If we're talking about hot dogs, we might as well start with a #hottake: "A hot dog is a sandwich. It's a stupid argument," says professor Bruce Kraig, a noted hot dog historian. "It's something stuffed in bread; it's walking around food. The early hot dog vendors used to call them hot dog sandwiches." 

It's unlikely that Kraig's assertion would sway the opinion of the millions of others who've turned this argument into semantic sport, but when discussing the hot dog, much of its history is up for debate anyway. "The myth you read online about hot dogs getting its name from baseball games isn't true," says Kraig. Harry M. Stevens, a caterer who popularized the food at sports venues like the Polo Grounds, did not actually inspire a sports cartoonist to invent the name. 

What we do know is that hot dogs came to America through the massive wave of German immigration in the mid-19th century. Butcher shops were established, breeding a sausage culture that took off due to the abundance of street vendors. Americans' preference for meat, speed, and convenience made it an easy fit. "We have a lot of commentary from European visitors who were revolted by our eating habits," says Kraig. "Charles Dickens described them as 'gobble, gulp, and go.'" 

The sausages brought over from Germany weren't initially called hot dogs, but instead were designated by their regional names like Weisswurst and Frankfurter— distinctions which gradually disappeared. "If you look at the USDA website and look up hot dogs, it will tell you that the words wiener, frankfurter, hot dogs, and bologna are interchangeable," even though, initially, Frankfurters were mostly composed of pork, while wieners were made of a pork and beef mixture. "They become naturalized," says Kraig. As the words changed, the meaning and product followed suit. In the hands of the next generation of Jewish immigrants, for instance, a Frankfurter in New York becomes an all-beef product due to obvious dietary restrictions.  

But even as Oscar Meyer entered pop culture with their jingles in the 1950s, the hot dog never really became chain food despite several attempts. "There are a lot of local companies and stands in America," says Kraig. "They're neighborhood places. This began with immigration around the 1890s, when hot dogs stands were one of the ways that immigrants used to move up in the world." The hot dog's entry point for immigrants triggered a path of innovation, reaching its apex in places like New Jersey, where Greek immigrants re-mixed chili toppings to distinguish their product. Here, they borrowed spices from moussaka, and even marketed their dogs by referencing popular Western movies. 

Through it all, we are left with a wide spectrum of regional hot dogs that ought to be celebrated and explored. To get you started, we compiled a panel of chefs and writers who admire the unique American quality of a hot dog:

• Edward Lee, chef/owner of 610 Magnolia (@chefedwardlee)
• John Birdsall, award-winning food writer based in Oakland (@john_birdsall)
• Kathy YL Chan, food and travel writer (@kathyylchan)
• Daniel Vaughn, barbecue editor at Texas Monthly, author of The Prophets of Smoked Meat: A Journey Through Texas Barbecue (@bbqsnob)
• Gabriella Gershenson, food features editor at Rachel Ray Every Day (@gabiwrites)
• ​J. Kenji López-Alt, managing culinary director at Serious Eats and creator of The Food Lab (@thefoodlab)
• Naomi Tomky, food writer and founder of GastroGnome (@gastrognome)
• Chris Schonberger, editor-in-chief at First We Feast (@cschonberger)
• Edmund Tijerina, food and drink editor at San Antonio Express-News (@etij)
• Suzanne Loudermilk, restaurant reviewer for The Baltimore Sun (@lsuzanne)
• Mike Gebert, award-winning editor of Fooditor.com and Sky Full of Bacon (@skyfullofbacon)
• ​Jessica Leigh Hester, writer and editor at CityLab, The Atlantic's urbanism site. (@jessicahester)
• Farley Elliott, senior editor at Eater L.A. (@overoverunder)
• Joe Ricchio, food, drink, and travel author based in Portland, Maine (@joericchio)
• ​Angel Diaz, staff writer at Complex (@adiaz456)
• Jackson Connor, news editor at First We Feast (@jacksonmconnor)
• Dave Cathey, food editor at The Oklahoman (@thefooddood)
• Sam Hiersteiner, writer based in Boston (@samsgoodfeed)
• Brian Luvray, New York-based producer who misses Tony Packo's and the Maumee River on a daily basis 
• DJ Dieselboy, drum and bass DJ (@djdieselboy)

Here are 20 bucket-list hot dogs to try before you kick the bucket. 

