When Costco first arrived in America, it was seen only in large populous areas. My sister, who lives in the D.C. area, became instantly obsessed. This is such a widespread phenomenon that it should have a name: The Costco Effect. My daughter is afflicted, and anyone who has ever set foot in the place seems to concur.
One of the things that thrilled my sister with her brood of five was the Costco hot dog. They would make a weekly pilgrimage there and stock up extra fridges and freezers, always topped off with a trip to the lunch counter.
I have sneered at this practice so much that when a caller to the radio show (airs weekdays 2-4pm on WGSO 990AM) began to rhapsodize about his Costco hot dogs, I mocked him about it (good-natiuredly of course.)
Then one day, he called and mentioned that I had shamed him out of this special treat. I apologized enthusiastically and begged his forgiveness, insisting that he return to the practice that brought him such joy and just eat the darn thing. It has become a running joke where he stokes my well-deserved guilt.
Then a wine enthusiast regular caller weighed in on this recently, saying that our banter caused him to try it, and he was a convert. I promised to tag along with my daughter and get one.
I write this from the nation’s capital, where my sister has lived for many years. She was very excited about a surprise dinner plan last evening. She was so excited, I figured it must be good. She doesn’t usually go out to dinner, so it was unusual.
We headed west to Frederick, where I knew the Costco to be, but I brushed that thought away. That couldn’t be her dinner plan, could it?
Indeed, it was. She had heard the story of the caller and the ongoing conversation about this great American passion. It was Hot Dog Day and the beginning of Hot Dog Month, and we had gathered for the great American celebration, so a Costco hot dog seemed to her the perfect way to celebrate. Plus, she wanted to poke at my snobbery.
When we got to the counter, I saw a piece of the puzzle solved. The banner above the window said “Hot Dog and a drink $1.50.”
We each got a dog and sat with small plastic containers of relish and white onion. And I got mustard on it. I have to say it was a very good hot dog. I get it. The caller wine enthusiast was impressed by the flavor and snap of the skin, and I was too. With a Coke, it was a Great American snack, though it was certainly filling. I didn’t need to eat again.
I am humbled, and I would be hushed, but now I need to apologize to the original caller…again.