Dogfather and I grilled the weiners till they squealed

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This article was published 24/06/2011 (5542 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I made the “Dogfather” an offer he couldn’t refuse.

I told him the next time he rolled out his hotdog cart for a good cause, I’d tag along and do his bidding.

Whereas he would be the God of the Grill, the Big Boss of the Barbecue, I would be his Condiments Cohort, his Manservant of Mustard, his Sauerkraut Sidekick, if you catch my general drift.

Which sort of explains why my buddy Hal Anderson, the host of CJOB’s morning show, and I trekked out to Oak Bluff the other night in Hal’s big black truck, with his beloved hotdog cart (“Big Hal’s Big Dogs”) bumping along behind us.

Hal and I were auctioned off at the Winn$tock battle of the bands event to raise cash for the Manitoba Riding for the Disabled Association, which offers a great therapeutic horseback-riding program for kids with special needs.

I suspect Pam Plaster and her husband, Shawn Ammeter, had their eye on some other prizes that night — possibly plumbing fixtures — but what they got was Hal and I grilling hotdogs the size of harpoons in their backyard.

By way of background, most of you know that along with being a radio personality, Hal is the 34th Greatest Canadian of all time, a title he earned after a groundswell of support from his fans during a CBC contest in 2004.

What you don’t know is that a few years back, our 34th Greatest Canadian — just ahead of Laura Secord, and just behind Gordon Lightfoot — was also the kingpin of a red-hot hotdog empire. To be “frank,” Hal peddled hot flesh.

I know this because, as we tried to navigate our way to the wilds of Oak Bluff, I grilled Hal about his hotdog history.

“I just decided I wanted a hotdog cart,” he confessed. “It was just a stupid guy thing. The next thing I know, I’m in the hotdog business. They called me The Dogfather. There was a time I had eight or 10 of them.”

But he quickly learned a harsh reality — hotdogs are hard work. “The fun part is when you’re cooking and meeting people — the shopping and the cleaning up isn’t any fun,” he said. “I just decided I didn’t have time for it, so I got rid of all of all the carts, except the one I keep for charities. It’s kind of cool to do that and know you’re helping out a good cause.”

Speaking of which, if they gave out Olympic medals for backyards, Pam and Shawn would take the gold. Along with a manicured lawn and dozens of friendly people holding cold cans of beer, it also contained a swell pool, a nifty hot tub, a trampoline, a fire pit, a deck the size of a naval destroyer and tables groaning with tasty snacks.

It was a quintessential summer evening in Manitoba, with two minor exceptions: 1) It wasn’t raining; and 2) Our blood was not being drained by mosquitoes the size of mature Yorkshire terriers.

I asked Pam what inspired her to bid for the right to have two “outstanding local celebrities” grilling dogs in her backyard and she told me — and I believe this came straight from the heart — she probably had too much to drink that night.

“My husband was very proud of me,” she said, laughing. “This is the best prize ever! It’s been a dream to have you and Hal in my backyard.”

In one corner, Luke & Murray, “The two-man band,” cranked out classic rock hits all evening and even had the roofing crew on top of a neighbour’s house rocking and hollering for more as they launched into a heart-felt rendition of Johnny Cash’s I Walk The Line.

In the other corner, Hal and I sweated profusely and pumped out world-class all-beef hotdogs using the following two-man system: 1) Hal cooked the dogs; 2) I ate them to maintain quality control.

“My hotdogs are always made with love,” Hal said proudly, when I asked for his grilling secret. “Don’t rush the process.”

While Hal was largely stuck behind the grill in case an unexpected grease fire erupted, I bravely found time to mingle and discuss topics ranging from pro football all the way to pro hockey.

The barbecue was the day before Shawn’s birthday and he assured me that Hal, myself, and a bunch of top-notch hotdogs had been the perfect gift. “You complete me!” the young firefighter/father declared as his family and friends nodded in approval. “You had me at hotdog!”

All in all, it was a magical Manitoba night. We made new friends. We listened to wonderful music. We helped a great charity. And we feasted on delicious dogs.

As the sun set and Hal and I drove the cart away, I realized that — for one brief, shining moment — we were all wieners.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca