Kyle Nabilcy
A loaded Chicago dog.
You’d be forgiven for wondering how anyone could have a favorite Chicago-style hot dog, when the recipe is so indelibly prescribed by years of tradition. And yet, people have their favorite portrayals of the singular James Bond or the eponymous regenerating time-traveler of Doctor Who, and I have the Chicago dog at Lil’ Buddy’s in Oregon.
Lil’ Buddy’s is a hot dog and popcorn joint, one that’d be at home on a boardwalk along a beach full of vacationers about to drop twenty bucks on an embarrassing caricature of their teenager, but instead it’s snuggled up to beautiful downtown Oregon’s Waterman Triangle Park at 201 Janesville St. The shop is crammed more full of pop culture references than my prose. There’s a chili dog, and a mac and cheese dog, even an Italian beef that I tell myself I’ll order some day — if I can ever break away from the Chicago dog.
Pickle spear, tomato, peppers, neon relish, mustard, celery salt, never any ketchup. You know the drill. “Dragged through the garden.” The bun sets it apart; the things never break down, even under drippy toppings. I don’t know if they hold it at just the right temperature/moisture level to stave off structural letdown or what, but my regular order is one Chicago dog and one slaw dog (slaw, chili, mustard) and they both tend to remain, improbably, intact.
There are other good, even great, Chicago dogs in town, but Lil’ Buddy’s is mine. It’s perfect.
