My first stroll down Bourbon Street was a blur of cheap booze, neon signs, and skin. Awesome, I thought. In case you didn’t know, much of the latter is aggressively displayed to gain “valuable” bead necklaces, which can become more competitive than sport. The beads are status symbols and drunk girls are more than willing to shake, shimmy, and show anything to score a strand of these plastic purple and green gems.

But it’s one thing to see breasts at random and it’s another to find giant hot dogs on every corner of Bourbon Street. It was like experiencing Mardi Gras déjà vu, induced by the twelve dollars worth of two dollar beers I’d been “critiquing” that night. After all, the playwright Oscar Wilde was visited by green fairies during his romps with absinthe, so it’s only fitting that this food podcaster’s hallucinations come in the form of giant floating frankfurters.

Like a parched wayfarer who just spotted an oasis in the distance, I forged through the booze and breasts to find that these roaving redhots were, in fact, real! Naturally, I had to try them. I ordered a Lucky Dog and a smoked sausage and teetered in my happy, muted state while they were prepared.

First came the Lucky Dog. Talk about gorgeous. If a massive hot dog in one hand and a Bud in the other doesn’t scream America, I’m not sure what would. But, sadly, that American Dream vanished as I bit down.

The hot dog itself was a boring, steamed footlong. Forget natural casing – I’m not sure it was natural meat. I ordered mine loaded, so it came crowned with chili, mustard, ketchup, onions, and relish, all of which could have been jacked from a nearby 7-Eleven self-serve topping booth. Nearly everything lacked dimension. But…this is drunk food.

The smoked sausage was a whole heckuva lot better. Its crisp casing and well-spiced filling had a more satisfying texture, which made it almost enjoyable. But salvation came from the bun. In NOLA, food businesses use Leidenheimer French rolls for nearly everything and while I doubt the Lucky Dog buns were by Leidenheimer, they were similar enough. Each bite had just enough chew, mild sweetness, and a soft crumb.

On the whole, I give Lucky Dogs a major pass. They’re not worth a dollar, let alone six. So next time you’re stumbling down Bourbon and trying to cash in your beads for some sustenance, reach for a Po-Boy or some Beignets, but please pass on the pooch.

Know of a better dog in New Orleans? Or anywhere for that matter? Let me know. Post your favorite dog in the comments.

Lucky Dogs
Bourbon Street (map)
New Orleans, LA
luckydogs.us

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