Rutt's Hut

I grew up in Northern New Jersey. Aside perhaps from working the counter at The Varsity, in Atlanta, there is likely no better hot dog atmosphere in which you could grow.

Come, on. My parents went on a double-date to the fabled Rutt's Hut--I have rippers in my blood! (a ripper, for the uninitiated, in the Rutt's Hut lexicon, is a hot dog that has "ripped" open from languishing in the hot oil it is deep-fried in). Hot dogs are typically deep-fried in roadside stands in the northern part of Jersey, and to anyone who grew up on them--there is no dog that compares. A popular variant (as practiced at The Hot Grill), never at Rutt's though, is the "Texas Weiner," a deep-fried dog with mustard, onions, and a truly disgusting but delicious type of chili sauce. My brother, who lives in New Hampshire, is given to reporting to me, when he is in New Jersey, just how many rippers and "weiners" he has ingested. Sometimes I will interrupt my day, "Meet you at Rutts in half an hour," we'll say. It is our particular brand of brotherly bonding.

If you want to go to Rutt's, and everyone should, just take the Lincoln Tunnel, follow Route 3 West for 12 minutes or so, and take the Route 21 exit north, toward Passaic. Get off immediately on the right and double back around--you can't possibly miss Rutt's. Hey, when the people of Clifton heard the state planned to build Route 21, and that they had plans to demolish Rutt's, the fans, the devotees, protested so strongly and so effectively, that the state veered the road around Rutt's, so there it still stands. When you arrive, you will have the choice of standing at the counter in the front (visible through the very dirty glass that encloses it) or eating in the tavern around back. I have only once eaten in the tavern, and that was when a visitor from a foreign land insisted. I eat at the counter, as all Rutt's fanatics do. Don't worry, the dirty windows get you ready for how unruly and seedy the entire experience of the counter truly is.

But oh the hot dogs. I start to salivate on Rte. 21. These are the sine qua non of hot dogs, the north star, the still small dog in the distance. I know all about Ted's and Pink's and Super Duper Weenie--they're terrific (well, with the exception of Pink's which for me is grossly overrated). But these dogs outshine the sun. Quite simply, I do not think they can be improved upon. Listen, the dogs not only infuse the roll with some of the sloughed off oil they've recently been lounging in, and are actually crunchy, but you then face the solemn choice of adorning them with either Rutt's very special mustard, or their home-made relish. I am a purist. I stick solely with the mustard. But I understand, I do, my relish relishing brethren. You do not, however, want to order anything so crudely revealing, say, as a chili dog. Don't do it. Get fries, or the incomparably oily onion rings, or the utterly oily chili--sure. But stick to the experience.

If you love hot dogs, you owe it to yourself. If you have never been to Rutt's, you are missing a vital component of cocktail party trash speak. Go to the temple. Say a little prayer.