Man Bites Corndog

Captain Ahab and his white whale. Sir Lancelot and the Holy Grail. Harold & Kumar and White Castle.

Much like these men I too have found myself intrinsically drawn to an elusive and mythical object. Mine was the Pallookaville Corndog Cart.



This fabled Atlanta food truck miraculously materializes at local events, serving up legendary gourmet corndogs. And it's notoriously tough to track down. For ages this roving vendor of fair fare has taunted my taste buds.

After months of idle yearning I finally received an anonymous tip that the Pallookaville cart would be making an appearance at the Decatur Book Festival. I knew what I had to do: I had to go eat a giant corndog and then spend the rest of my Saturday in the fetal position on the couch while watching college football in a fried-batter induced food coma.

So fellow Pallookavile apostle Melissa and I, along with Neil for moral and gastronomical support, left Atlanta on our sacred quest. We knew we may have to fight off hordes of bespectacled Decaturites at the Book Festival, but if we could only reach Pallookaville everything would be all right. We would then be able to use the leftover wooden corndog sticks as rudimentary stabbing weapons as we fought our way back to Neil's Jetta.

Luckily, we would encounter no violence along the way. Instead we followed our noses towards the smell of fried, impervious to the literary bounty that surrounded us. Suddenly the skies parted and a light from the heavens shone down upon the object of our odyssey. One final tribulation stood in our path, the cart was apparently guarded by a heavily-tattooed, gargantuan-bearded man beast.


[Would you buy meat on stick from this man?]

As fate would have it, this was a gentle giant. And he came bearing corndogs. Sweet, delicious corndogs.

The first step is choosing your meat: an American all-beef frank, keilbasa, or Italian sausage. Next pick from 4 homemade cornbread batters: classic, cheddar, jalepaño or bacon. I opted for an updated classic: all-beef frank double-dipped in cheddar AND jalepeño batter.

I figured that would be a good jumping off point and I could sample the other offerings from there. It seemed reasonable enough at the time. After all, I did take down a full yard of corndogs at the fabled Florida State Fair of '99. An event which still lives in infamy.

What I was unprepared for was the sheer monstrosity of this double-dipped dog. It took two solid and delicious bites to make my way through the cornbread before I could attain the frankfurter. But alas, I persisted. By the end I was rendered essentially comatose. With warm grease coursing through my veins, it was all I could do to clumsily totter back to the vehicle. Triumphant.



[I am not known for having a small head.]