nonfiction by Conwell Morris
Hotdogs are NOT Sandwiches From Coney Island pushcarts to midwest diners, the frankfurter has become a distinct American icon. For this reason, I find the recent murmurs that a hot dog is nothing more than a sandwich quite appalling. This confusion arises because foods are generally classified based on broad similarities, unlike plants that sprout or bloom and can be defined by the way they grow. Some people will conclude that the hot dog is a sandwich if people believe it is a sandwich. This illusion emerges from the similarity between the two and the so-called subjectiveness of food categorization. But to believe this would be to give a preposterous amount of importance to the common man’s opinion. For many 42
The Talon 2022
people, the difference between fruits and vegetables is whether they are found in yogurt or salad. However, I would not suggest botanists begin classifying plants based on the general consumer. I do not lack sympathy for some of the discomfort caused by these categorizations. Learning that your favorite berries, stone fruits, and melons are a cousin to avocados, cucumbers, and olives can be quite jarring. But in the name of scientific thoroughness, we must leave some room for discomfort in the search for truth. I assert that a hot dog is a hot dog; the bread is simply a delivery
system. Remove the bun from the dog, and the remaining frankfurter is still considered a hot dog. Remove the bread from the sandwich, and you are left with a pile of meat, cheese, lettuce, and––for the more mature audience––mayonnaise. The hot dog bun is merely there to keep the hands clean and add texture, while a sandwich requires two slices of bread. This leads to a separation of dogs from sandwiches. I am someone who will die on a yellow hill of mustard in the great debate of hot dog toppings. However, it is undeniable that franks can have a wide variety of condiments. While
