Determined To Succeed

Whenever you visit a new city or country I think it’s absolutely imperative to sample some of the local culinary fare. If any of you have ever been to Chicago, which is a great food town whichever way you slice it (ha, I made a food joke), it behooves you to sample some foods that us Chicagoans can point to and say “yep, that is uniquely Chicago.”

There’s a “stuffed” pizza, a pizza so thick with gooey cheese and other ingredients you HAVE to use a fork and knife. There’s also the Italian Beef sandwich, made up of slices of rump roast beef marinated in a gravy of its own juices and spices, placed on an Italian roll, covered with sweet or hot peppers (maybe even cheese) and dipped whole back into its gravy of savory juices. Yum. But the most delicious (and portable) Chicago food is your good old-fashioned, classic Chicago-style hot dog.

I know what you’re saying, “there are hot dogs everywhere. Why not make or get one where you live?” My friends, the answer is simple. You can’t have a Chicago-style hot dog just anywhere because only in Chicago can all the proper ingredients be found, not to mention you’d then be enjoying it in the town that made it famous. Everyone has their favorite place to get their dogs (mine is Portillos or Superdawg), but throw a rock anywhere and you’d most likely hit a place that serves Chicago-style hot dogs especially if you get out to explore Chicago’s wonderful, eclectic and amazing neighborhoods.

The “Chicago Style” hot dog got its start from street cart hot dog vendors during the hard times of the Great Depression. Money was scarce, but business was booming for these entrepreneurs who offered a delicious hot meal on a bun for only a nickel. Thus, the famous Chicago-style hot dog was born! They’d start with a Vienna Beef hot dog, nestle it in a steamed poppyseed bun and cover it with a wonderful combination of toppings: yellow mustard, bright green relish, fresh chopped onions, juicy red tomato wedges, a kosher-style pickle spear, a couple of spicy sport peppers, cucumber and finally, a dash of celery salt. This unique hot dog creation with a “salad on top” and its memorable interplay of hot and cold, crisp and soft, sharp and smooth, became America’s original fast food and a true Chicago institution.

The Chicago-style hot dog is one of my favorite foods and is definitely “worth the splurge.” When I tried to find the calorie count for a typical Chicago-style hot dog I couldn’t find a consensus from one place to another, one website to another. So, erring on the side of caution, I am going to most-agree with the highest calorie count I found simply because this column is called “worth the splurge” and I want you (and your waistline) to be prepared. But even if this calorie count is true, at almost 400 calories you could do far worse in terms of eating, I think, especially given all the non-unique food choices we face every day.

• Calories: 377
• Total Fat: 19.7g
• Cholesterol: 30mg
• Sodium: 2387mg
• Total Carbs: 38g
• Dietary Fiber: 3.3g
• Protein: 12.4g

If you go, the legendary Superdawg is on the corner of Milwaukee and Devon (pronounced de-VAHN by us natives), while Portillos is a chain whose location in the heart of downtown is on the corner of Ontario and Clark. That’s tasty eatin’, indeed, so enjoy!

Good morning, everyone.

I am sitting in my hotel room before heading out to join the Black Enterprise Entrepreneur Conference & Expo here in Atlanta. I didn’t mean to sleep so late but I needed it after my long travel and registration day yesterday.

OK, I know what you’re saying. “Bill, so did you get your Chicago-style hot dog in the airport?” Well, I can honestly say no, I didn’t. But there’s a part of me that thinks I should have. Let me explain.

When I travel it is so easy for me to grab fast food, which I define as food you can grab and eat using one hand – a hot dog, burger, taco. You get the picture and I so didn’t want to do that. So, before I left home I had some assorted fruit and coffee (mmmmm, coffee) and started my day.

I was OK until I hit Chicago, then it was like the fast food gods were conspiring the get me to eat. Eat. EAT! You’ve heard me talk about how the hot dog cart hits you as soon as you get off the plane, right? Well, that was there and was avoided. However I didn’t know there was an Italian Beef cart, too. Oh man! That wasn’t fair. But, I resisted. Yes, I survived both and made my way to my connecting gate.

