Hate On Style Readers! I'm Having a Hot Dog

Well, the haters are back and all because I had the temerity to complete an assignment for Style Weekly.

When Style asked me to write an essay about dining out alone, I did, here. You see, I'm a freelance writer and I write for pay, so I write what I'm paid to write, unlike the blog where I get to choose my topics. And that's apparently what ignited the posters' ire.

The story had barely shown up online before the haters reared their ugly and anonymous heads. Issac summed it up well: "F**k 'em. Trolls hang out in the comments section every week. Tell them to ask for a refund if they aren't happy."

And why is it that negative commenters never have the nerve to use their real names? Tess had a theory: "The trolls do protest too much methinks. Sigh...Anonymity is such a cowardly thing to hide behind when you only have negative things to say. If they were TRULY uninterested in you, then they wouldn't even read your blog/articles. The fact that they're even commenting shows their interest. Bam."

Several people agreed with Enzo, who said, "Adhere to the philosophy of: if you're not pissing off somebody (especially as a writer), you're not doing your job properly."

If he's right, I'm doing a damn fine job at this, especially considering I was just completing an assignment.

It was with that brouhaha festering that I took flight tonight despite the snowfall and messy streets to find a welcoming place to eat and drink and forget about such nonsense.

Bistro Bobette welcomed me in from the cold and wet and provided a lovely respite from the online fracas. There were only two other tables occupied when I arrived, but other sanctuary-seekers continued to arrive throughout the evening (including a local restaurateur who came over to say hello).

Wine was the first order of the night and the well-balanced and spicy 2007 l'Appel des Sereinas Syrah was just the thing to take the sting out of the haters' comments.

I'd come with a purpose; I wanted to eat the hot dog I'd so enjoyed bites of at BB's recent party. Called Bob's Dog, it's only available at lunch or at the bar, so I was in the right place to finally partake of it as the chef intended.

That would mean his own recipe was used by the masters at Sausagecraft to produce a hot dog so unlike any other hot dog you've ever put in your mouth. Nestled in a baguette, it was dressed with harissa mustard with melted Gruyere on top. A mound of frites cozied up next to the dog.

When I asked the chef why he used Gruyere, he said simply, "Because I grew up with it." Hey, it's his creation, so he can make any executive decision he likes.

The hot dog was sheer heaven. It could have been naked and it would still have been outstanding, but surrounded by that baguette, slathered in spicy mustard and covered in melted cheese, it bordered on a religious experience. I used the frites to cool the heat from the mustard.

My server had come out from the kitchen and said, "Seeing him make yours makes me want one." I had responded with, "What do you think is going to happen when you see me eating it?"

Music was courtesy of Pandora with Thievery Corporation as a starting point, and I was enjoying the mix,but it soon became unacceptable to the staff.

It was switched to Buena Vista Social Club as the launch and one server said, "Nothing like Spanish music in a French restaurant," to which I responded, "And while I eat a hot dog." It was truly a multi-cultural experience.

For a change, I was all alone at the bar, but eventually the chef came out and joined me for wine and discussion of fish (red mullet, Dover sole and smoked bluefish), the power of DC critics (we both know one) and Restaurant Week (like me, he agreed that it should be moved to January or August, when local restaurants really need the business).

The syrah was calling for chocolate, so I asked for the croustillant, a flaky chocolate crust covered in a dark chocolate mousse. One of the servers walked by and noted, "I bet those two are good together." Yes, ma'am, they are.

Best of all, I hadn't given a second thought to my online enemies while I was enjoying so much good food and drink. That's the power of a great hot dog; it pushes everything else right out of your head.

But driving home, I began to wonder what new criticism would await me. Instead, Dave expressed bewilderment, "I can't for the life of me figure out why anyone would hate a blog about simply living life, eating great food, seeing great music, conversing with friends and strangers, and enjoying what our city has to offer..."

I'd have thrown my arms around him if he'd said that to my face at that point. You can hate me all you want, but all I'm trying to do is point out what a great place this is to enjoy life.

No doubt that statement will garner me even more haters. Oh, well.