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The frank still exerts appeal, but increasingly it has found succulent rivals in every U.S. city. McDonald's burgers (which are expressly forbidden by the franchiser to contain "hearts, lungs, tripe, suet, flavor boosters, preservatives, protein additives, fillers or cereals") have long passed the 6 billion mark in sales. The Near East may never solve its tensions, but American Arabs and Jews agree upon the merits of the felafel — Arabian bread stuffed with beans, salad, pickle, ol ives and sesame sauce. The gyro, a Greek concoction of lamb, tomato and onion, has pre-empted the frankfurter's place on many Eastern city streets. On both coasts, the Mexican taco has become a short-order staple. Soul food has gone national. Colonel Sanders' finger-lickin' Kentucky Fried Chicken outlets now number 3,500. The pizza, according to a Gallup Organization poll, is the No. 1 favorite snack of 21-to-34-year-olds. (Any of those foods many contain additives, too, but they have not yet been in the Nader pressure cooker.)
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Few hot-dog manufacturers have bothered to read the entrails. For despite the tocsins from Washington, despite intruders from overseas, the maligned frank furter has proved as irresistible in 1972 as it was in 1914 to a boy named Penrod. The hero of Booth Tarkington's Huckleberry novels thought the "winny-wurst" was "all nectar and ambrosia. ..it was rigidly forbidden by the home authorities." Like Penrod, contemporary Americans tend to ignore authorities; they consume 15 billion hot dogs every year — possibly even because of the warnings. Forbidden fruit tastes delicious; why not proscribed wieners?
There are other, better reasons for the hot dog to be top dog. Crackling tidily above briquettes, steaming under vendors' umbrellas and in short-order restaurants, the frank still emits a sharp democratic zonk, redolent of exotic spices and domestic meats. To most Americans, the hot dog is the equivalent of Proust's madeleine; it triggers memories of afternoons in the bleachers, and languorous Sundays spent lolling on pic nic grounds. At 170 calories, it is modest enough to be included in a dietary lunch; yet the gourmet James Beard has wrapped a recipe around it: choucroute àl'sacienne. (Translation: sauerkraut with local sausage. Beard prefers franks.)
Given these statistics and endorsements, even Ralph Nader would have to agree with Governor Nelson Rockefeller's dictum: "No candidate for any office can hope to get elected in this country without being photographed eating a hot dog." (Indeed, F.D.R. went so far as to serve franks to King George VI.) One of those candidates, a consumer named Richard Nixon, once announced, "I come from humble origins. Why, we were raised on hot dogs and hamburgers. We've got to look after the hot dog."
Yet neither politicians nor preservatives can guarantee shelf life forever. Those who see the hot dog as an American symbol may be discomfited to learn that its very ethos is vanishing. Once, for example, franks were the staple of daytime World Series games. But this year, all weekday Series games will be played at night. Who wants a hot dog after dinner?