Chili Slaw Dogs Prove West Virginia is Worth Fighting For

Morrison’s Drive Inn
126 Stollings Ave.
Logan, WV




Socialists like Barack Obama hate people who work for a living.

I mean, if you are one of those folks who has a job and can afford to make a living, provide three meals a day for your kids, scrape together the rent or mortgage every month and pay your own cell phone bill…

…who the hell needs Obama?

And that is a problem…

…if you are Barack Obama.

Which is about the best conspiracy theory I can come up with to explain Obama’s War on Coal.

West Virginia is the only state in the union that can be utterly destroyed by killing just one industry.

Come down here to the hills and hollows of Logan County West Virginia and you will understand what I’m talking about.

Except for the car hops at Morrison’s Drive Inn and a few McDonald’s burger flippers and Wal-Mart grocery baggers out by the four-lane, coal is far and away the one source of cold hard cash -- and liberty from government dependence -- the hard working folks in Logan County have.

So naturally Obama wants to destroy coal -- and the people of West Virginia -- who gave him barely one third of the vote last year.

His EPA regulations have already shut down 411 American coal fired electrical plants in America and are estimated to result in the closure of hundreds more over the next few years, which currently produce 40% of America’s electricity.

Through rules, regulations and carbon taxes, Obama aims to reduce that percentage to as close to zero as possible, putting thousands of West Virginians out of work -- and onto the welfare rolls.

Which is exactly where Obama wants them.

After all, these West Virginians are the same hard working folks Obama derisively claimed were shunning Democrats because they were “clinging to their guns and their religion” -- despite all the free goodies Obama was offering them.

This is Obama’s final strategy to win them over. Destroy their livelihood and make them dependent upon food stamps, Obama phones and welfare checks signed by Obama and his minions in Washington DC.

Now, I know what you are thinking.

You are thinking, “Okay, Suit757, enough with the Sean Hannity anti-Obama rant and get on with telling me about those famous West Virginia chili slaw dogs. Besides, all Obama is trying to do is save the world from global warming.”

But if you really believe that, I have one thing to tell you…

…as they might say down here in Logan County…

…“bless your heart.”

Dude, get a clue.

Do the math.

The United States of America has roughly 300 million people. That is just 4% of the population of the world.

If Barack Obama could shuttle every last one of us off into a FEMA extermination camp and wipe America off the face of the earth, it would hardly put a dent into global carbon emissions.

China and India alone account for over a third of the entire world’s carbon emissions.

China burns five times as much coal as the U.S.

And guess what?

They ain’t going to comply with the same rules and regulations Obama is imposing on his own country.

Oh, and by the way, even with a glut of domestic natural gas and rock bottom prices, coal is still far and away the cheapest way to boil water and churn the massive turbines that create the electricity to power the lights in your house -- and in the White House.

And it always will be -- if Obama would just let the miners, truckers and engineers of southern West Virginia do their jobs.

But it’s not all work and no play in Coal Country.

A highlight of any trip to West Virginia is a tray full of chili slaw dogs.

Yes. Slaw.

As in cole slaw.

I know it sounds weird. I thought so the first time I ventured into West Virginia coal country down in Mercer County as a naïve suit in his early 20s.

You are going to put cole slaw on my hot dog?

Yes.

I haven’t regretted the decision yet.

Morrison’s Drive Inn here just outside of Logan has been serving them to hard working locals since 1948.

Morrison’s still offers up efficient old fashioned carside service.

From the moment I put my rental Dodge Hemi pick-up into park, to the moment I honked my horn and the friendly car hop hauled away my empty tray, was a grand total of eleven minutes.

Which was good because that’s about all I had to spare to make my flight out of Charleston Airport over an hour away.

But it was the best eleven minutes of my day.

Wrapped in clear cellophane, the hot dog buns are steamy soft stuffed with a nice wiener topped with mustard, chopped onion, spicy chili and creamy slaw.

Morrison’s dogs are a perfect kaleidoscope of flavors and textures. Crunchy, creamy, sweet and savory. In every bite.

You get the feeling that the exact ratio of ingredients and condiments is a carefully followed formula -- and a closely guarded Logan County secret.

The homemade onion rings were crunchy with the ideal fried-breading-to-onion ratio.

