It wasn’t long ago we were asked to swallow the idea of a gourmet burger that’d set you back all of seven quid WITHOUT chips, but this daylight robbery pales in comparison to the latest idiotic nonsense to be thrust on us by ‘the London food scene’. Please allow me to introduce… GOURMET HOT DOGS.
You could, if you were an absolute cunt, call them ‘haute dogs’, but for now can we just not.
This high-class hot dog nonsense is, of course, the brainchild of that contemptible wave of street food vendors currently scraping things like ‘burnt ends’ and other make-believe foodstuffs out of bins in order to dish them up in an entirely ironic way to hordes of hungry checked shirts at some clapped-out warehouse in Dalston.
“But, why do you hate them so?” I hear you cry, blissfully unaware of the arrogance of the new bangers on the block.
It’s their bizarrely inflated sense of self-importance, to tell you the truth. I just can’t get past the pretension of these greasy bastards. Look at them, strutting around street food markets in their gingham paper-jackets, dripping sweaty juices from the bearded chins of Hackney’s finest hipsters, their noses-upturned, their little sausage toes perfectly pointed. It’s enough to turn the stomach.
Despite their assertions to the contrary, the new wave of ‘gourmet hot dogs’ are only marginally better than the troop of beige, flaccid things that have been slopping salmonella all over the streets of Leicester Square for the past ten years. So I’m sorry, darling dogs, but someone’s got to say it… Gourmet food you ain’t.
It’s not just the street food devotees that are talking about gourmet hot dogs like they’re a real thing, either. There now exists a HOT DOG RESTAURANT where they serve hot dogs with Champagne which is like totally lolz, is it not? The juxtaposition! What a HOOT.
Give me strength.