Chow Time: Hillbilly Hot Dogs

Do you ever go someplace entirely new to you only to get the feeling that somehow you're home?  Where the accumulation of generations' worth of junk is immediately off-putting and comfortably familiar?  Where the jokes are inappropriate, immature, unappetizing, AND entirely hilarious?   Where the food is nothing like "Mama used to make," and that is a good thing?  Hillbilly Hot Dogs in Lesage, WV is the home for which I'd never dared to dream!

I have never posted two "Chow Time" posts in a row, but I am winding up my wild and wonderful West Virginia wingding and I didn't quite plan the sequence as carefully as I might have. 

I told you that I found my home.
Like "A Town Called Odd," I'm unsure if I should be flattered or
offended by the offer of mayorship of Teenie Weenie Land.

Opened in the waning days of the 20th Century, Hillbilly Hot Dogs' appearance belies its mere adolescence; aged outbuildings, rusty farmyard equipment, and weathered vehicles give the facilities the time worn look of a much older hillbilly holler.  While technically it is a restaurant, Hillbilly Hot Dogs is at its core a giant junkyard.  Except for the unctuous aroma of hot dog and french fry oils heavily perfuming the air, a traveler might mistake HHD for the Appalachian interpretation of Sanford and Son.  Not shy of that fact, the management has made the "Junkyard Dog" one of the premiere menu items.  

Just one of the many outbuildings on the premises of Hillbilly Hot Dogs.
I know I have a serious problem when I review this photo and see more than a
 few items that I wish I would have brought home as souvenirs from my trip.

With its tongue firmly entrenched in the hollow of its cheek (parts of the anatomy one really shouldn't think about when eating mystery-meat hot dogs), HHD takes all of the hillbilly stereotypes, embraces them, and makes them digestible for an outsider audience.  

Multiple buses are "dry docked" and repurposed as dining rooms.

At least it's two-ply.

This tree is going places!

We found our seats (in the way back where all the cool kids sit)
but not before picking up a few permanent black markers. 

Every available surface from trash cans, to windows, to weather-beaten
toys is covered in names, dates, quotes, quips, and expressions of love.
We would have gotten in serious trouble writing on the walls when we were kids.
Nevertheless, I will say that I wasn't shy about leaving my mark at HHD.

Do you ever see these plates when you're out and about?
I am always drawn to them but when it comes time to buy
them, for some reason choose to exhibit my most elusive
virtue - restraint.  I figured that signing the plate would
alleviate some of my non-buyer's remorse.

After surveying the premises and making a lasting impression on the walls and windows of a school bus, we made our way to the counter to order our hillbilly grub.  The menu, like the sprawling yard, is extensive and took some time to peruse.  The big challenge is the "Home Wrecker," a fifteen-inch hot dog with everything (and I mean everything) on it.  If a single guest can finish this big dog in under twelve minutes, the Home Wrecker and a prize T-shirt are free (stomach pump NOT included).  We toyed with the idea of ordering one and splitting it amongst our party of four but the last thing I wanted to do was waste time being sick!

At least we were assured that the food would be healthy...

Some crazy french fry concoction
I'm more of a purist.

The Hillbilly Hot Dog
(Mustard, chili, and onions)

The West Virginia Dog
(Chili, onions, and coleslaw)

The Strictly Business Dog
As I've mentioned before, my brother-in-law hails from the great state of Hawaii.
Not wanting to shame the people of his home state, he indulged in a hot dog
topped with that most-misunderstood delicacy, Spam (fried Spam at that).

A corn dog.

Refueling of all varieties takes place at HHD.

Lewd, crude, and disgustingly rude...why didn't I think of that?

It would have been entirely possible, necessary even, to have spent hours combing the grounds of Hillbilly Hot Dogs inspecting all of the accumulated treasures, dilapidated vehicles, and silly signage.  Unfortunately, we had to keep our visit brief as this was my very last stop before winging my way home.

Hillbilly Hot Dogs (Flagship Location)
6951 Ohio River Rd
Lesage, WV
(304)762-2458

www.hillbillyhotdogs.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Signs of the Times: Losing My West Virginity

Confronting one's own prejudices is an odd task.  Realizing that the time was drawing near for me to board a plane to West Virginia (well two planes actually because there are no direct flights from California to West Virginia) to visit my sister's family, I wondered if I was ready for the seed spitting contests, the backwoods fashions, the roadkill cuisine, the hollers, the homemade haircuts, the inbreeding, the all-banjo orchestras, the bare feet, the fascinating (mis)use of the English language in that distinctly-Appalachian accent, the jugs of white lightning, the baby bottles filled with Mountain Dew, the fine layer of coal dust on every surface, the dental disasters, the necks of red, the readiness of firearms, the family feuds, and prejudice itself.  It seemed more than slightly hypocritical to be so terribly concerned with others' prejudices when I clearly had a laundry list of my very own.  I spent much of the flight considering what I had gotten myself into by going to West Virginia and wondering if the stereotypes would be justified.  Our pal, Deke, had done nothing to dispel my preconceived, if totally predicated on Hollywood depictions and cartoons, notions about West Virginia with his musical contribution to The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia, which I watched as mandatory viewing in my Daniel Day Lewis-esque preparation for the role of "Visitor" to their fair state.