Along the way, though, I not only passed a couple of McDonald’s stations but so many peple carrying McDonald’s yummy good breakfasts I thought I was inhaling crack. I haven’t been to McDonald’s in years and the thought of a breakfast sandwich (with that awesome sausage they have) and a hash brown would hit the spot.

It would hit the spot alright. My ass. Actually. The sausage sandwich would hit my butt while the has browns ensconced themselves in my belly fat. So I resisted that, too. I was doing well. So well, in fact, I didn’t eat anything else all day, and that is not a good thing. I got to Atlkanta, checked in to both the conference and the hotel and was beside myself with hunger. Again, not good.

So what DID I eat yesterday? I ordered room service. I ordered an awesome tomato soup, chicken quesadilla and, yes, an order of spicy dinner grits. However, you wil be proud – I didn’t order a Coke. I was good. Well, sort of. You’d have thought I was a Hoover vacuum cleaner the way I absorbed all that dinner, which really could have NOT included at least one of those items. That will cause me to grumble ever so slightly.

Grrr (but not a long sustained grrrrrrrrrrrr).

There was one point though I laughed out loud – my room has an electronic scale, which is awesome. And since all scales read dfferently I will go by number of pounds gained or lost this trip. Today, I weigh the same as yesterday, which I suppose is a good thing.

I need to eat smarter today. As I get ready to attend today’s activities I will keep last night’s dinner (and my scale in mind). Eating smartly – not just eating the right things – is all part of the equation.

I am a bit grumpy this morning. I am grumpy this morning because I am sick and tired of food – ALL FOOD – having stupid calories, and because genies in lamps don’t really exist.

I know this sounds completely insane but I always wonder in my heart and soul why everything we want to eat has to be “worked off” and “no good for us.” Why is it that Chinese food (yes, my dinner of choice last night) has to have not just calories but so much salt that it causes me to creep to another three more ounces this morning (hence part of my grumpyness).  I know it was “no good for me” and that I will “work it off,” but still. Can’t a guy have his beef chop suey after a workout and NOT have to still gain back ounces? Grrrrrrr.

And why can’t genies exist? These are so the times I wish I could find a genie in a lamp. I daydream about casually strolling the beach down in Atlantic City (after winning a few bucks at Craps, my favorite game) and stumbling across a beautiful, ornate golden lamp. I start brushing the sand off its surface when a cool-ass genie appears and says to me, “Dude. Wow. Thanks for finding me! You know how long I’ve been cooped up in coach in that thing? Where’s the baggage claim anyway? Oh, never mind. Since you found me and I have finally landed I will offer you three wishes as gratitude. The only condition is that you chuck me and the lamp back in the ocean when you’re done so that others may share your good fortune. And PS, show me where the Craps tables are, man. I’ve been itchin’ for some games of chance since that bazaar in Morocco 400 years ago.”

If only I could really have those three wishes. Besides the obvious one featuring lots of  money and one I would keep in my back pocket for another day, I think I would wish for me to never gain weight ever again from any food stuff ever in the history of the entire universe. That would include never gaining weight from any of the following yummy, delicious “no good for us” foods you have to “work off:”

• Cinnabon cinnamon rolls
• The afore-mentioned Chinese food (damn it all to hell – stupid ounces – grrrrrr)
• Hostess Cupcakes (don’t worry, I didn’t have any last night. Just thought about them, that’s all)
• Italian Beef  sandwiches
• Chicago-style hot dogs
• Cheesestea)k hoagies
• Alcohol (not that I am a beer drinker. I’m talking about my martinis and frosty, fruity island drinks you get with little umbrellas and s&^t)
• French fries (especially the big beefsteak or potato wedge kind)
• Strawberry ice-cream (again, don’t worry I didn’t have any last night
• Banana cream pie
• Chocolate cake and/or cupcakes (mmmmm, cupcakes – said like Homer Simpson drooling out the side of his mouth)
• Indian food (especially chicken tikka masala)
• Stuffed pizza (or any pizza for that matter)
• Buffalo wings
• Mashed potatoes (come to think of it the entirety of Thanksgiving dinner – including any and all leftovers)
• A plate of Southern food (fried chicken, a mess of greens and some kind of starch like grits)