As one of the only non-chain restaurants around, Morrison’s looks like it has a loyal clientele of hard working locals.

These are the folks who are going to save West Virginia from a man who has never held a real job in his life.

The folks who come to Morrison’s Drive Inn and munch on chili slaw dogs, fried chicken and onion rings want work -- not welfare.

In fact, workers in Logan County have died for the right to work. Literally.

Just ask the family of Eddie York.

When the United Mine Workers forced their members out on strike here in Logan County in the 1990s, Eddie York wasn’t even a member of the union.

He was just doing his job. Driving a truck. Making a delivery into a mine just a few miles from here. Providing for his family.

For that, he was shot in the head by a UMW militant and slumped over his steering wheel.

The union thugs pelted the rescue workers with rocks when they rushed to Eddie York’s aid.

But it didn’t matter.

Eddie York was killed instantly.

Murdered in cold blood in front of hundreds of UMW witnesses -- for the crime of working for a living.

Thanks to an exemption in federal law for prosecution of union violence, the only charges brought against the murderer were for “Incapacitating a Driver.”

What did the United Mine Workers leadership have to say about the role their thugs had in taking Eddie York’s life?

When asked about the incident, the president of the UMW was quoted in the Virginian Pilot newspaper stating, “If you light a fire and stick your finger in the flame, common sense says you are going to get burned.”

So who was this unsympathetic union boss condoning murder?

His name is Richard Trumka.

He is now head of the AFL-CIO and is Barack Obama’s largest benefactor. He has visited the White House more than any other American.

In the last election, Trumka funneled $1.7 billion (yes, billion) in union dues from the paychecks of workers in places like Logan County to help elect none other than Barack Obama -- the man who is trying to put all those workers out of a job.

And to add insult to injury?

Because West Virginia is not a Right to Work state, all those union mine workers are required by law to pay those dues as a condition of employment.

What a freaking racket.

As Travis Tritt once eloquently sang, “They’re billing me for killing me.”

As you can tell, I get pretty fired up about this stuff.

If we lose our cheap domestic energy powered by coal, we lose the whole state of West Virginia.

And while my personal feeling is West Virginia never should have yielded to the threat of federal firepower and split from the Commonwealth of Virginia in the first place, I still respect folks who are willing to work hard for a living.

And I love West Virginia chili slaw dogs.

So I think West Virginia is worth fighting for.

What do you think?

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Blowing My Cover for a Half Smoke

Ben’s Chili Bowl
1213 U St., NW
Washington DC




No one knows who Suit757 is.

I think my mom has some suspicions, but even she doesn’t know for sure.

Why all the cloak-and-dagger mystery?

Dude, have you been watching the news lately?

NSA spying. FBI drones. CIA waterboarding. Gestapo IRS agents targeting conservatives.

You’ve heard about the Homeland Security “No Fly List”? How do you think that would work with Suit757’s travel schedule?

Yeah. I’m not taking any chances.

So I was a little nervous about eating at Ben’s Chili Bowl.

No, not because Suit757 is a white guy looking for chili dogs along Washington DC’s “black Broadway.”

Heck, thanks to the combination of urban gentrification, the gluttonous bloat of the federal government, Ben Bernanke’s money printing and skyrocketing real estate costs, there are as many white yuppie bureaucrats and Hill staffers populating U Street these days as native black folks.

Nope. I was nervous about blowing my cover.

What if I bumped into Barack Obama and he found out about my subversive clandestine activities while cruising the country for spicy junk food?

Could an IRS audit or TSA enhanced body cavity search be far behind for Suit757?

Nahhhh.

Our President would never use the federal bureaucracy to attack his political opponents like some Third World banana republic dictator.

Right?

Ummm. Yeah, right.

See? Just because Suit757 is paranoid doesn’t mean Obama isn’t really out to get me.

So while I was really excited to check out Ben’s Chili Bowl’s famous hot dogs and half smokes, I was on the lookout for Ben’s most famous patron, President Obama.

Obama famously stopped by Ben’s in 2009 just before his first inauguration.

Ever since, this black culinary institution in our nation’s capital has been inextricably linked to America’s first black president.

A sign by the cash register states in no uncertain terms: “Bill Cosby and President Obama and family eat free. Everyone else pays.”