Although they'd only been there two months, my sister rolled
up with freshly-minted, West Virginia license plates on her car.
"Wild & Wonderful?"  We'll see about that.
(Source)

Upon leaving the tiny airport in West Virginia's capitol city, I looked around and found immediate beauty; the verdure of the rolling hills was absolutely breathtaking.  Charmed by the southern homes (unlike anything in Southern California's architectural vernacular), with their deep porches, scalloped awnings, and shade trees, I was being taken in by a place that was in the country of my birth but felt so very foreign.  We drove over and back the broad rivers on bridges built by the WPA into landscapes I had never seen before.  We saw names of streets and buildings and towns that were unpronounceable to a tongue raised on secondary Spanish rather than Native American.  We saw so many wonderful signs - neon, engraved, hand-painted, light box, corrugated - that I was reminded of my own credo, "wacky tacky is where you find it."  Almost at once I thought to myself, "I kind of like it here" and in that instant (it doesn't take long), I knew I had lost my West Virginity!

To think that Mt. Hope could have existed with only a handful of partial department
 stores before Aide's "Complete Dept. Store" came along is truly beyond belief.
 Sadly, I think Mt. Hope is once again back in the dark days; Aide's is long gone.

It must be said that I can't stand the flavor of Coke (or any cola for that matter),
but there is something so delicious, refreshing, and fatigue relieving about
advertisements painted on the sides of buildings!

We met a nice husband and wife who remembered this
 building when it was first painted; henceforth, we referred
 to them only as "The OTT Couple."

I am fascinated by secret societies but even more
fascinated by old neon signs.  Add another entry
 into my "Neon by Day" file... 

There is something special about this not-so-special sign.
It has weathered many years on Mt. Hope's main drag and its
steadfastness has been rewarded; no one has ever thought to
 relieve it of duty...a good sign is a good sign.  

It seems like our world refuses to think
 in these shapes and colors anymore.

"Soggy Bottom," that is all.

I live in an area prone to wildfires but I can't

remember the last time I saw Smokey the Bear.

Again with the secret fraternal orders.
There aren't many qualifications one must have to become a Knight of Pythias,
 so it just tickles me that membership is basically guaranteed as long as one
 is not a drug-dealing, professional-gambling Communist.

I can appreciate his ambition, his sacrifice, and his desire to rise
 above a truly unfair lot in life...also his name is "Dick Pointer."

Lewisburg is a little "bougie," but it is
 also historic and quaint...and timely.

Double exposure?
Coca-Cola/Coca-Cola and Gray & Gray Druggists at the True Reformer Building

More Masonic neon

High-class, hillbilly jewelry.

Like the Hatfields & McCoys, this battle rages on.

Dogwood blossoms are always a welcome sight.

Signs that have seen better days are always a plus in my book.

Thanks again, Smokey!

My sis wondered how I even saw a sign painted on this building.
I knew it at once because on the very rare occasion that I drink a
soda pop I prefer it to be Nehi Peach.  We had one local retailer,
Galco's, who stocked it until California's rigid and over-zealous
restrictions against lead contamination banned the importation
of Nehi's glass bottles.  Aargh!!!

Wait a minute? Where are we?

Okay, so I won't be awarding this one a "World's Greatest Sign" mug at the
awards ceremony, but for a state synonymous with the hillbilly lifestyle,
this is one of the very few markers acknowledging West Virginian identity.

Small town theaters are great.
Small town theaters that are still operational are even better!

"Defunct dairy bar," three of the saddest
words in the English language.

I don't even know what The Snake Pit is/was but I was glad to have managed to snap the
 picture before they released the hounds; no sooner had I closed the car door than a couple
 of angry dogs came out to greet me.

A new sign paying homage to the old gets high marks in
our book for keeping with a time-honored tradition.

Familiar face, strange name...It took me a moment to remember that east
 of the old Mississippi, Carls' Jr. is "Hardee's."  Hardee har har!!!

While not technically a sign, I couldn't help but get a kick out of
 a graffito's washable work on the back of a panel truck - crude but fair.

10 WEST VIRGINIA REALITIES (from my perspective):

1. West Virginia has some wonderful signs - rusty, rustic, and sometimes rude, but wonderful.

2. There are more naturally red-headed people there than I have ever seen in all the years of my life combined.

3. Many people speak with an accent but the depth varies.  That said, the stronger the accent the more I love (and try to impersonate) it.

4. West Virginians like their food sweet (even the savory food is incredibly sweet).  It's like many years ago some jokester made his way to every restaurant and filled each salt shaker with sugar; the restaurants, getting no complaints, maintained the shenanigans and the world's oldest practical joke thrives as a culinary tradition.  I would almost believe that except that the sodium level in all the food is enough to bring on instant heart failure as well.

5.  West Virginia is THE smoking section!!!  I thought the "e-cig" was an uber-annoying trend but I'm almost ready to cheer the presence of nicotine-laden water vapor rather than traditional tobacco smoke. (note: I have plenty of friends who smoke but in over-regulated California the number of areas to do so has dwindled to the point where I am almost always treated to simply good, clean smog everywhere I go). 

6. In hillbilly territory, Wal-Mart is NOT the best place for viewing said specimens in their natural habitat. Super Wal-Mart is the go to spot for everyone in town so there is plenty of diversity (read: normal people).

7. Coal mining is still a common career path for West Virginians and coal trains are often seen chugging through the landscape.  If I had to choose, I think I'd prefer to work in a drift mine over a slope or shaft mine any day (yeah, I totally know the difference between mine styles).

8. Mountain Dew is a popular beverage.

As if we needed added incentive...

9. For every hillbilly stereotype that is proven true by a member of West Virginia society (let's be honest, it seems like the White's kin extend far beyond Boone County), there is an equal number of educated, hard-working, thoughtful people who are determined to make a difference in their community (I'm crossing my fingers that this doesn't sound too condescending).
10. The Whites scare me to death...and that's probably the way they like it.

Wild AND wonderful after all.

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

p.s. We have so much more coming from our wacky tacky West Virginia adventures; be sure and stay tuned for all of the fun.