Many frankly steamed over closing of Zog's Dogs

Zog's Dogs co-owner Jesse "Zog" Herzog tried to "reimagine the hot dog experience" at his stand. Zog's Dogs co-owner Jesse "Zog" Herzog tried to "reimagine the hot dog experience" at his stand. Photo: Brant Ward, The Chronicle Photo: Brant Ward, The Chronicle Image 1 of / 17 Caption Close Many frankly steamed over closing of Zog's Dogs 1 / 17 Back to Gallery

San Francisco's still quirky, just not as much so.

To the dismay of regular customers, Zog's Dogs, the Financial District's premier purveyor of cooked sausage and interpretive dance, has closed.

Customers are still hearing the news about the street stand's steamers going silent.

"I went over on a Friday, and it was closed," said Cathy Maupin, a twice-a-month regular at Montgomery and Market streets. "It was so sad. Where am I going to go now for a guilty pleasure?"

The hot dogs aren't the half of it. Where will we find a place that offers customers their portrait rendered in ketchup and mustard? Or a launching pad for hot dogs bound for outer space?

"That was the thing," says co-owner Jesse "Zog" Herzog. "We've always had fun. We did an annual artistic residency where we turned the stand over to an artist to reimagine the hot dog experience."

Wait, did he just say "reimagine the hot dog experience"?

That's right. Take that interpretive dance, which Zog's Dogs presented two years ago.

"It was supposed to represent emotion, food and the digestive process," said Layne Cassidy, a co-owner who often ran the stand.

"You could order your hot dog with a side of dance," Herzog said. "This dance troupe had practiced all these moves. Like you could say you wanted a dog with a side of humility. It was more than a lunch, it was an emotional adventure."

S.F.'s palate shifting

I know what you're thinking: How is it possible this business, which was around for about five years, could not be a success in San Francisco?

Blame it on tofu, greens and a healthy suspicion of tubes containing pork byproducts.

"I think the palate of San Francisco has maybe shifted a little in the city," Herzog admitted. "One can only eat so many chili cheese dogs. Not that we didn't have our dedicated regulars."

Dedicated doesn't begin to describe it.

"We would have people that would come in every day," Cassidy said. "It got to the point where I was thinking: As much as I love a good hot dog, I'm concerned about your health."

As an unbiased observer with no background in the culinary properties of tube steaks, I would say that the stand had the best hot dogs in the city. The signature Zog Dog was a long, thin wiener that protruded from the end of the bun. But there were other choices, ranging from the standard chili dog to the militantly whimsical. A particular favorite was the Moral Conundrum, which was a veggie-dog wrapped in a slice of bacon.

Feeling of nostalgia

But whether it was the Bobo, an organic dog on a wheat bun for bourgeois bohemians or the killer french fries - it can now be told that the secret was frying those taters in soy oil rather than lard - the regulars are inconsolable.

"Hot dogs evoke that nostalgic feel of picnics and families," Cassidy says. "Hence the devastated reaction. We had one customer who actually wanted us to host his 60th birthday party, which we did. He came by on the last day and was so upset that I gave him the "pick up here" sign to take home and soften the blow."

There's still hope that Zog's Dogs will live on. Although the owners are going to try a new business model - some Asian street food, perhaps - there is talk that true insiders will still be able to sidle up to the window and request "the secret Zog Dog," which will not be on the menu.

Permanent souvenir

But more important is the San Francisco legacy. This is a colorful history writ large in swirls of mustard and ketchup. Those lucky customers who had their portraits done in condiments won't soon forget the experience.

"The artist is out of Richmond, and when she finished the portrait, she covered them with some clear stuff, so they last forever," Herzog said. "I have one hanging on my wall."

But nothing captured the Zog-geist like the launch of a dog into outer space.

Herzog posted an ad on Craigslist announcing he wanted to send a hot dog into the great beyond. An engineer from Portland, Ore., responded, "I'm your man."

Using a weather balloon and documented by a small video camera, the dog in a bun rose to 100,000 feet. At that point, a parachute opened and the package floated back to Earth. Using GPS, the launchers were able to locate the parcel so Herzog could take a big bite for the camera.

"It tasted like victory," he said.