Address and phone: 165 E Main St, Wytheville, VA
Website: N/A

Lee says: "Skeeter's in Wytheville, VA is home of the world famous slaw dog. It is a West Virginia tradition that has reached perfection at Skeeter's. No fancy grilling here: it is a boiled hot dog that comes out of the bath in cough syrup red color, and then slid into a hot dog bun and topped with good old fashioned yellow mustard, a mild tomato beef chili, a creamy tart slaw, and a light smattering of chopped raw onions. Go ahead and order two because it's impossible to stop at one." 

Address and phone: 66-236 Kamehameha Hwy, Haleiwa, HI (808-637-2086)
Website: huladog.com

Chan says: "A colorful truck sits in the center of Haleiwa town on Oahu's North Shore. That's home of Hula Dog, best puka dogs in Hawaii. Three decisions are to be made. Polish sausage or veggie? (Go with the former.) Then select the level of heat (original, jalapeno, chili pepper, or habenero) applied to the garlicky lemon sauce. Final decision, select a relish: mango, coconut, pineapple, banana, papaya, or starfruit. We're partial to the mango and papaya. Their signature purple taro buns are hollowed out and toasted on the inside, then stuffed with the sausage and all the extras. And if you're a mustard person, Hula Dog also offers fine "Hawaiian mustard" in flavors of lilikoi (passion fruit) or guava. Don't forget to wash it down with their housemade lemonade."

Address and phone: 2534 Durant Ave, Berkeley, CA (510-843-5967)
Website: topdoghotdogs.com

Birdsall says: "There are three Top Dogs the East Bay, but the one on Durant, near the UC Berkeley campus (opened in 1966), is the trippiest and best. It’s an interior stand with press-on stained-glass fanlights and taped-up old Xeroxes from libertarian mags (MYTHS OF INDIVIDUALISM; CHE’S LIFE WAS AN ORGY OF DEATH). The franks shine with griddle grease. They have black zones that follow some irregular rule of heat transfer on a flattop. There’s pent-up pressure that releases when you bite, but the thing that gets your attention is the square-cornered bun, rectangular like a French roll. Under a veneer of surface crunch, it has a honeycomb crumb with chew. First time I came here was freshman year, stoned, leaning up against the counter near the condiment pumps, under a wood plaque with “grow your own” spelled out in bronze upholstery tacks. Top Dog was the earliest place I remember where the food had a point of view. The savageness of the char, the pop, saltiness, and chew—they articulated a world of original pleasures, an essential part of my education that An Introduction to Chaucer never could be."

Address and phone: 2090 Broadway, New York, NY (212-799-0243)
Website: N/A

Gershenson says: "I lived on the Upper West Side for 15 years, home of New York's greatest hot dog. Gray's Papaya does it right—the buns are warmed on the griddle, the dogs are snappy and garlicky, and the thick smell wafts out of the store and onto the street, as it should. But, as is usually the case, this is about more than hot dogs. The place, planted smack on a prime corner of 72nd Street and Broadway, is a beacon of the cheap and cheerful. It's brightly lit, too bright, outfitted in citrus-colored formica with party-store paper fruits dangling from the ceiling. It's like being inside a giant fruit salad. The radio station of choice is WCBS-FM, so as you hunker down at the counter over your hot dog, under the glaring lights, drowned out by booming oldies radio, surrounded by signs that shout the benefits of the tropical fruit juices they sell, whose enzymes are supposed to aid in the digestion of that hot dog that you will later be burping up, somehow, this semi-harrowing experience is comforting, an initiation of sorts, kind of like New York itself."

Address and phone: 417 River Rd, Clifton, NJ (973-779-8615)
Website: ruttshut.com

López-Alt says: "If frills and polish are what you're after, best avoid Rutt's Hut, the New Jersey institution famous for its deep fried hot dogs and homemade relish. Order your dog and you get a choice of doneness ranging from barely-fried to the "cremator," a hot dog burnt nearly to a crisp. What you're after is the "ripper," fried just until it bursts open and starts to crisp around the edges, but still plenty juicy. And when they offer you some of their neon-colored cabbage and mustard relish, the answer is yes."

