My Fourth of July Food Fight is Always a Tasty Success
Sam Venable
Department of Irony
Happens every Fourth of July, as regular as parades, speeches, flag-waving and fireworks. It starts when my brain goes on a rampage: “Oh, c’mon, man! Don’t tell me you’re thinking about this nauseating nonsense again!”
My stomach fires back: “But it’s the Fourth of July!”
Brain: “Doesn’t matter. Anything made out of bottom-of-the-barrel meat scraps and saturated with preservatives, nitrates, sodium, unpronounceable chemicals and heaven-only-knows-what-else can’t be good for you.”
Stomach: “Whoa! Are you un-American?”
Brain: “Not in the least. I just think you should exercise more prudence.”
Stomach: “My prudence evaporated with the first whiff of glowing charcoal.”
Brain: “B-b-b-ut …”
Stomach: “It’s not like this is the end of the world, pal. Besides, can millions of people be wrong?”
Brain: “Well, maybe an exception in the name of patriotism might be permitted.”
Stomach: “Mmmm! Can’t you just taste it now?”
Brain: “(Sigh), you win.”
Stomach: “That’s the spirit! You want mustard, chili, relish and slaw?”
Brain: “OK, but don’t you dare touch that ketchup bottle! Otherwise, the deal is off, and I’m swearing renewed allegiance to tofu.”
That’s how my brain and my stomach celebrate Independence Day every year: with a hot dog. After our initial exchange of unpleasantries, it becomes a mutually enjoyable experience.
Shhh! Don’t tell anyone in charge of my medical records, but last year my brain and my stomach actually shared hot dog(s), as in plural. Three, to the best of collective memories. If the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council is correct, other brain-stomach partnerships from sea to shining sea accounted for roughly 149,999,997 more.
Yep, 150 million is the estimated number of tube steaks Americans consume on the Fourth. If you can’t imagine what 150 million hot dogs look like, the Washington-based NHDSC says that’s enough to stretch from D.C. to Los Angeles.
Five times.
Which makes me wonder (a) if antacid medications also show a July sales spike and (b) has anyone ever considered that five layers of hot dogs might make a better highway surface than asphalt? When you’re doped on dogs, you think all manner of weird thoughts.
Life is full of guilty pleasures, and hot dogs rank high on my list. I know they’re not the healthiest dietary option. And I dang-sure know I don’t want to watch ’em being made. The thought of sitting ringside when meat puree morphs into a hot dog constitutes culinary TMI.
But all is forgiven when one of these savory Jezebels, tenderly tucked in a soft, steamed bun, starts calling my name. Oh, and it all but goes without saying that since it’s the duty of every American to eat hot dogs on Independence Day, it’s also required that leftovers be treated in like manner. So if you’ll pardon my brain and my stomach, they shall tackle this tasty chore like dear old friends.
Happy Fourth feasting!
Sam Venable is an author, comedic entertainer, and humor columnist for the Knoxville (TN) News Sentinel. His latest book is “The Joke’s on YOU! (All I Did Was Clean Out My Files).” He may be reached at sam.venable@outlook.com.