It’s not All I Eat, Really.

Yesterday I ate the most spectacularly bad hot dog. I know – after Friday’s “What’s the Food in your Cupboard?/How Hungry Are you, Really?” Mash-Up, why would I need more compressed, nitrate-ridden edibles? Well, we went to Westminster Quay.

Yes, I know NOW that you shouldn’t go there.

In Vancouver, as a port city, we have waterfront markets. Granville Island, on the west side of Vancouver, is the most fleh one, despite the rats. It faces downtown and the west end, is a short Aquabus away from the English Bay beaches, it features an open-air marketplace full of fresh foods and good smells, as well as a lot of places to sit and drink coffee and eat pie. There are also many surrounding shops filled with artisanal goods and services, an art college and store and lots of buskers. And a theatre. And a pretty good bar.

Then there’s Lonsdale Quay, which is on the North Shore and faces Burrard Inlet. A short Seabus ride away from downtown and an equally short landbus ride away from the mountains. It’s the same sort of idea with the open-air market & good smells, but it’s all enclosed in a big 2-storey building.

Then we come to Westminster Quay, best described, perhaps, as The Nice Try That Time Forgot. Westminster Quay overlooks the mighty and fragrant Fraser River. It is a fairly long Skytrain ride from anywhere and then there is an overpass (featuring! many! stairs!) to cross that takes you over the train tracks and into the Quay Building. I had not been to WQ in years. Many many years. SA had never been there at all.

We entered by the upstairs door. First, of course, I peed. It’s how I greet all buildings these days.

On our way through the upstairs, we passed a scarf store (only $5!) and a bookstore, one of those ones that sells Books About Cooking and Books About Pets and Books About Golf and they are all made in the same factory by the people who know how to compile magazine articles into books? And they all cost $5! Across the hall, there was a “Clearance Section” for this non-book bookstore. We did not browse.

(however: great used bookstore on Columbia St. called Booktown where I bought a book called “Seed: A novel of Birth Control” published in 1930 and written by Charles G. Norris. From the jacket:
It is the story of Bart, who felt that he could not support any more children and of Peggy, the wife he loved, who did not believe in birth control and of their separation because they could not continue living together with that problem unsolved. It is the story of Father Francis, the saintly priest who observed gently: ” A better name for birth control would be birthless indulgence.” It is the story of Dr. Josh Carter who said: “Unless birth control is stopped among the upper classes, and its use legalized among the lower classes, the best part of okur population will die off and the country will be overrun by incompetents and morons.”)

On to downstairs, where one usually finds the food in a public market. The first shop that emerged from the dimness (is it ambience? did the quay not pay their bills? who knows) was Quay Quality Turkey. It was a display case full of turkey products, staffed by a woman who was sitting down on a stool, reading a book and talking on the phone at the same time. Then there was a chocolate place, doing a brisk business, then “More Cheese Please” or something, where the display case contained two or three pieces of all the same kinds of cheese you can get at the grocery store. And some sausage. Around the corner, there was a place that sold pies. And a florist and a “Taste of Africa” clothing store and a store with crystal spinning figurines.

All in all, depressing as hell.

What should have made us run for the exits, though, was a folding table right at the bottom of the staircase when we came down from up, where two men sat with some brochures. They were Scientologists, doing free energy readings. On our way out, there was a man actually having an e-reading done, with an e-meter! He clutched a tin can in each hand with wires that extended to somewhere (the e-meter reader I guess) and was talking earnestly to the Scientologist about his life. At least now they both have someone to talk to, I guess.

Despite all of this, I was hungry. There was a place selling breakfast, a pub (The Paddlewheeler, which apparently is not so horrible, and was where Cher the Psychic was taking her break according to the sign at Cher the Psychic’s table) and a place called Tugboat Annie’s where, the sign claimed, We Have Mexican! But We still Have Great Hot Dogs! So I ordered a Mexican Hot Dog. I think it was $3.

It was brown. It was a brown not found in nature. It looked like this. It rested on a bed of lettuce, under which the nice lady at Tugboat Annie’s had smeared some salsa. To recap: white bun, salsa, shredded lettuce, brown hot dog. The end.

I was very disappointed, but also very hungry. SA helpfully offered, “Some German hot dogs are that colour.” I was not convinced, as this was not a wurst. This was a hot dog. I am 32 years old and I know what hot dogs are supposed to look like. This monstrosity had no mustard, no ketchup, no relish, no NOTHING just lettuce and salsa. No cheese or even cheese sauce! To be fair, she had been about to douse it in sour cream when I stopped her. But – lettuce, salsa and sour cream does not make a Mexican hot dog. (bear with me – I know there’s no such thing as a Mexican hot dog.)

It tasted bad – not rotten, just bad. SA had a bite and said, “I’m sorry. That is the worst hot dog ever. I don’t think you should be able to do things like that to hot dogs.”

And he will eat anything.

On the bright side, it was very, very hot, so no fear of listeria (best pronounced like Def Leppard, “Lysteria! When you’re near!”) – the reason preggos are not supposed to eat hot dogs. (Wow I just learned that my immune system is suppressed now that I’m in the 3rd trimester. Holy crap I’m in the 3rd trimester!)

The best part was that 2, 10 and 20 minutes later I was still hungry, as though my body said, “Oh no you didn’t. That is NOT going to the stomach. We’re just going to put it over here for a while, maybe in the pancreas, till we figure out what to do with it.”

Incidentally, this is so wrong and I’m sorry I ever performed an image search for hot dog. I will never eat, search for or mention hot dogs ever again. Forever ever.