Ok, Ok. I’ll stop now but you get my grumpy point this morning. Each one of us has foods we love but that are extremely bad for us. Just yesterday I was talking with people who felt bad for having a small box of Cheez-Its or a couple of cookies. But why should they feel bad? We like these foods, they just don’t like us back. Yeah, I would so use a wish and change all that.

Well, maybe I would. There is that world peace thing to consider, and all. It just “grinds my gears” – no wait, I used that slogan for a blog already. It just makes me grumpy we always have to pay the stupid “a moment on the lips, an eternity on the hips” price for the foods we enjoy most. And on grey, cloudy and rainy days like this perfectly suited for comfort foods and movies I don’t want to worry about the calories they leave behind.

Well, that’s OK. We can’t appreciate the destination without fully respecting the journey…

…every yummy, calorie-rich, has to be “worked off,” “no good for you” step of it.

When last you left your intrepid hero (OK, maybe I’m not a hero but a dumbass who was curious and hungry) I set off past the virtual plain and headed for the land of KFC to conquer the evil and vile “Double Down,” the latest in a new wave of icky ultimate “sandwiches” put forth by fast food purveyors for unsuspecting (or uncaring) consumers.

All I have to say was that I was willing to “take one for the team…”

…and boy did I. But before I get ahead of myself here’s what went down (or in this case “Double Down”)

Because I wanted to ask a few questions about the sandwich and who buys it from the KFC workers on duty (hehe, he said duty) I pulled up to my local KFC and went inside. I was worried it would be mobbed as it was only about 12:30 – prime lunch hour. But the restaurant itself was devoid of people and even the drive through had only one customer. So I stroll up to the counter where a very nice worker (not using her real name we will call her Sheila) asked me for my order.

• Me: Hi there. Have you tried the “Double Down?” And which one is better? Original Recipe or Grilled.
• Sheila: “Actually, would you believe I haven’t? Hey Gwen (again, not a real name)! You’ve tried the “Double Down,” right?
• Gwen: Yep. I tore it up the first day. I love it. (we all laugh at her enthusiasm and love of the “sandwich”)
• Sheila: “Which is better? Original or grilled?”
• Gwen: “Original, no doubt.”
• Me: OK, may I please have one Original Recipe “Double Down.” Do a lot of people order this thing?”
• Sheila: “You’d be surprised how many people order it. In fact, we ran out the other day and had to make more chicken. We had five cars lined up and parked outside waiting for it.”
• Me: “Really?! Wow. Do young people order it?”
• Sheila: “Everyone orders it. Young or old. It doesn’t matter. Everyone loves it.”
• Me: “Wow. OK. Thank you so much.”

So I get back into my car and drove home. I didn’t want to be in public in case my skin, tongue or stomach had an allergic reaction to the conglomeration of ick that is the “Double Down.” Plus I knew I had TUMS at the ready AND IN BULK.  I removed the “food item” from the bag and gingerly placed it on a plate, much like a weapons expert trying to diffuse a bomb. When I took it out of its box I looked at it for a bit. It looked nasty. I could see the “Colonel’s Sauce” oozing from in-between the boneless Original Recipe pieces of chicken. Even more curious (like a kid dissecting his first frog in high school biology) I peeled apart the top chicken breast to reveal the inner goo – the sauce, the piece of barely-melted cheese and bacon.

