Life, death and relish: You can't go home again, but some flavors will get you close

I made a rookie mistake. I overthought things. My sense of perspective was out of whack.

I ordered relish on a footlong from Hank’s.

I know, I know. It’s embarrassing just to type it. But it’s true and there’s no running from it.

If this had been a Chicago dog, sure — bring on the relish. But this wasn’t a Chicago dog. And I wasn't in Chicago. I was back home in Virginia and this was a footlong from Hank’s, served "all the way" with mustard, chili, ketchup, onions and, of course, slaw. The condiments are so plentiful and tightly packed that the bun quickly turns into a kind of bread sponge. (That’s a good thing.)

Why would I make such a grievous error? I can't say. I haven't had a lot of slaw dogs in Arizona; probably I just got used to ordering relish every time. (Tip: Also good on cheeseburgers.)

But at Hank's the chili is the key to everything, a little tangy with tomato flavoring, and without the burnt taste so much hot dog chili seems to have — like licking an ashtray.

But it's more than just the chili. The magic of a footlong from Hank's is the combination that just makes you happy to eat it. If comfort has a flavor, for me, this is it.

Like many mistakes in life, I couldn't tell you why I did it

Relish, though? On this? A Southern-style chili dog with slaw? No.

I don’t know how Picasso decided “Guernica” was finished, but this was like looking at the canvas and saying, you know what this could use is a few polka dots.

Why mess with perfection? I don't have a good answer. I can't say why. I just did — and aren't so many mistakes made in the same way?

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If this sounds like a lot of importance to put on a hot dog, well, probably it is. But to me, hot dogs are staples of football games, kid lunches and midnight 7-Eleven runs in college. They mean something more. They mean I’m home.

Hank’s Drive-In, in my hometown of Radford — actually, across the bridge over the New River in Fairlawn, but it counts — has for most of my life been my favorite place to eat. And the footlong is hands down my favorite food. Ever.

It was, anyway.

My dad used to take me to Hank’s when I was young. Back then I also got a pizza burger. It's no longer on the menu, which is probably a good thing. My recollection is of two frozen hunks of meat with tomato sauce in-between, fried and served with mayonnaise, tomato and lettuce.

Somewhere along the line Hank died and changes were made including, it seems, to the lard-infused anchor of the whole thing: the chili.

But on that ill-fated visit, they seemed to have righted the chili ship and, superfluous relish notwithstanding, all was right with the world. Or at least that little part of it.

Done with my Hank’s experience, I branched out. I always like to make a good sampling when I'm back.

There is a new-ish place in Radford, the Dawg House. It was pretty good. Cook Out is a chain that’ll do in a pinch.

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A gas station epiphany

It was only when my niece and I visited Delaney’s Kitchen, a small grill located inside a Bucko’s Pantry gas station and I was ordering a footlong that I realized the mistake I’d been making.

While we waited for the guy in front of us to be served his Fat Burger (pretty much what it sounds like, only bigger) I mentioned that I had been getting relish on my footlongs with slaw.

The man looked at me like I was lost in the desert.

“Why would you get relish and slaw,” he finally said. “You don’t do that.”

The Delaney’s dog was excellent. Without relish, of course. Finally, I had mended my ways.

My hot dog odyssey complete, I returned to Arizona, thinking I was done with my chili-slaw obsession for a while.

Then my sister died.

I had eaten my last Hank’s footlong at her dining room table a few days before — paper plate, lots and lots of napkins — and now my family and I would be going back to Virginia. And I would be going back to Hank’s.

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It won't taste the same. Homecomings never do

I ate my footlong at my sister’s dining room table again. Only, of course, she wasn’t there this time. She didn’t eat a lot of Hank’s, at least not that I saw, but my brother-in-law is in possession of what is purported to be the secret chili recipe.

The footlong was still good. But it wasn’t quite the same. It won’t be. Things change. Hank’s changes. Life changes.

My dad died when I was 18, so I’ve been getting Hank’s a lot longer without him than with him. But most of my trips there I think about him, the two of us pulling up in a Chevy Nova with the floorboard rusted out, eventually filled in with part of a beat-up old Gulf gas sign. Back in the day we ate in the car, the tray hanging off the half-open window like we were extras in a hillbilly remake of “American Graffiti.”

You don’t get that back. So you search for reminders, things that will at least get you close. A footlong from Hank’s is one of those things for me — ordered from my car, no relish, eaten at my sister's table. It’s not home anymore, but for a little while, it feels close enough.

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This article originally appeared on Arizona Republic: What does home taste like? For me, it's a footlong from Hank's