Mountain Dew Wieners - The Feast That Never Was
In Georgia, we've settled a lot of arguments—peach cobbler vs. banana pudding, Bulldogs vs. Yellow Jackets—but I never thought we'd have a squabble over hot dogs flavored like soft drinks.
I was surfing along on the Internet, minding my own business, when a sight descended through my eyeballs like hot summer sunshine after a bad hangover.
As soon as I laid eyes on the spectacle before me, I knew that a line of people was forming at the neighborhood dollar store armed to the teeth and set forth to conquer like a Black Friday sale at the local Walmart.
Was this a prank? A social experiment? Or just proof that some folks will believe anything they read on Facebook? In these times, you find the things that seem logical are usually too good to be true, and the most bizarre products become a sad gospel fact.
I'm a Northeast Georgia boy by birth, and my kin comes from the base of the Appalachian Mountains, where we've been since before the Revolution. (Until I moved west to the Holy Land of the Lone Star, of course) Up in the mountains, we want our hot dogs the way we like our banjo music—classic and without any surprises.
There, where food traditions are simpler and sacred, hot dogs have rules, like moonshine and grandma's biscuits. You don't mess with them. Around those parts, the only thing you flavor a hot dog with is mustard and onions, and maybe regret after your third helping. Possibly four in my case. Dad always called them "Creek Bank Hot Dogs."
I showed this to my wife because I share all my pain with her, usually against her will, and she took one look at the pack and said, "Bless their hearts." If you still don't know that phrase, in this case, it's the Southern way of saying, "Y'all are dumb."
Whoever cooked up this idea should be sentenced to a lifetime of eating nothing but gas station sushi. It's not outside the realm of speculation that somewhere, a guy in a suit said, "Let’s mix Mountain Dew and hot dogs," and no one fired him or threw him out of a window. And with that, some other ding-a-ling wrote it down, thinking, "Now, that's a sage suggestion!"
You read that correctly. Hot dogs flavored like Mountain Dew? Yes, and dyed the same color as the soda. Somewhere, the inventor of the all-beef frank is rolling over in his ketchup.
I do know an area of the South that is celebrating this potential development.
While I'll admit that Arkansas is reputedly the reigning champion for Mountain Dew Mouth and is the potential source of Waffle House waitresses who count their teeth among the likes of old-school hockey players, Georgia is split somewhat evenly into two halves at a dividing line called Macon.
Don't believe me? Take a road trip sometime.
South Georgia historically leans into a different vibe: playful, kitschy, embracing whatever's new and flashy. I get it. America attributes it to the Kingdom of Honey Boo Boo. That is just the stereotype attributed to half of the state. If it's neon and it's cheap, they're buying it. Down there, they'd put Ranch on pancakes if you told them it was a trend. Many have forgotten that it is the birthplace of God's jeweled gift to the food world, the Vidalia onion.
God knows they curse cornbread with sugar and make all the baby angels cry. He is much more forgiving of that than I am.
Lord, have mercy.
Somewhere around Tifton, they saw Baja Blast dogs and thought, "Well, that'll go great with my Spam casserole!" It's the same reason you'll see a soccer mom in Valdosta wearing a shirt that says, 'Y'all need Jesus' while sipping a margarita the size of a birdbath. At least when you come across the Salt Life decal on the back of her van, you know she can get to a beach.
She might be crazy, but she ain't a liar.
With all of that said, I can see this product in a relatable Southern tradition: grilling hot dogs at a UGA tailgate or cookout, only to envision someone pulling out a pack of Code Red franks because no Southerner in their right mind will talk about "Wicked Hots," even though they are also red as a Bulldog helmet. And if you know what a wicked hot is, you have done some traveling yourself. They are as Maine as Stephen King. That's where I met them, along with the McDonald's Lobster Roll.
Rest assured that there will be stories of folks raiding Dollar Generals and texting friends, "Found ‘em!" You'll be inclined to believe it because it is insane enough and rusted-Pinto-in-the-front-yard enough to be redneck caviar. Some folks will believe it because we're the same country that thought spray cheese was a good idea.
It's a hoax.
But that fact has never stopped the wild fun of a good fight. We're used to good hoaxes. That's why the mainstream media is still around. Good lies, presented well enough, sell like hotcakes. Yes, even with Ranch.
The part that is real is something you expect if you're from the South. Bubba and Jaylene are now boiling hot dogs in Mountain Dew to try to recreate what they think they saw and post this monstrosity on social media.
There's enough good old-fashioned hate to go around, it seems.
We'll argue about barbecue, sweet tea, and, apparently, soda-flavored hot dogs. It's possible that Mountain Dew cornbread may be next.
These food adventures are a level of loony that can only spawn more goofiness. If this is where we're headed as a nation, someone down there will be ready to move to Canada. But only if they don't serve Pepsi Poutine.
North Georgia, keep your hot dog traditions alive. South Georgia, keep scouring the aisles for the next big thing. And the rest of us? Let's just pray they don't release LiveWire Vienna sausages.
After all, we're all just one bad idea away from putting pineapple on biscuits.