Now there’s an old axiom that states “there’s nothing that bacon, chocolate or frying can’t fix.” But this thing, even with two out of three, was beyond repair. I shook my head in disbelief and slowly placed the top chicken piece back on top and raised this abomination to my mouth. I opened wide and took a bite…

…yuk. The “Colonel’s Sauce” tastes to wretched, like Thousand Island dressing mixed in with mayonnaise. Really gooey mayonnaise. I had to gnaw on the bacon, which was not very crispy, to get it to bite off from the rest. The whole thing was just a mess. A big, greasy, nasty mess. Such a mess and so nasty in fact I didn’t (couldn’t) finish it. Not in that state anyway.

So I took out a knife and fork and separated the chicken from the inner goo and shoveled that mess (the cheese, sauce and bacon) away. When I tell you it will live forever in a landfill, and probably grow legs, I’m not exaggerating (well, not too much). With that gone I ate the piece of chicken that had the least amount of the remnants of the sauce, which made my hands smell like stale mayo – you know the smell I mean, right?

When I was done, I could almost immediately hear my stomach rumble its discontent. “I’m sorry,” I cry out as I felt it churning inside my body. “I threw the rest away” (which hurt because it was over $6 for that thing). I reached for a TUMS and took two – chewed them up and swallowed hoping it would take the ick away but it was too late. I felt cheap. I felt greasy. I needed a shower. And please make no mistake, that “creation” will never pass my lips again.

I honestly can’t believe that my local KFC is selling out of these things and that people are loving them. Sheila even told me some of her customers buy two of them. Yikes!!!

But I ate one so you didn’t have to, like the one in the movie who stays behind to give the others more time to escape. “No, you go on. Save yourselves. I’ll give you all the time I can.” Well, hopefully my $6 bought you the knowledge to never have one of those things. I know I say a splurge every now and then is good. But in this humble blogger’s opinion there are far better things on which to splurge – a Chicago-style hot dog, cheesesteak hoagie, egg roll from Sixty-Five Seafood on Michigan Avenue, pizza, someone’s right leg. Anything but that.

And there you have it. Oh, and just in case you thought I forgot the second part of the cliffhanger…the real reason behind the shift to KFC had nothing to do with healthy food or finicky consumers: it was about money — money that Kentucky Fried Chicken would have had to pay to continue using their original name. In 1990, the Commonwealth of Kentucky, mired in debt, took the unusual step of trademarking their name. Henceforth, anyone using the word “Kentucky” for business reasons — inside or outside of the state — would have to obtain permission and pay licensing fees to the Commonwealth of Kentucky. The venerable Kentucky Fried Chicken, a mainstay of American culture since its first franchise opened in Salt Lake City in 1952, refused as a matter of principle to pay royalties on a name they had been using for four decades. After a year of fruitless negotiations with the Kentucky state government, Kentucky Fried Chicken – unwilling to submit to “such a terrible injustice” – threw in the towel and changed the name instead, timing the announcement to coincide with the introduction of new packaging and products to obscure the real reason behind the altering of their corporate name. In November 2006, KFC and the State of Kentucky, finally reached an undisclosed settlement over use of the trademarked word “Kentucky,” and the restaurant chain announced it would be resuming its former name of “Kentucky Fried Chicken.”

Have you guys ever been to Las Vegas? If you have you know that the opportunity to gamble hits you as soon as you get off the plane. Near every gate slot machines welcome you much like the wonderful hula dancers do in Hawai’i. Except instead of Leis and the sounds of island music you are welcomed with the pings, dings and electronic sounds that beckon you to come a “throw a few in” before hitting “the Strip.”

For me going home to Chicago is the same kind of experience, except instead of really cool flowered necklaces or blinky “one-armed bandits” I am welcomed by the temptations of Chicago food, starting with the Chicago-style hot dog. I don’t remember if I’ve ever described to you how absolutely yummy a Chicago-style hot dog is so I’ll start with it’s ingredients:

One sesame seed hot dog bun steamed to perfect softness, one Vienna Beef frank, mustard (and absolutely never, under penalty of being shown to the next departing flight, do you EVER add ketchup), onions, nuclear green relish (Chicagoans know what I mean when I say nuclear green), hot peppers, cucumbers, tomato slices and a pickle wedge topped off with a sprinkle of celery salt. Now that’s good eatin’, and the beginning of my visit home.

