Peregrination: (v) to travel or traverse. The “American Heritage Dictionary” defines it as “to journey or travel from place to place.”
Last year, in pre-COVID times, I travelled out to Leicester for a hot dog.
BTW, it’s pronounced ‘Less-ta.’
Leicester always ranks high on the lists of Massachusetts towns with names that out-of-state people can’t pronounce correctly. Leicester is almost always No. 2 just below the number No. 1 trip-up for outsiders: Worcester. You know. Wuss-ta! Imagine working for a Leicester business and having to place phone orders all day, and when it comes to providing the address, always having to say, “Leicester, Mass—BUT it’s not spelled like it sounds, it’s L E I C E S T E R.” How many people on the other end of the phone shrug, mutter whatever, and write Lester hoping the 01524 zip code suffices for the UPS guy.
Google knows everything. Go ahead, search for “Lester Mass.” You’ll see how quickly it comes back, “Did you mean Leicester Mass.”
But even I know it’s really pronounced Less-ta!
I was in Leicester so I could drop in on Hot Dog Annie’s and have a hot dog, or more accurately, two hot dogs. One hot dog is never enough. One and done leaves no time to sufficiently enjoy the brown mustard, sweet relish, toasted and buttered bun, and – oh yes, almost forgot – the hot dog. In fact, the hot dog’s only raison d’etre in my book is justifying the roll and condiments. I mean, consider the prime ingredient of a hot dog: pureed pig.
A friend told me that I had to do to Hot Dog Annie’s. She said, “If you’re out around Wuss-ta, ya gotta go to Lessta for Hot Dog Annie’s!” Why? First, because Annie’s hot dogs are the absolute best. Think about it: why would someone recommend a lousy hot dog stand. And secondly, I had to go because she knew Annie, the old woman who ran the place. “She’s a doll. A real spitfire.” My friend said, “It’s not all that much to look at from the road, and don’t go there if you want a hamburger or fried clams or anything, because all she makes is hot dogs. But if you got a hot dog obsession and you’re out there, go there, have a hot dog, and let me know what you think.”
My friend was right. Hot Dog Annie’s came up on me a lot sooner than I’d expected. It was nothing to look at, just a shack painted barn red with front and side entrances and a shaded outdoor picnic area out back. Wasn’t hardly anyone there now, but given the outsized paved parking lot, there must be crowds showing up often enough. That augured well. So many people wouldn’t come for crappy food. I stepped through the side door into a cramped space just large enough for a couple of people to give their order—I guessed service must be pretty quick to keep a line moving.
A menu sign did, contrary to my expectations, offer hamburgers and cheeseburgers, but a glance at the grill showed nothing going on but hot dogs. And I have to admit, seeing what I saw, I wasn’t terribly impressed. A long counter held a pan with a stack of pre-cooked hot dogs, another pan brimming with barbecue sauce, and a third pan with toasted buns. I saw a bowl of chopped raw onion and squirt bottles for ketchup and mustard. A refrigerator in the back stored cans of soda. Precooked food was not what I had expected, not at all what I myself would ever consider boasting about, but what the hell, I ordered two hot dogs, mustard and relish.
“That’ll be four dollars please.”
“Do you take credit cards?” I asked.
The teenage girl behind the counter shook her head. “I’m really sorry, we’re cash only.”
I scrounged in my pocket and pulled out a single, a quarter, and two pennies stained with verdigris. Not at all enough. Not having enough pocket money felt like insult heaped on the injury of my disappointment about this place. I began apologizing and saying I’d have to come back when a woman spoke up from behind me. “Give him his two hot dogs—I’m paying for him!”
I turned around. A middle aged woman smiled graciously. “Have some hot dogs, sir! They’re on me.”
Now, I’ve done this to strangers. I’ve paid for their coffee or cigarettes out of the blue when it was clear they lacked the money, and I’ve pooh-poohed their gratitude, but it wasn’t until this very moment that a stranger had ever done me the kindness. I found myself flustered, embarrassed, and quite speechless. “Thank you!” seemed hardly sufficient.
“You’re very welcome,” The woman said, “It’s my treat! Enjoy your hot dogs!”
And so filled with good spirit, I took my hot dogs—tokens of kindness—out to a picnic table, sat down, and I enjoyed each bite of each hot dog. And I thought to myself, maybe I’ll come back. There are plenty of towns out this way that I’ve yet to visit, and I could stop here along the way and have a hot dog. Maybe I could arrive just as a Little League team was pulling in after a hot and dusty extra inning game—wouldn’t that be fun and noisy? I’d wait patiently at the back of the line, listening to the kids brag about their best at bats, the fathers debating the merits of their fantasy league rosters, the moms sorting out which of them would pick up the kids on Tuesday after practice. After they’d all been served, I’d have two hot dogs. Because one, as you know, is never enough.
Here’s hoping I can get out there next summer!
August 21, 2020 at 11:00AM
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