Hilariously, a bumpkin tourist on a visit to the White House used his once-in-a-lifetime 5 seconds of conversation with Michelle Obama to ask this profoundly important question:

“Um. Hi.  Where can I find Ben’s Chili Bowl?”

Obviously not a follower of Suits in Strange Places.

While Michelle seemed a little thrown off by the directions request, I could have pointed him to Ben’s by telling him to follow the savory smell of simmering chili and spicy sausages browning on the grill by the front door.

Famous for its “half smoke” sausage, Ben’s ladles a delicious thick chili packed with peppery seasoning over the browned meat tube.

As its name implies, the sausage has a faint smoky flavor perfectly complimented by the punch of the chili.

The hot dog is top notch too with a slight spicy kick.

Chili dogs are among life’s greatest pleasures. But when you upgrade the components the way Ben’s does, you can see why it attracts the attention of the world’s most powerful man.

So by all means, if you are in our Capital city, I encourage you to stop by Ben’s Chili Bowl and enjoy one of the greatest sausage/chili combos of your lifetime.

But if you find yourself at the lunch counter rubbing shoulders with Barack, please do me a favor.

Don’t tell him Suit757 sent you.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

 

My Ode to the Hot Dog

New Way Lunch
21 South St.
Glens Falls, NY




“Suit757, what is your obsession with hot dogs?”

I’ve actually gotten that question from a few loyal Suits in Strange Places readers.

If one of my fellow suits posed that question, their suit credentials would be immediately revoked.

Are you kidding me?!?!

The hot dog is one of man’s greatest inventions. Right up there with dollar beer night, Goody’s headache powders and that outfit Scarlett Johansson wore to the Golden Globes a few years ago.

If you don’t believe me, check out the wieners being served at New Way Lunch way up in the frozen tundra of Upstate New York.

Simple pink little dogs smothered in that wonderful symphony of flavors that is raw onions and meaty chili, the lowly hot dog has been the main attraction at this little lunch counter since 1919.

Hot dogs get a bum rap.

Food elitists see them as nothing more than pre-formed nitrated processed scraps of meat deemed not worthy enough for more well-connected meat products.

But we 99 percenters, who appreciate the inner beauty of these tubes of meat, recognize the versatility of America’s favorite culinary pastime.

My hot dog obsession started when I was a kid.

This won’t come as a big surprise to you, but young Suit757 wasn’t a big fan of fruits, vegetables or anything my mother might consider remotely healthy.

When I was hungry, a hot dog or two wrapped in a paper towel, zapped for a minute in the microwave and stuffed into a soft bun with a squirt of ketchup was mealtime nirvana.

While modern science might reject the possible survivability of a pure processed meat diet, it is a fact that my hot dog intake actually increased substantially in college.

Free from the shackles of parental oversight, a two dollar pack of hot dogs, a 99 cent package of buns and a case of cheap Keystone Beer (non-union) was an ideal college kid grocery list, considering my priorities at the time.

But as satisfying as a nuked Oscar Myer can be in a pinch, there is no doubt that hot dog cuisine can be elevated to a much higher plane depending on such variables as cooking method, toppings and even location.

Everything tastes better roasted over a charcoal grill, hot dogs especially. Fire, danger and the great outdoors instantly transform a functional exercise like lining your stomach with processed meat prior to a night of beer drinking into a festive backyard event.

Hot dogs just taste better sitting outside in the sunshine, beer in hand, whether it’s your backyard cookout or behind home plate at Spring Training.

I think it was Humphrey Bogart who once said, “A hot dog at a ball game is better than a fillet at the Ritz.”

Well, said, Humphrey. Well said.

Part of the appeal of hot dogs is that they are so convenient and fun to eat.

One of the greatest moments of my life was at one of my friend’s bachelor parties that began with a Washington Nationals game at old RFK Stadium. Somehow one of the attendees knew someone who knew someone who knew the guy who owned the company that catered the ballpark.

Within moments of the last out, this fellow party-goer appeared with a wide grin on his face – and a box of four dozen unsold ballpark hot dogs that moments earlier had been selling for five bucks a piece. Free!

I’ll never forget my euphoria. Just like winning the lottery.

I spend hours each day dreaming about sitting at the ball park devouring that hot dog of my dreams.

