Vegetarians, read no farther. Further? Whichever.

The next time you come to visit me in Chicago, you must insist that we go to Hot Doug's, even if I whine to you about how many buses we'll have to take to get there. Insist anyway. Even if I try to dissuade you with stories of the hour-long wait just to get into a hot dog joint, for Pete's sake, keep nagging me. Especially if I swear I'll just make you a hot dog at home (just let me take the batteries out of the smoke detector first), tell me in no uncertain terms that as a good and conscientious hostess it is my sacred duty to take you to Hot Doug's or suffer the wrath of the gods. Then whisper those three little words into my ear -- the sweetest words ever spoken -- and I'll race you to the bus stop: Duck. Fat. Fries.

I went to Hot Doug's last weekend with my two new temporary roommates, Rock Star and Pretty, Pretty Princess. It had snowed the day before, but we still waited in a line half a block long to get into this place. They've gotten a lot of publicity in the last year due to their anti-government fois gras stance, and that's the kind of business I like to patronize.

Since I fear new and unusual meat, I got the regular dog, Chicago-style, but I tried a bite of Pretty, Pretty Princess's brown ale and chipotle buffalo sausage and it was delicious. I see that this week's special is a smoked and spicy alligator sausage, so maybe I'll give that a whirl. In any case, the duck fat fried french fries are the most incredible fries in ever and I need more.

Damn the cholesterol and full speed ahead.