Ode to the Gas Station Hot Dog

Lest anyone think I am a total food snob I shall freely admit right here and right now that there is a place in my heart for the gas station hot dog. This was not always the case. Gas station hot dogs and motorcycle touring go hand in hand, so it's no surprise I only learned to appreciate them after my so called "enlightenment." I remember my very first one as if it were yesterday afternoon. Rupert, ID, 17 July, 2005, final destination Sawtooth National Recreation Area. I had just experienced moto warp speed (I won't quote a number, my mother might be reading this!) for the first time, so I was feeling quite brave. If I could survive the ride, surely I could survive the hot dog. Besides, it beats a Twinkie on the health scale, if you ask me. Since that first bite, there are moments when nothing else will do. Not a lot of moments, mind you, but they exist as surely as my love for foie gras. Come to think of it, are hot dogs and foie gras really all that different? Hmmm...