Some of you might be saying “that’s too much crap to put on a hot dog.” Well, no it’s not. That’s why hot dogs are famous in Chicago.  They are absolutely delicious, and like the Sears Tower or Wrigley Field (my Field of Dreams), a part of the city itself. But the beauty of this is equal to the problem with it – it begins in the airport and it ends in the airport.

Whenever I go home my friends here in the Philadelphia/South Jersey area ask me “so Bill. Are you going to have any Chicago pizza when you get home? Or that Italian Beef sandwich you keep talking about?” And the answer is never easy. I say “Nah. This trip I’m going to have my favorite Chinese food (at least an egg roll or two). Maybe a hot dog.” You see I have to be sooooo careful whenever I go home because a trip home usually means being tempted by the same foods that helped me grow to be over 400 pounds.

Today, I was lucky enough to have one of my hometown papers, the Chicago Sun-Times, do a story on me and weight loss and that’s what got me thinking about going home and eating. It’s so automatic. It’s so instant. It’s so tempting. Most of all, it’s so dangerous. All the foods I love in my favorite place in the entire world – home. It’s comforting and dangerous and so very tempting to have my home food experience begin as soon as I get off that plane.

But do I enjoy myself? You bet your a – er, I mean, bottom dollar – I do. But now I have to be almost hyper aware of my surroundings, situations and emotions whenever I’m near my favorite places – like 65 Seafood Restaurant, my favorite Chinese Food and egg roll in the city, near the corner of Michigan Avenue & Wacker (Wacker. Wacker. It is funny sounding, I know, but a street name, nonetheless).The legendary Superdawg on the corner of Milwaukee and Devon (pronounced de-VAHN by us natives), or Portillos in the heart of downtown on the corner of Ontario and Clark. Even Gene & Jude Red Hot Stand on River Road who hand-cut their delicious french fries right in front of ya’. That’s tasty eatin’, indeed. Not to mention my South Side/Hyde Park favorites – Harold’s Chicken (best damn fried chicken in the city), Ribs ‘N Bibs and Valois, a restaurant known as much for its wonderful all-walks-of-life clientele as it is for its “see your food” cafeteria-style method of serving.

You can see how a Chicago boy like me could grow up to grow out so much. This is what I have to be hyper aware of when I go home – the cravings for all these foods bombarding me like the beautiful neon and lighted signs and pings, dings and blinks of the slot machines that are abound in Las Vegas.

Nowadays, I am better. Not perfect, but better, about eating if/when I go home. I certainly give myself a big pep talk before stepping foot on my homeward bound plane saying “OK, Larson. You know you need to make smart choices. If you’re gonna have this you can’t have that. Got it?” And if I am lucky I do avoid giving in to the culinary temptations that surround me almost at every corner.

However I do admit having slot machines in the airport is a smart deal. They may not get you coming in, but, ideally, you’ve had so much fun you want just one last taste of it before heading back to reality, especially when waiting for your flight. This is the exact thing I feel in C Terminal at O’Hare International Airport. Whenever I’m home I have a blast just walking the streets that I want one more Taste of Chicago before heading back to Philly…

…one more hot dog for the road.

And for those history buffs out there…

The “Chicago Style” hot dog got its start from street cart hot dog vendors during the hard times of the Great Depression. Money was scarce, but business was booming for these entrepreneurs who offered a delicious hot meal on a bun for only a nickel. The famous Chicago Style Hot Dog was born! They’d start with a Vienna Beef hot dog, nestle it in a steamed poppyseed bun and cover it with a wonderful combination of toppings: yellow mustard, bright green relish, fresh chopped onions, juicy red tomato wedges, a kosher-style pickle spear, a couple of spicy sport peppers, cucumber and finally, a dash of celery salt. This unique hot dog creation with a “salad on top” and its memorable interplay of hot and cold, crisp and soft, sharp and smooth, became America’s original fast food and a true Chicago institution.