People might think that Pink’s is an L.A. dog, but that’s some marketing horseshit. Pink’s is a decent dog. But a real L.A. dog is a Hoff wrapped in bacon, grilled on a sheet pan that’s heated by tea candles, and served from movable carts by adorable little old ladies. Mine comes with slices of jalapeños, salsa, mayo, ketchup, and grilled onions. Or at least it did, until the assholes in the city government decided to “clean up” Hollywood and Vine by removing the street vendors. Now I can no longer find anyone who grills their goddamn onions the right way.

L.A. dogs do not come with chili. Ever. That’s how I know that the hot dog I found smashed into my car engine was either from Tommy’s or the nearest 7-11. I’m guessing the 7-11, because Tommy’s is a good mile away from me, and I doubt anyone would carry that chili dog for a mile without eating it. That would be crazy. Tommy’s chili dogs are delicious.

You’re probably wondering how a stranger gained access to my car engine. That makes sense. Me too.

Tommy’s Chili Dogs – Four stars out of five.
Street Parking – Two stars out of five.