Nate’s Kosher Red Hots and the Meaning of Life

It’s a very special time, when you are 18, away from home and out from under your parents’ control for the first time. There’s a whole world to explore. Everything is new. Forbidden mysteries can at last be investigated. Long forbidden pleasures can be tasted. Anything is possible.

Imagine how I felt when I arrived at the University of Illinois as a freshman. I was a thousand miles from home and from parental authority. I was living off campus in a house with twenty other young men. There was no dorm mother, or dorm father either. We could do anything we wanted.

Shortly after I arrived, one of the upperclassmen decided it was time to introduce me to one of the most exquisite delights that Champaign, Illinois had to offer. Our house stood on the corner of Fourth and Green in Champaign. Across Fourth Street was a commercial building that in one tiny corner housed a small carry-out food place. I won’t call it a restaurant. The sign over the door said, “Nate’s Kosher Red Hots.” My new friend Gary said, “Al, you have to try a Nate’s Kosher Red Hot. You have never tasted anything like it in your life.” I was ready to enter life in the fast lane and experience life to the fullest, so I readily agreed.

Gary and I walked across the street and sauntered into Nate’s. It was rather dark inside, illuminated as it was by a couple of dingy fluorescent fixtures. There was a small area in the front where people could stand and wait for their order, and three pinball machines, complete with flashing lights and ringing bells. The student playing one of the games was totally engrossed, oblivious to his surroundings.

At the back of the waiting area a window opened onto the kitchen. From the window a strange mixture of pungent aromas wafted into my nostrils. Gary was right. I had never been in a place like this before. If the food was as alien as the ambiance, I was in for a new experience in dining.

At that moment, a woman appeared in the ordering window. Gary nudged me and whispered, “It’s Mrs. Nate!” I was taken by surprise. I had never seen anyone like Mrs. Nate before. She was a tall and very attractive woman, who seemed to be about forty years old. Her long reddish hair cascaded down to her shoulders. Beads of sweat trickled slowly down her forehead. Her face and body language told a story. It seemed to me that she had seen and done just about everything there was to see and do. Now, after a lifetime of experiences, she was serving wieners at Nate’s in Champaign, Illinois. She looked at me and said, “What’ll it be?”

Her voice fit perfectly with her appearance. It was deep, a little husky, and friendly. Gary had already told me how to order, so I said, “Give me a New York dog with extra peppers.” Mrs. Nate nodded, made a quick note on her order pad, then turned back to the stove.

Of course, her name was not really “Mrs. Nate.” None of us ever found out what her real name was. There was a tantalizing air of mystery about her. A rumor went around that she had come from Chicago, but none of us knew for sure. During my years there, all of my attempts at small talk never got her to reveal anything about her past. The other guys I lived with never found out anything either.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Nate came back to the window with a small paper sack. “One New York dog with extra peppers!” she called out. I went to the window, paid, and took my purchase back across the street.

Gary and I walked into our house and went to the empty dining room. We unwrapped our Red Hots, and I got my first real look at one. It was amazing. In an oversized hot dog bun sat the biggest, fattest wiener I had ever seen. The bun was lavishly spread with mustard, and heaped on top of the wiener was a mound of sauerkraut at least an inch thick. Nestled beside the kraut were three bright green jalapeno peppers. I wasn’t sure I could open my mouth wide enough to take a bite. Besides that, I had never eaten a jalapeno pepper before. I had never even seen one.

As if to show how to do it, Gary lifted his Red Hot out of its wrapping paper, opened his mouth wide, and took a big bite. A look of pure bliss spread across his face as he chewed. As he swallowed, he looked in my direction to see what I would do. There was no turning back now. I had to take a bite.

I lifted the Red Hot toward my mouth. As it approached, the mixed pungency of sauerkraut, and mustard shot directly from my nose to the olfactory lobes of my brain. I opened my mouth and the Red Hot slid in. I bit down hard.

What happened next is hard to describe. All my sensory channels were overloaded at the same instant. As my teeth dug through the sauerkraut and broke the skin of the wiener, a gush of delicious fluid filled my mouth. The tastes of the wiener, the sauerkraut, the mustard, and the bread all mixed together to form an indescribable combination. The sauerkraut and mustard dominated my sense of smell. The strongest sensation, however, was that of PAIN. The jalapeno pepper I had bitten into added a bitter taste and a level of spiciness that made the description “Red Hot” seem like a gross understatement. I ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water to put out the fire in my mouth.

When I came back, Gary said, “Well, how do you like it?” “Great,” I said. not wanting to appear to be a wimp. Gary then took another bite of his Red Hot and looked to me to do the same. There was no getting around it. I would have to eat the whole thing. I took another bite. This time I knew what to expect, so I could handle my reactions a little better. Also, I was better prepared with a glass of water at my side. I ate the whole thing.

As time went by, I came to appreciate the gustatory pleasure that could only come from eating a Nate’s New York dog with extra peppers. I visited Nate’s often, exchanging light banter with Mrs. Nate and always coming away with a little paper sack that held a ticket to the land of gross sensory overload. I was hooked on Nate’s Kosher Red Hots.

My relationship with Mrs. Nate and her incredible Red Hots went on for three years. Then one day, a new sign went up over the little shop on the corner of Fourth and Green. It said, “Abe’s Kosher Red Hots.” A shiver of apprehension ran down my spine. I walked in. The place was as dark and gloomy as ever. The pinball games were still there. The same student was playing one. The same smells were coming out of the kitchen. But Mrs. Nate was gone. Now there was a guy with hairy arms and a tank top T-shirt. I ordered a New York dog with extra peppers. The guy gave me my order; I paid and went back to the house. I bit into my Red Hot, but somehow it didn’t taste the same. The mustard didn’t have the bite; the peppers didn’t have the sting. Somehow the mystery was gone.

Where was Mrs. Nate? Had she gone back to Chicago? For that matter, where was Nate? Had he ever even existed? And who was Abe anyway? These were questions for which there were no answers. I never went back to Abe’s again for a Red Hot. I had turned the page on one chapter of my life, and entered another. I was older, wiser, but definitely not happier. I had lost something wonderful. I had lost the mystery. As I’ve moved on through life from that point, I’ve eaten many hot dogs. But never have any of them come even remotely close to a Nate’s New York dog with extra peppers, served up by a worldly wise and perspiring Mrs. Nate.

Copyright (c) 1996-2012