But here I was with a virtual limitless supply splayed out on RFK concrete floor right before my eyes!

“Now that’s a cheap dinner,” I kept exclaiming as we all stood in the concourse devouring our newfound honey pot of RFK wieners, which conveniently allowed us all to bypass that annoying “getting something to eat” exercise before moving on to the evening’s more exciting planned activities.

Cheap, convenient, portable.

But what really elevates the hot dog to roadfood destination dining is its diversity as a delivery vehicle for delicious topping combinations.

Cheese, chili, onions, mustard, ketchup, peppers.

Even bacon and pastrami. I mean, what could be better to add to your processed meat -- than even MORE processed meat?!

The delicious options are almost limitless.

But not at New Way Lunch. Your options are limited to mustard, raw onion and a chili that is really just of concoction of finely ground beef and spices.

But it’s a formula that has been working for nearly a century.

The crunch of the onions and the spice of the meat sauce help to camouflage the fact that the tiny pink dogs served here aren’t anything special.

On this frigid winter day, I ordered a cup of chili on the side, which is nothing like the topping on the dogs.

Infused with tomato, beans, big chunks of meat and just enough spice to warm my frozen bones, the chili is bright red compared to the dark brown hot dog topping.

Unfortunately, the new modern lunch room built in 2006 lacks the century old charm of the original location across the street.

But I guess living up to its name, New Way had to change with the times, even if its most popular menu item never does.

That’s the beauty of hot dogs. It’s something those one percenters will never get.

Like Scarlett Johansson’s fashion sense, hot dogs will never go out of style.

Rating: Would Wear A Free Shirt.

Green Grass and Spicy Chili Dogs Forever

Pat’s Hubba Hubba
24 North Main St.
Port Chester, NY



New York City is full of strange paradoxes.

Like how some people actually voluntarily choose to live here.

Like how if you walk down any sidewalk in Queens you will hear every language known to man – except English.

Like how it is perfectly legal for men to marry men, but you go to prison for two years if you accidently shoot yourself in the leg.

Or like how the leafy, hoity-toitiest suburbs northeast of New York are such a hot bed for America’s ultimate blue collar junk food: the hot dog.

Or like how chili dog parlors all over America name their delicacies after a Brooklyn amusement park.

I could go on and on.

But the strangest paradox to a junk food road warrior like me is how if you want a chili dog in Houston, you have to ask for a “Coney Island.” But if you want one in New York, it’s a “Texas hot” you’re looking for.

Weird.

I’m sure it has something to do with marketing – and the old “grass is always greener” theory.

Have you ever noticed how everyone thinks the town they grew up in is totally lame? No matter how cool that town happens to be?

I feel sorry for kids who grow up in really cool places like Charleston, La Jolla or New Orleans.

Think about.

Like all teenagers, they desperately yearn to break free from the lame-ass chains that bind them to their home town – only to discover that every other town in America…

…is even lamer.

That must be REALLY depressing.

To a Texan, maybe “Coney Island” conjures up fun-filled Ferris wheel images of a bustling metropolis far to the north.

To a New Yorker, there’s nothing more exotic than Texas.

Well, except maybe for Boston.

For decades now, Hubba’s has been serving “Texas hots” just a stone’s throw from the Byram River that separates New York from Greenwich, Connecticut – one of America’s richest zip codes.

Right here in a five foot wide dive whose décor consists of dollar bills stapled floor to ceiling and a scattering of paper plates with hand scrawled menu items.

But almost nobody orders anything but one menu item – Hubba’s world famous “Texas hot”.

And when they say “hot’, they aren’t kidding. These New Yorkers must think all Texans eat nothing but a steady diet of jalapeño and habenero peppers for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The chili is nothing but browned ground beef mixed up with an explosion of peppery spice. No tomatoes. No onions. No vegetables whatsoever.

Just dead cow and spice. Oh, and lots and lots of grease.

I’m talking spice that makes your lips sting and your nose run.

The kind of spice that makes you instinctively reach for your beer after every bite.

But, alas, Hubba’s doesn’t serve beer.

In fact, Hubba’s is more famous as the kind of place you go to late at night – when you are done drinking beer. That’s why it stays open until 5am.

That spice alone should sober you up.

