Top Dawg

We come not to praise Pink’s, but to bury it.
by Brian Mazo

I made a pilgrimage to Hot dog Mecca late last year. On a crystalline October afternoon, I walked the Coney Island boardwalk with one destination in mind. Nathan’s is the standard bearer when it comes to hot dogs: taste and tradition perfectly proportioned in a bun. The menu has expanded (I don’t know about you, but I am not ordering lobster or oxtail here) and a dog doesn’t cost a nickel anymore. But as I sat down with my frank doused in mustard and sauerkraut, perfectly golden brown crinkle-cut fries and a fountain Coke, strides away from the choppy Atlantic Ocean, I couldn’t have possibly felt cozier.

But here in Los Angeles, where does one go for such comfort? Pink’s holds the collective gaze of America with its appearance on everything from late-night TV to bus tours of Hollywood, but there’s better to be had in the City of Angels than the mediocre wiener you’ll get after a 30-minute wait out front of Pink’s. If long lines are your thing, don’t let me stop you, but there have got to be better options. Right?

My first stop should have been the Tail O’ the Pup. I was rudely surprised. Built in 1945, it was a stand shaped like a giant dog in a giant bun. A 1920s craze for architectural kitsch resulted in dozens of eccentric eateries around the Hollywood area; you could dine in a hat, a teepee or even a bulldog. Alas, Tail O’ the Pup closed in early 2006 when they lost their lease. There is hope of re-opening the Tail in Westwood Village, but that’s still up in the air.  Plans are afoot to develop condominiums and a retirement community for gays and lesbians on the original site. My mind reeled over the lost dog, no longer a contender. I crossed it off the list.

Thankfully, it’s not baseball season. Dodger Dogs were already crossed off.

Depressed, I grabbed a bacon-wrapped hot dog from a Sunset Boulevard street cart to keep my strength up. Firm skin, piping hot jalapenos, and onions. They don’t taste quite as great as they smell, and you run the risk of poisoning, but as a cure for a potential hangover, there’s nary a better pill to be found.

Oki Dog was my next stop. The original location at Santa Monica and Vista is gone, but you can get the same menu at the Oki Dog stand at 860 N. Fairfax. The famously elusive owner, Okinawan native, Sakai Sueyoshi, didn’t return my phone calls.  Terrifying and goopy, the titular offering is a jumbo wiener split sideways, grilled, drowned with chili and cheese and rolled in a tortilla. If you’re looking for grungy ambiance, this sketchy stand is the place. In the ’80s the original location was a celebrated punk hangout, adjacent to the Hollywood clubs and a great place to score drugs. Somewhat diminished from this terrifying sublimity, their hot dogs hold the same mystique as White Castle hamburgers—”buy ’em by the sackful; puke ‘em by the roadside”.

Having faced long lines, disappointment and some indigestion, I wandered down Hollywood Blvd. to Skooby’s, the tiny storefront operation beneath the now defunct Ritz Theatre. I sat down with John Hooper, co-owner of Skooby’s with his brother Stephen, over a chili-dog (made with Guinness!), some fries and an Arnold Palmer, made with freshly squeezed lemonade. Since my mouth was full, I let John do most of the talking.

“Hot dogs make people happy. They’re an affordable, typically American food, but they’re still a treat to be enjoyed under special circumstances. People talk about the best pizza and the best tacos and the best hamburgers, but not with the same emotion and the same geographical pride as they do when they speak about the best dog. People form strong emotional connections to their hot dogs.”

So what makes a Skooby dog this tasty? Hooper’s got strong relationships with family-owned suppliers. “My produce guy shops and delivers the best potatoes and lemons. Our bread is baked to our specifications and delivered every morning. I call the owner of the sausage plant and the following morning and pick them up myself.” There’s also the magic dipping sauce for the fries. “Originally, I started with a grand idea of having a big choice of dipping sauces; I called them (imagine a drum roll and picture me making a grand sweeping motion with my arm) ‘THE SEVEN SAUCES!’ But in the first week of business, it was apparent that one sauce was the clear winner. We decided to offer just that special one named aioli, a garlic mayonnaise, which we jazz up with freshly roasted red bell peppers.” Like Oki Dog, Skooby’s has a punk rock slant—the crew, the music playing in the shop, the location. With “Skooby’s After-Dark,” Hooper wanted to re-establish the Boulevard as a center for local bands. “We held After Dark right on the street, which provided a uniquely dynamic environment for the performers, for 10 weeks in a row, hosting 30 bands [you can see pictures of some of the acts including Eight Bit, Fascinoma and the Mormons at www.skoobys.com]. Finally the LAPD clued in and shut us down.”

Directly across the Boulevard from Musso & Frank, Skooby’s is to the hot dog what its neighbor is to the martini. And although I can’t smell the Atlantic Ocean from one of the stools on the Walk of Fame, I am ready to declare Skooby’s the Top Dog.   LAA