The dog days of summer!!!

Oh the dayspins in this metro de angeles perdidos have been ravaging my cousins, your own Metrowalker has darted from shade to shade lest he burst into flames and crackle down to ash. But there has been so much to see, the festival of books where your own lampooning literati lunged at the leagues of literature looking for levity, as well as every other kine festival that you can imagine from sumo to swordplay.

It was in the shadows of the bear campus that your narrator discovered The STAND, now I know chains are not what we dancers frequent often, leave corporate grinds to thems that love them we always say, clowns are meant for circuses not galleries of gastronomy. The STAND has 4 locations, and the closest one to me is in UCLA’s own backyard...I would risk it, after all hot dogs demand dedication.

Since my own hoa aloha the Photo Princess has moved to the mountains, there is little reason to travel over the hills to the valley, so the one in Bruinville fits the bill.

The STAND specializes in that comida of da kanaka, hot dogs, and as you well know your own Harlequin loves him a good hot dog. Hot, snappy, naked or dressed, the hot dog is the kinda of grinds that brings a grin to any dancer’s face. Is it my masochistic mania for mystery meat you may ask oh my sisters? Is it culinary thrill seeking, or the deep need to walk the razor’s edge of indigestion? This I cannot tell you, but your uncle will cavort near and far to find himself a good frank.

After perusing the menu, I settled on two dogs, one with sauerkraut, spicy mustard and onions and one with cheese, tomatoes, deli mustard and onions. They both came with house made potato chips, and as I do hate redundant repasts I substituted one of my sides de perros with their own house made fries.

When my ilio arrive I accessorized them with pickles that are available at the counter,( a nice touch as you never know when you need a pickle or a pepper to cut the grease) and set to chow. The dogs were grand things, juicy with a good snap and nestled in soft steamed buns, the home style potato chips were crunchy if not a little dry, and the fries were plentiful and tasty.

Da Kine grinds yea? KANAK ATTACK!!!

All in all a fine tuck in my cousins, can I advise it? Well The Stand is not a boho burger walkup, it is a restaurant for bohos and aristos alike, but I liked it and I will go back for something like their blue cheese perro some time soon.

I shan't lie my dancers, the tuck costs some gelt, but I pushed back from da kine mesa and I was not sorry. Each of the dogs is escorted by chips or for a bit more you can add fries like your very own uncle...something to rattle in your brain pan yes?

What is that my cousins? Did I know that July was hot dog appreciation month? Goodness no, but since it is I shall tell you what I found when I went to the Chili Dog Factory in Glendale’s own mega mall. A mall outlet you cry, oh Harlequin have you lost you spangle covered mind? First a chain and now a mall grindery, has the heat of the temperate dayspins addled your poor brain to have you caper into such a place?

Perhaps it has oh my dear cousins, for the tale of the Chili Dog Factory is grim indeed. Now I expected very little from this kennel of comestables, and I was not disappointed. The place de perros is on the second floor nearest the Mervyns, where once a noodle stand once stood, you can still see the darkened neon noodle sign above the desolate doggery.

Could that clown hot dog bode ill for your own Metrowalker?

Your very own narrator approached the stand and found it deserted, with no one at the stand, and no one in the dining room except the few abandoned patrons who presided over their own passionless pups.

With no one about,I Harlequin thought of a multitude of merry mischiefs I could play unseen. I would substitute all the franks with cold slimy frogs, so that when someone finally did return, they would not find hot dogs, but cold frogs hopping and jumping about. What fun! Acrobatic amphibians ambling everywhere, that would certainly bring a smile to one and all.

Out came the bag my croaking cronies, and I crept around the counter to let them loose when the door to the kitchen opened and out came a bespectacled countermaid. I quickly hid my bag behind me to a chorus of disappointed croaks and ribbits…

“My good lady” I said, smiling my most dazzling grin, “I was up to no tricks, no hijinks or shenanigans…I am but a humbling purveyor in frogs…here to procure a bit of noonday nourishment.”

She did not see me, did not even raise a carefully coifed eyebrow at magnificent magical me. I waved my hand in front of her face, and she just walked by. It was not until my bubbling bouncing brain came up with the idea of putting one of my froggy friends in her apron did she stop and look around.

I ordered from their small but descriptive menu, one dog with sauerkraut, onions and mustard and one of their Chicago dogs. Now the dogs of our big shouldered dancers are very special indeed. Kind of looks like the grinds you used to get in the cafeteria of the old eight to three huh?

A wise kahuna once described a Chicago dog as an all beef perro, yellow mustard, onions, emerald relish, tomatoes, pickles, sport peppers and celery salt. He said that all of this would sit in a steamed poppy seeded bun.

Does this look like the mythical Chicago dog oh my cousins?

The dogs were weak, no snap, no spice and no love. The toppings were perfunctory, and put on with a mano that could care less about the dancer munching the dog. When I asked where the tomatoes were for this puppy pretender, my frog laden serving nymph grunted, "Uh, we don't serve tomatoes."

So the menu is as untrue as the comida I nearly broke down in tears, but girded my loins and slipped another few frogs down her dress for good measure! The frustrated frogs hopped back into my bag, not being able to get a rise out of her either. Perhaps she was clockwork, an automoton that collected money and needed to be wound up occassionally? What else would work in a Chili Dog Factory yes?

The duo of dogs, accompanied by some passionless potatoes that had to be bought seperately, and a pop cost over 12 bucks . This is again is steak gelt, and to put down those kinds of dinar for a drab, depressed, dog denied delicacy by a docile drone is well, disappointing.

But merry marvelous Metrowalker you say, it’s the Chili Dog Factory, why did you not get a chili dog?

Oh my cousins, a host of horrible hostilities can lurk under the blanket of chili. If you viddy my meaning, if these denizens of the depraved doggery cannot even do a basic hot dog correctly, then dear Odin what would they hide under a blanket of chili?

What is that my only family? The Chicago dog a myth you say? No where in this metro de lost angels can we find such a comida? Well feast your glassies on this…that’s right, the Stand does a Chicago dog, just like the wise old wavebreaker said.

Look dancers! It's all there, deli mustard, pickles, sport peppers there is even the neon relish and tomatoes!!!

There are many more doggeries to discover my dancers, so don your cloaks, festoon yourselves with ribbons and leave those stodgy SUVs behind...

The Stand Westwood Village, 1116 Westwood Boulevard (310) 443-0400

The chili dog factory, 3233 Glendale GalleriaGlendale, (818) 242-5157