A Story of Hot Dogs || Nate Robida

Everybody has a hot dog story.  

My story starts at a little shack down on the Connecticut River. They called this shack a restaurant, although with the militant rats rampaging, the grease coating the ceiling, and no running dishwasher, it was always a shock to me how people ate there. They called it a seafood joint, yet I would not touch the stuff; the only safe food for me was hot dogs and burgers. You can burn off the germs with the grill, and I had seen too many get sick eating the chicken. I used to end all my shifts the same, sore, and tired. The one thing that kept me going was that twelve-inch tube of pork and beef by-product.    

Eating a hot dog is a process: fire up the grill, slice the dog down the middle to make sure every little piece of meat is cooked; slather the perfect amount of butter on a shining brioche bun meant for lobster rolls; make sure to time the cooking properly, not putting the roll down too early, not cooking the dog too much. It is a form of art, mastering it takes practice.   

Once the dog is cooked to perfection, with a little bit of char, it is time to assemble the condiments: ketchup and mustard. There are many ways to top off your dog. If you live in Philadelphia, you will find a fish cake hidden at the bottom of the bun, not my style. In New York, vendors will often throw some sauerkraut on top; too overpowering. I am a simple man who likes a simple dog. Ketchup and mustard have just the right sweet and sour combination to perfectly accent your hot dog experience.  

At this time during my cooking process, the chefs would typically start jawing at me to get out of their kitchen, as they surreptitiously doused the floor with a nose-stinging combination of bleach and water. A vain attempt to ruin my dinner. I would sit on the deck, looking out over the deep brackish brown of the Connecticut River, and munch happily on the delicious meal I had concocted.    

On average, one American eats 70 per year. In 2020, U.S. soldiers consumed 2.4 million; during baseball season that year fans ate over 19 million. No, I am not talking about apples. Hot dogs have been a staple of the American diet for hundreds of years and have only seemed to increase in popularity as time moves on.   

My search for the best dog in the land brought me to the center of New Britain, Connecticut. Sitting in my girlfriend’s pearly white Kia Soul, Capitol Lunch’s iridescent hot dog sign beckoned me inside; like many other hot dog enthusiasts. Nestled between a pawn shop and a head shop, Capitol Lunch is home to some of the best hot dogs in Connecticut. A brick building with an eye-catching classic-style sign and a basic, somewhat drab setup inside, Capitol Lunch does not disappoint. What the restaurant lacks in looks is made up for with its cheap prices and great food.   

Located just outside of New Britain’s Little Poland, which holds the largest concentration of Poles in CT, Capitol Lunch has survived for almost 100 years. With the large industrial factories that used to preside in New Britain, the hot dog joint supplied workers with a quick and easy lunch spot. The business survived the Great Depression, World War II, and is now prospering through the Covid-19 pandemic.  

The small, modest shop churns out at least 600 dogs daily, sometimes reaching into the thousands. Their signature “famous sauce” and dog combination is a hot commodity and, according to the owner Art Ververis, a very guarded secret.   

Art has been working at Capitol Lunch since he was 16, but the hot dog capital of Connecticut has been in the Ververis family since the 1950s, starting with his grandfather. Eventually, Art’s father got involved and bought out the other partners for sole ownership. His father worked until this past November when he retired and passed down the business to Art. Capitol Lunch gets their famous hot dogs from Martin Rosol’s Inc., a company located just down the street from the restaurant. Capitol Lunch has exclusively used Martin Rosol’s as their hot dog provider since their opening in 1929. These sister companies have supported each other through thick and thin. Martin Rosol’s opened just one year before Capitol Lunch, in 1928. Art emphasizes the importance of having such a great local meat provider; getting quality hot dogs that taste great is something you do not find very often. Capitol Lunch also locally sources their soda, ordering specifically from Avery’s Bottling Works; also located in New Britain.    

The family-owned business is dear to Art’s heart; he even skipped his own graduation ceremony to work a shift because he knew that is what he wanted to do. He works alongside his brother Gus Ververis. The two brothers take pride in their small menu, cheap prices, and nostalgic feeling. Throughout our conversation, Art consistently gave out high fives and fist bumps to his regular customers. 

Biting into the famous dog is an experience no other dog can give you. The famous sauce melts onto your tongue, the crisp snap of the dog accompanied with sharp onions and tangy mustard brings me back to my hometown, days of Little League games and high school football.   

Standing with my brother, sweating as the sun beat down on our necks, the scent of fresh grass through the air, and of course, a hint of boiled hot dogs. We would keep score for our oldest brother’s Little League games on one condition, free hot dogs. The Chester snack shack was home to many delectable treats. To an elementary schooler, none topped that boiled dog. As soon as that last out was called, we would pack up our numbers and sprint from center field (where the scoreboard was located) over to the shack. Those sweltering days would end on a high note if we made it in time to snag a few hot dogs before the shop closed for the night.