You say Chicago, I say hot dog. Chicago. Hot. Dog. A real one looks like this (notice the lack of ketchup):
Yesterday I had two above-par hot dogs from America's Dog. This was first Chicago hot dog experience since before I left for France over a year ago. Needless to say, I was excited.
There was a problem though: too much dog. I was foolish to think I could eat two of these things. I made it through about a third of the second one when I went to grab a knife and fork so I could pick through the tasiest bits.
Wait, did you catch that? Because it took me about three minutes to realize what I was doing, get really embarrassed, and look around to see if anyone noticed. I was eating a Chicago hot dog with a KNIFE AND FORK.
I obviously looked like a tourist. I'm blaming France. France taught me to eat everything with cutlery, (French) fries included. I definitely did not look like someone who is, um, from Chicago. Where hot dogs are made to be eaten with your hands.
What I did wasn't just a mistake. It was a sin. I am so ashamed, and the best I can do it promise it will never happen again.