The hot dogs that are slathered with this incendiary chili are top notch, split open and pressed on the griddle until crispy and brown – a perfect complement to the wallop of spice.

As I swallowed my last bite and admired the pool of grease left over on my paper plate and tried to quench the fire in my mouth with Hudson River tap water, I thought a little deeper about my “grass is always greener” theory.

Part of what makes my gig as a Suit in Strange Places so much fun is that I can appreciate the coolness of every nook and cranny of this great country of ours.

I mean, I can actually get excited about eating grease-dripping “Texas hots” in some phone booth-sized dive in the suburbs of New York City.

But you know what? That deep sense of appreciation comes naturally when you grew up in one of the single lamest places in America.

Yep. Like every other teenager on the planet, young Suit757 couldn’t wait to break free of his Yankee prison of lameness.

And unlike those poor kids who grew up in Charleston, La Jolla and New Orleans, I haven’t been disappointed a moment since my escape!

On to greener pastures!

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Chili Dog Autopsy Pizza???

Bella Pizza
6709 Park Ave.
Allen Park, MI


I hate Detroit.

There is absolutely NOTHING redeeming about this rust-belt, union-dominated, burned-out hell-hole of a city.

That is, except, chili dogs.

Or “Coney Islands”, as they call them here.

Look, as Suit757, I’ve been to every city in America. I can rank them from one to one hundred.

Detroit is DEAD last. Numero infinity. The very last place on earth I want to be stranded over a holiday weekend.

Amid the smoldering ruins, charred cinder blocks and hoards of Obama legions collecting their 99 weeks of pay in exchange for NOT working (and their vote in 2012), the only thing to look forward to in this Third World outpost is a world famous chili dog at Lafayette Coney Island or it’s next door rival, American Coney Island.

Here’s the problem.

Tonight is Major League Baseball All-Star Game Night.

One of the few Suit757 must-see sporting events of the year. Right up there with the Super Bowl, Daytona 500, March Madness and the Hooters Dream Girls Swimsuit Quarterfinals.

Nope. Sorry, my loyal Suits in Strange Places readers, I’m not going out tonight.

I’m swinging by the local liquor store for a six-pack and sitting my butt in front of the snowy Best Western TV in room 164. And calling for pizza delivery.

The helpful front desk clerk even gave me a menu from Bella Pizza, the local pizza joint down the street, which I perused as the All-Stars were introduced.

It didn’t take me long to figure out what Suit757 was ordering tonight.

Coney Island Pizza.

Wow!

I think I’ve died and gone to junk food heaven.

A classic Detroit Coney Island chili dog – served as a pizza!

Could it be?

Do miracles happen? In Detroit??

I was about to find out.

Even if my Coney Island Pizza was a disaster, I had a six pack of Celis Grand Cru by local microbrewery Michigan Brewing Company to keep me satisfied through nine innings of double-switches and pitching changes. (Who the hell decided that 84 major leagers deserved to be “All-Stars” any way?)

The brew is a high alcohol Belgian-style beer with a typical sweet, fruity taste that is more conducive to sipping than chugging.

You know the whole “beer to have when you are having more than one?”

Yeah. This ain’t it.

Good thing Bella delivered that pizza just in time for the Seventh Inning Stretch.

Did the Bella Coney Island Pizza meet my heightened expectations?

Blown. Away.

Like Bella did an autopsy on a traditional Detroit Coney Chili Dog and smothered its remains all over a chewy pizza crust.

Picture this. Sliced up hot dogs and caramelized onions buried under a blanket of cheddar cheese served up over a thick bed of meaty Coney Island chili sauce.

It tasted like one of the best Coney Island chili dogs you’ll ever have – but served up on a toasty slice of pizza.

If Bella Pizza ever goes public, I want in on the I.P.O.

In fact, my Coney Island Pizza was so good, I might even reconsider my opinion of Detroit as the most godforsaken place in America.

“Mo Town” may be the ultimate home to taxpayers bailouts, “hip hop mayors” serving jail time and “job banks” of UAW members being paid six figures NOT to work, but they sure know how to get creative with the toppings on twelve inches of pizza dough.

Chopped up hot dogs and chili on pizza, Belgian-Michigan beer and the American past-time – from the inside of room 164 at the Best Western, Detroit’s not looking so bad after all!

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.