This truly is one of the most exruciatingly wonderfully awful pieces of Americana in existence - indeed, it's been around it was opened in 1946 by a pair of ballroom dancers (since then it closed down briefly in 2005, moved, just slightly, and re-opened). It's on Santa Monica, in West Hollywood, and much though I admire it, I've never, ever been tempted to eat there. Passing it today, on the way back from the dentist, did at least make me consult the menu when I got home. I suppose I could order the vegan chile, presumably on offer as a grudging concession? If I were ever, ever going to eat a hot dog, I think it'd be at Dodger Stadium - though these days I'd pass that over in favor of a fried octopus ball.
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