Address and phone: E Pike St and 10th Ave, Seattle, WA (888-571-4447)
Website: monsterdogsseattle.com

Tomky says: "Cream cheese is simply another condiment at Seattle hot dog carts, offered free along with the ketchup, mustard, relish. When order your dog, the grillmaster will offer cream cheese, and then, wielding what appears to be a caulk gun, squiggle it generously onto your wiener. It's up to you how else to garnish the dog, but the classic combination is grilled onions and Sriracha, so the cream cheese sort of melts into the onions and the hot sauce perks the whole combo up.

The most important thing in choosing a hot dog cart in Seattle is that it is within a few feet of the bar you are exiting. Every nightlife neighborhood in Seattle is peppered with carts like Monster Dogs that serve Seattle's quirky, unique regional hot dog. Monster Dogs parks its cart directly outside an excellent live music venue called Neumos until well after the bars close, and it serves a quintessential version of Seattle's own cream cheese hot dog. Go drink five beers and then dig into one before you judge."
 

Address and phone: 2653 Commerce St, Dallas, TX (214-434-1006)
Website: luschers.com

Vaughn says: "Hot dogs were something of a hobby for chef Brian Luscher until he started packaging his Post Oak Red Hots for farmers' markets. The popularity spawned Luscher's Red Hots, a cased meat emporium in the Deep Ellum neighborhood of Dallas. The menu is packed with a dozen variations of sausages and wieners, including one stuffed into an Italian beef sandwich, and Luscher's take on the corndog. The place is admittedly born of his love for Chicago, but there's one dog on the list that's all Texas—the corn chip chili dog. 

It's really just a more trademark-friendly way of saying it's a hot dog topped with a Frito chili pie, a Texas favorite that combines fried corn (Fritos), chili, and cheese. The chili (which has beans; Luscher calls it a "Northerner Chili" to appease the purists) has a nice kick, and so do the wieners. They're a smoked beef and pork frank with plenty black pepper. The snap from the natural casing is so satisfying beneath the layers of cheese and chili, and the mustard zing hits you on the back end. It's the perfect frank topped with a taste of Texas."
 

Address and phone: 822 SW 19th St, San Antonio, TX (210-432-7171)
Website: N/A

Tijerina says: "Somewhere in culinary heaven, there’s a place for the inventor of the crispy dog. Call it the Tex-Mex answer to the hot dog and the corn dog: a wiener sliced and stuffed with American cheese, then wrapped in a corn tortilla, secured with a toothpick and deep-fried. There’s nothing organic, seasonable or sustainable about it—and it’s all the more glorious for it. My favorite version comes from Ray's Drive Inn, a San Antonio legend since 1956, and the dog includes salsa and yellow mustard in small condiment cups. Even better, it’s less than three bucks. Local lore has it that it was invented at a restaurant called the Malt House as a way to appeal to Mexican and American tastes. The Malt House was a San Antonio icon that had been open since 1949, but it recently closed—quite possibly demolished to make way for a 7-11."

Address and phone: 1019 E Lombard St, Baltimore, MD (410-563-2666)
Website: attmansdeli.com

Loudermilk says: "Like many Baltimoreans, I grew up savoring the succulent corned beef sandwiches at Attman’s, a cramped New York-style deli that’s been around since 1915. But you haven’t really experienced the city landmark’s food until you’ve bitten into a plump all-beef hot dog wrapped in sizzling bologna known as a Baltimore hot dog. Attman’s calls their version—with house-made mustard, sweet pickle relish and chopped onions—the “working man’s dog,” said Marc Attman, a third-generation owner. The popular spot doesn’t take credit for creating the bologna hot dog, though. The kudos go to another Baltimore deli, the now defunct Ballow’s. Attman’s got the idea from their competitor in the early ’40s. “We didn’t even have a hot dog on the menu before that,” Attman said. Today, “Corned Beef Row,” where Attman’s is located, is a whisper of a busier time. But the Baltimore dog lives on. Get it while you can."

Address and phone: 18 Plainfield St, Providence, RI (401-621-9500)
Website: olneyvillenewyorksystem.com

Kraig says: "Rhode Island has one of the more distinctive styles of hot dogs. New York System, also called “hot wiener,” and sometimes “bellybusters,” “gaggers,” or “destroyers,” is a small sausage made of a pork and veal mixture that stands on a hot griddle for a long time before serving. When ordered, the sausage is served on a steamed bun and covered in mustard, a spicy meat sauce that is thinner in consistency than a standard chili, chopped onions and celery salt. Hot wieners are often served theatrically. The vendor puts a row of as many as twelve buns up his or her arm , adds wieners, and then dresses them. Customers routinely eat two or three at a time. New York System was begun by Greek immigrant restaurateurs probably in the 1920 who gave the style its name and created the special sauces (there are several styles using more or less spices) used on their creations. To taste one for yourself, head to New York System in the Olneyville district of Providence and Cranston." 

Address and phone: 3501 S Union Ave, Chicago, IL (773-247-2700)
Website: N/A

Gebert says: "35th street west of where the White Sox play is vintage Chicago—including vintage hot dog stands. I choose Morrie O’Malley’s because I know it uses Vienna Beef natural casing dogs; the snap of the skin on the steamed dog is an essential part of the Chicago dog experience. They do the full “dragged through the garden” style, topped with mustard, relish, onion, tomato, both pickle and raw cucumber slices, sport peppers, and a dusting of celery salt. When you bite into it all, it’s maybe not a symphony, but more along the lines of a brass band. Garlicky dog and mustard and onion, sport pepper vinegar, tomato and cucumber wet crunch, the seasoned tang of celery salt. It makes the dog a supporting player, yet it’s surprisingly well-balanced. Born in the Depression, when a “meal on a bun” might be all you could hope for, this Chicago dog delivers all it has got."

Address and phone: Various in Detroit
Website: leosconeyisland.com

Hester says: "The Coney Dog is Detroit's signature encased meat, on offer for nearly a century at Greek-inspired diners throughout the city. Local legend holds that the dogs are named after New York’s hot-dog-filled Coney Island, which Greek immigrants may have heard of as they docked in America. They’re heaped with beanless chili, flecked with onions, and striped with mustard. There's often nothing superlative about the dog—scrawny, with a bit of snap—or the chili. But the combination is a damn masterpiece. Admittedly, Leo's is an underdog. It's not the splashiest spot: that honor probably goes to Lafayette and American, a pair of dueling Coney spots that square off on a single corner in Detroit. The lore is delicious, and the queues stretch out the door, where seagulls loiter to beg for scraps. Leo's is a chain. But that's not so much a strike against it as a point in its favor. It launched in 1972; there are now dozens of outposts scattered across the metro area. When I was a kid, our joint was a 24-hour spot where we idled in fluorescent booths over plates of cheese fries, surrounded by murals of Athens. Here’s what you can count on: The dish will be messy, and whenever you go back, it will taste just like you remember it." 

Address and phone: 1410 W Florence Ave, Los Angeles, CA (310-634-5392)
Website: N/A

Elliott says: "Chili and hot dogs have a rich and intimate past in rust belt towns and much of the Eastern seaboard, but in the wide, humble South LA neighborhood of Los Angeles, that history becomes an origin story. According to one man's legacy—Art Elkind's, to be exact—the chili dog was invented here, in a blue and white one-room roadside stand founded in 1939. Those claims are almost certainly false, but who cares? Elkind used his creation to help feed a neighborhood that began as a suburban enclave for the aerospace industry before getting decimated by post-war civic policies and white flight. The 77-year old restaurant endures today thanks to its rich, hearty chili and caseless dogs (the snapless franks are supposed to fuse better with the chili, so the legend goes)—decades after race riots burned the neighborhood. And all because the restaurant is just that delicious. Or important. Or both."

Address and phone: 1213 U St NW, Washington, DC (202-667-0909)
Website: benschilibowl.com

Kraig says: "In Washington, D.C. and its vicinity, “half smokes” are said to be the native street food.  This is a large pork and beef sausage made coarser ground meat than a regular hot dog, more like a Polish sausage. They are seasoned with hot pepper flakes so that the sausage is mildly hot-spiced and they are smoked like other sausages. Half smokes are heated by vendors either on flat griddles or in water (“dirty water”) and served on buns with mustard and onions plus other condiments. Although half smokes are sold from street carts, some near the Washington Mall and the Capital where government workers often buy them on their lunch breaks, the most famous purveyor is Ben’s Chili Bowl. A favorite place for celebrities, politicians, and a business anchor for the African-American community, Ben’s serves flat griddled “half smokes” and hot dogs. Ben’s is famous for its chili which is made with tomatoes, ground beef and spices such as hot chilies and cumin."

Address and phone: 111 Congress St, Troy, NY (518-272-9481)
Website: famouslunch.net

Schonberger says: "I love regional culinary oddities, and there are few American foodstuffs as odd as the mini hot dogs of the New York Capital District. A collection of two-bite wiener dispensaries dots the Albany–Schenectady region—Hot Dog Charlie’s and Gus's are both worth a visit—but my favorite is Famous Lunch in Troy (known as the "Collar City" for its former role in the American shirt-making industry). In the window: a griddle full of Vienna sausage–size franks, plus a Pooh Bear–style pot of onion-y chili. On tap: RC-Cola. Behind the counter: a collection of no-BS, grease-splattered employees who expect you to be familiar with the restaurant's built-in patois—that meat chili is called "Zippy sauce," and "six with" will get you a half dozen dogs smothered in the stuff. Add a perfect thin-pattied cheeseburger cloaked in white American for good measure, and you're in business. My theory that all restaurants with famous in the name are, in fact, excellent is dutifully upheld at this Troy institution."

Address and phone: Tommys Park, Middle St, Portland, ME 
Website: N/A

Ricchio says: "It’s difficult to explain the allure of Maine’s indigenous hot dogs, known by most as Red Snappers. The pork and beef composition and flavor is similar to many other hot dogs, but there is something about the way the rubbery, neon red casing seals in the juices and intensifies the flavors. The brainchild of W.A. Bean & Sons, adding dyes and food coloring to the dogs back in 1919 was simply a ploy to draw eyes away from their competitor’s offerings.

Most Mainers pick them up at the supermarkets all over the state to serve at backyard barbecues and toss into pots of rich, stick-to-your-ribs baked beans. Hell, I think they taste great when fished out of the steamer box situated near the fake cappuccino machine at 7-11 at 3am. However, when you consider that Mark’s Hot Dogs in Portland’s Old Port has been slinging these juicy little bastards for over 30 years out of their now iconic cart, I can say with much certainty that if you want your first snapper, you should start here. I like them plain, and I don’t even mind eating the bits of napkin that inevitably glom on the hot, steamed bun. Owner Mark Gatti never seems to be fazed by any of the shitty weather we have here, so you can always count on your lunchtime fix."

Address and phone: 98 McBride Ave, Paterson, NJ (973-278-8718)
Website: N/A

Diaz says: "The Texas Weiner—a hot dog that’s deep fried, placed in a hot dog bun, and then topped with spicy brown mustard, diced onions and a special chili sauce— isn't a staple of Texas, as you think it would be. In fact, it's the pride of north New Jersey, invented by a mysterious Greek dude at his Paterson hot dog stand back in the ‘20s. Nearly 100 years later, his technique is still flourishing. The two places that continue his recipe's legacy are Libby’s Lunch in Paterson and the Hot Grill in Clifton. Both were founded by the Greek entrepreneur's former employees. I used to cut class to get high and grab some Libby's hot dogs, and have been going to Hot Grill since I can remember. The chili sauce at Hot Grill is a little tangier, but I can't bring myself to chose one over the other; that's like me asking you who's your favorite kid. Either way, there's nothing quite like Jersey lunch counter food."  

Address and phone: 306 Black Rock Turnpike, Fairfield, CT (203-334-3647)
Website: superduperweenie.com

Connor says: Though the tri-state area is known for shouting its regional delicacies from the rooftops—New York’s “world famous” pizzerias, and New Jersey’s heated Taylor Ham-Pork Roll debate—Connecticut has quietly been the champ when it comes to hot dogs for generations. Nestled next to the highway, Super Duper Weenie is Fairfield County’s crowning culinary achievement—an old-timey hot dog shack that specializes in the classic, American style of slicing an all-beef frank down the middle and sizzling it on a flat-top grill. The much-lauded method allows the dog to cook evenly on the stove, simultaneously supplying the weenie with a seared shell and plump inside. Paired with thin, hand-cut fries, and slathered in thick, home-made relish and chili, Super Duper Weenie puts a southern Connecticut-spin on regional styles from Chicago, California, Cincinnati, and New Orleans. But no matter where the influence comes from, the restaurant’s succulent, butterflied dogs end up with an East Coast flavor all their own.

Address and phone: 1902 Front St, Toledo, OH (567-318-0678)
Website: tonypacko.com

Lauvray says: Toledo, Ohio is—when it’s considered at all—an afterthought. I say this with no malice as a native Toledoan, but merely as a pragmatic Midwesterner with the understanding that when the Glass City is brought up it’s in relation to: Jamie Farr (MASH), the Mud Hens (minor league affiliate of the just-up-I-75 Detroit Tigers), or Tony Packo’s. Ah, and there’s our subject—Tony Packo’s and their world-famous dogs. Those Hungarian sausages with that frenzy-inducing chili recipe nestled into a hot dog bun. There’s no such thing as a “Hungarian hot dog,” but damn, if that chili isn’t loaded up with Hungarian paprika, cayenne, and so many other inscrutable ingredients. It’s this blend of spicy sausage in a snap-packed casing, loaded with that chili (plus onions and cheese) that has driven this Prohibition-era institution to the “fame” it holds in the dog-obsessed circles. There are three full-service Packo’s locations at this point in Toledo and if you’re ever in town, you’d do well to find out what the fuss is about."

Address and phone: 2148 Larimer St, Denver, CO (720-746-9355)
Website: bikerjimsdogs.com

Dieselboy says: "When it comes to hot dogs, Biker Jim's reigns supreme in Colorado. The former street cart vendor turned restaurateur showcases an impressive array of sausages at his namesake spot in downtown Denver. The selection includes plenty of uncommon proteins such as elk, rattlesnake, reindeer, and pheasant, as well as an extremely deep “fixings” selection that ranges from stilton blue cheese and bacon red onion marmalade, to Malaysian curry jam and harissa roasted cactus. It’s a generous and creative menu to say the least. My go-to order is the classic all beef hot dog with “The International” toppings—wasabi aioli, caramelized apples, and shaved Irish cheddar. The smoke from the well seasoned dog, the heat from the wasabi, and the classic flavor combination that is apple pie and cheddar really takes the hot dog to the far end of the spectrum."

Address and phone: 428 W Main St, Oklahoma City, OK (405-239-8568)
Website: N/A

Cathey says: "Hand-made posters documenting past seasons of University of Oklahoma football and old-fashioned coneys with Greek chili have been enough to draw a lunch crowd in downtown Oklahoma City for 80 years. Coney Island has been proving it since it opened in 1928 (despite the sign painted on the window claiming 1924). James, Mike and Gus Soter sold the business to fellow Greek immigrant Bill Mihas in 1966, and he’s been smart enough not to fix the unbroken. Mihas has served the same coneys, Frito pie and chili spaghetti ever since. And when football season ends, he’ll add another poster to the wall."

Address and phone: 2501 Southwest Blvd, Kansas City, MO (816-474-7095)
Website: boulevard.com

Hiersteiner says: "Beer and hot dogs were meant to be together, much to the chagrin of pretzels—or so I thought until the Boulevard Brewery Beer Hall in my hometown introduced its Bully! Porter Banger. The disturbingly awesome pretzel dog features: 1. a Bully! Porter-flavored pork-and-beef meat tube created by KC institution Fritz’s Meat and Superior Sausage; 2. a pretzel encasement made fresh daily with Boulevard’s Pale Ale and topped with garlic butter and everything bagel spice; 3. Pale Ale beer mustard; and, unless you're insane, 4. a draft beer from the greatest brewery known to modern humans. When I quipped to local high school football legend turned Certified Cicerone Kyle Hopkins, the Beer Hall’s front man, ‘What more could you possibly want?’, he shouted, 'A side of the f*cking KC Pilsner beer cheese sauce, dude!'"