Independence Day and hot dogs

First of all, I prefer the older reference, “Independence Day.” The Fourth of July is merely a date. “Independence Day” gives it true meaning. After all, we do not call Christmas the “25th of December.” We do not refer to Martin Luther King Jr. Day as the “15th of January,” or Presidents Day as the “Third Monday of February.” That would make no sense and would strip the holidays of their meaning. Thank God Thanksgiving floats—so we can’t replace the name with a date.

(Speaking of Presidents Day, that one annoys me. We used to celebrate Washington’s and Lincoln’s birthdays on two separate days. That seemed more appropriate since, by most measures, they are our greatest and most significant presidents. Now they’re lumped in with the likes of James Buchanan and William Henry Harrison, who lasted only one month in office. Bunching Washington and Lincoln in with the other 43 presidents feels more like an insult than an honor. But I digress.)

Independence Day is both a patriotic holiday and a social event. Over time, it has become less patriotic and more social. Many community parades have been abandoned. (I don’t recall a parade in Chicago for years.) They are now mostly found in small towns and suburban communities. Many fireworks displays have been downgraded or eliminated for “safety reasons.” Sousa marches have been replaced by rap. And the iconic fireworks music? Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture – which, ironically, celebrates Russia’s defeat of Napoleon.

Unfortunately, patriotism is a downer these days. We do a terrible job of teaching civics and American history in our government-run schools—if we teach it at all. Those on the left burn the flag, kneel for the National Anthem (which has been dropped from many occasions), and refuse to say the Pledge of Allegiance (also dropped from many schools and events). We are loath to honor the men and women who have defended our liberty – many giving “their last full measure of devotion.” We recently saw the left demean the 250th anniversary of the United States Army—an Army that was first formed to fight for independence. Without a patriotic bond, we’ve drifted from E Pluribus Unum toward a confederation of tribes.

But there is still some joy to be found in celebrating Independence Day. It is now more of a cultural holiday than a patriotic one. It’s a day of picnics and backyard barbecues.

Most holidays have their special foods. Thanksgiving has the turkey. Christmas, the ham (replacing the once-iconic goose), and Easter, the lamb. In terms of food, Independence Day reigns supreme with… the hot dog.

I have always considered the hot dog nature’s most perfect food. Every food group known to man can be found on that special bun—unless you’re one of those who doesn’t dress it properly.

My fondness for the quintessential hot dog may stem from my Austrian ancestry on my father’s side. In its day, the hot dog was called a “wiener.” If you’re a true hot dog lover, you’ll be able to sing the Oscar Mayer Wiener song. (“Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener…”) As a child, I even had a toy version of the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.

If the hot dog weren’t the American food, why would we have a contest in which the champion consumes more than 70 of them in 10 minutes? I don’t know of any hamburger-eating contests.

Like everything else, there is controversy. It has to do with ketchup. Those of us who grew up in Chicago (like me) believe that ketchup and a hot dog should never appear on the same table at the same time. In fact, we have hot dog vendors in Chitown who refuse to apply the red stuff. My local vendor displays signs with a red circle and slash over a ketchup bottle. And if you request it, he gives you packets of ketchup and tells you not to add it to the dog while on his property. Really.

I am buoyed by Pope Leo.  As a Chicagoan, I am hoping he will add ketchup on a hot dog as a sin – just a venial sin, of course.

Alas… I will lament the loss of patriotism while indulging in some number of hot dogs. And with that, I hope you have a wonderful Fourth of—oops—Independence Day.

So, there ’tis.

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