LA banning the Street Dog as we know it?
The LA Street Dog is an institution don’t fuck with my people los angeles.
As she speaks, a customer approaches, peering at her meat bin. “No bacon?”
“No bacon,” Palacios sighs apologetically, in accented English. “They don’t let me.”
She means police and L.A. health-department inspectors, but the customer doesn’t need much explanation: He moves on. She turns and cocks her head, as if to say, See?
Not quite Mexican and not quite American, the bacon-wrapped hot dog, like the city that so fervently embraces it, has a curious romance about it. You can smell one from blocks away. The grilled bacon, twisted around a wiener, is topped with grilled onions and a mountaintop of diced tomatoes, ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise. Then one whole grilled green poblano chile is plopped impossibly on top. You take a bite and think, This is so good, no wonder it’s illegal!
