The Return of the Return of the Shameless Carnivore

August 13th, 2007 by Scott

Nope, that’s not a typo — this is my second return from a notable absence at the helm of this site. I’m just glad it didn’t happen to steer itself into the rocks while I was gone (whew!). And why the months-long delay? What could have kept me from posting strange and interesting tales of the “carniverse”? You guessed it: once again, it was the book. But good news today friends…it’s done! Yes, over the course of a year, I managed to research and write what has now become a beastly 380 page manuscript on all things meat, even though I was only under contract for 304. Not that I can rightly ask for more money for the extra effort, but when it comes to carnivorous matters, I tend to get enthusiastic and go on at length. On the upside, you’ll have that much more fun and (hopefully) interesting material — stories, recipes, anecdotes, trivia and other good stuff — to dig into when the book launches next Spring. I was particularly happy with how my account of eating bull penis turned out. I’ll only say this: I ate it so you don’t have to. Be grateful.

So once again I apologize for my lengthy absence. To make up for it, I’ll have lots of brand new posts in the days and weeks to come, now that I’m no longer chained to my desk, crazed and over-caffeinated, open reference books scattered about the floor of my apartment like skeletons in an ogre’s lair, and trying desperately not to go totally delirious with deadline fever. But I made it. Hooray!

And what did I do to celebrate completing my meaty manuscript? Did I, say, go to the finest steakhouse in New York for a giant, dry-aged porterhouse and a goblet of disgustingly expensive brandy? Take a trip to Japan for some authentic yakitori? Or perhaps a nice pate de foie gras and some fine French bubbly?

Naw. Who needs those fancy things when you have Coney Island?

I may love the finest meats and cheeses, but sometimes instead of Humboldt Fog and Serrano ham, you just kind of want a good, old-fashioned hot dog. Now, there are many choices for New Yorkers looking to get their dog on — the variety is almost mind-bogglingly vast — but for me, nothing beats a Nathan’s dog on the boardwalk on sunny, Summer day, alongside some fries and a tall, cool cup of lemonade. Like this:

I didn’t eat both of these mind you, that would certainly be overkill. Especially with the fries. The sauerkraut and mustard doggie went to my carnivorous companion, Kim, whereas I went all-out and opted for the chili-cheese-dog. My rationale in these situations is that, if you’ve made the decision to go ahead and eat a hot dog, you might as well take it to its logical (and delicious) extreme. No, this is not healthy living. But so long as you’re not downing one of these things every day, I think it’s perfectly reasonable for a person with an otherwise sensible diet to indulge himself once in a while with a tricked-out, over-the-top mega-dog such as this. Otherwise, what would make life worth living? Our time here is short, and you never know when you’ll have your ticket punched for good. So have a hot dog, why don’t you? Enjoy!

(Note: See the gigantic American flag in the background? The only thing that could make this scene more “ra-ra USA!” patriotic would be a bald eagle on my shoulder. I’m still working on that one.)

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