EPISODE ONE: PHIL’S LAST STAND or LET THE DAOWG BLAOWGING BEGIN
Alright. So here’s the deal with this whole thing: David is pretty great, and he really likes hot dogs. So do I. Until March of last year, I had been a vegetarian for 8 years or so (minus a few months of indiscretion—whatever) , and I have a lot of catching up to do. So we’re going to spend the summer eating hot dogs and writing about it. Yay!
Our inaugural hot dog blog visit happened way back in the beginning of April. Taking some time to pretend I had finished working on any one of the five projects I have going on at once, I perused the internet for some new sleeper hot dog hits.
When I saw the logo for Phil’s Last Stand, I knew our quest was over. The owner (Phil. Right.) is wearing a Civil War cavalry captain outfit, unless this is referencing something else. With his right hand he is holding a hot dog and in his left hand he is holding the reins of the smiling fried shrimp he is riding like it’s a shetland pony.
So we head there for dinner on April 6 with guest captain of the hot dog ship Evan Weiss. It’s smoky in there, full of some delicious hot dog fumes. Phil is behind the counter. Evan and I both get their classic char dog with fries, everything on it. David ordered a cheddar char dog. I had stopped paying attention for a minute to put my things down when I heard this booming laughter and a voice shout “WHERE ARE YOU FROM, ANYWAY?” It was Phil. Apparently David had asked what the topping options were and Phil thought it was pretty hilarious. David replies that he’s from Indiana. Phil, deciding he will let it slide, rattles off the classic list: onion, tomato, relish, pickle, mustard, celery salt, sport peppers.
I’ll let it be known at this juncture that I have considered myself in favor of steamed franks as opposed to charred. I love chardogs. I really do. But I just have a preference. In high school I went to my friend Catie Anderson’s house and her dad was steaming some hot dogs he’d purchased from the Paulina Meat market, which is right at Paulina and Lincoln. They were these huge 1/4 LB sausages in a natural casing. They had this perfect snap when you bit into it. The meat inside was slightly garlicky and smoky… we ate ‘em on white buns with onion and mustard. Totally rad. Anyway, my fond little memory has me totally swayed.
Phil’s dogs are split at the end, similar to how Gold Coast does it downtown. The dogs are Vienna Beef in natural casing, and we found them to be charred just enough to have a great grilled taste, but there’s no weird burnt-charcoal thing happening. Poppy bun remained warm and stable throughout. The toppings were fresh and crisp— there’s nothing worse than a wimpy tomato or a bland pickle— and piled high. Deeeelicious.
And the FRIES, you guys. Ho. Lee. Moly. They’re double fried, so they’re super crispy on the outside and warm and fluffy on the inside. David and I agree that it’s like every fry is that best handful of fries you get at the bottom of the bag.
Halfway into my portion I realized they tasted very familiar. I approached Phil to get more ketchup and asked him about his other ventures. Turns out he’s also the owner of Lockdown Bar and Grill, known to me as the site of my epic veg break a year ago. Tuesdays are half off most of the burgs, and even the most suspicious (the Elvis with peanut butter, banana, and bacon) are phenomenal.
I didn’t have the room to try anything else off the menu, but on a later visit with Doctor Nicholas Wakim, Nick let me snag a bit of his shrimp po’ boy (skrampoboy.) Omnomnomnomnom.
In short, I can’t find anything negative to say about Phil’s Last Stand. I’m overwhelmed with the need to stop in again and try everything on the menu. Welch’s Grape is back (hurray!) Phil is as sassy as ever. Hot tip: on the back menu, you can get a dog in a polish, covered with salami mac and cheese and mustard. Hold on to your hats. Or butts.
Lockdown tonight (drool) and Bangers & Lace tomorrow to get David a corn daowg. All is right in the world.
The Twin Cities were amazing to me, and I’m truly grateful to have friends that will let me sleep in their sun room for nearly a week whenever I so desire. I saw two great shows, ate an insane amount of delicious - albeit, unhealthy - food, consumed a ridiculous amount of caffeine and am coming home with 18 new records to listen to. Fuck fiscal responsibility. Friends come first.
Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired
You’ve got dirty hands.
All trees are oaks, and all birds are blue.
Joan of Arc played this last night and it was raaaaaaaaaaad
These dudes killed it last night. Now I just need a Knapsack reunion…
Forget May 1, I become a full-time music writer March 12. Oh, and I begin contributing regularly to A.V. Club in the next couple of weeks too. So, yeah, life is pretty cool.
I’m twenty-two now, but I won’t be for long.
