Less than a week after my New York trip, I headed to Los Angeles to visit my folks. One place that has always been a gfork favorite is Pink’s, though for one (bad) reason or another, it had been at least four years since my last visit. So there I headed to meet up with my partner in hot dog crime, Tim, who hadn’t been there in about as long.
I had anticipated waiting in line, but not THIS line. It snaked around several posts, then ran down the sidewalk, around the building, through the parking lot and over the river and through the woods. We took our places at the end and waited. And waited. And waited. 55 minutes later, we gave our orders of chili cheese dogs, chili cheese fries and Dr. Brown’s cream sodas. Four minutes after that, we were sitting in our white plastic lawn chairs, naming the celebrity autographed photos on the wall, chowing down on the best damn hot dogs on the planet. The dog that snaps when you bite it. The chili that is so greasy it stains your fingers. Then I realized that while we were standing in line, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, nobody was complaining. Everybody was happy with anticipation. Pink’s is THAT good. 
Why can’t we just all have Pink’s and get along?
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Heresy. I was at Tommy’s on Sunday. Never been to Pinks. I don’t do Hollywood…
T_ _. Not T_ _ _. And I won’t do Tommy’s anywhere else but Hollywood!