 2010 were the ones exploding on my tastebuds.
***
Don’t even ask me to attempt a recreation of Diamond Dog deliciousness. You’ve gotta go to the source. (And if you haven’t been to First Ave, WTF is wrong with you?!) I may, however, soon attempt my own hot dog eating competition. Seriously!
As for sleeping my way to the top? Let’s say Man Eater is keeping it kosher. Finally!
P.S. Need to see the hot dog porn firsthand? Check out my pix from The Depot Tavern's event here on the Man Eater Facebook page.
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