BY CARLA WALDEMAR
Prairie Dog
610 W. Lake St.
612-223-8984
www.prairiedogssausage.com
‘Tis the season to pig out at tables sinking under the weight of Granny’s turkey, pot luck eccentricities, more sugar and carbs than even a Sumo wrestler could comfortably inhale, and other dietary overloads. So, when it’s time to take a break from ho-ho-hoing it at dinner, consider the simple fare of summer’s back yards and ballgames, the unassuming hot dog.
Except at Prairie Dog, the lowly tube steak assumes a lot. The so-named spot on Lake at Lyndale makes its own bun-fillers from raw material of locally-raised meats, artisan cheeses and farmers’ market produce. So … healthy, right? Which means, they’re not your Granddad’s wienie. Even better news for those paying off Black Friday binge-ing, they don’t bust the budget.
No Heinz on the tables, either. Ketchup? That’s so ballpark. Instead, think sriracha aioli, salsa verde, foie gras gravy. And that gravied perfection, my dears, is exactly where to start. Hold off on the sausages for a minute and summon the foietine ($11). Big enough for sharing (but that’s carrying the Golden Rule too far), foie gras gravy sanctifies a heap of slender French fries—twice-fried, in fact, to fend off sogginess—sown with threads of juicy, long-braised lamb neck and a toss of cheese curds melting their way to heaven. In other words, poutine elevated to stardom.
Limbered up for our dogs, we next whistled for the spicy merguez number ($13), a supremely tasty, roundly seasoned and robustly built link of ground lamb. It’s loaded with piquillo peppers, tiny bricks of feta, and a schmear of mint aioli, on—OK, here’s the dumb part—a flimsy, unremarkable bun. Anyway, think Morocco invades Lake Street.
What next? The list is long, from a custom-coutured brat to the Reu-bun (corned beef brisket sausage, bacon, kraut, Russian dressing, Jarlsberg cheese on pumpernickel). A Mexican creation. A Calabrese concoction saluting spicy sausage loaded with onions, peppers, marinara and Pecorino Romano. The Smoked Polish in a poppyseed bun. And (how ‘bout them Cubs?) a not-dog composed of Chicago Italian beef with house-made giardinara and more.
We chose the Bahn Mi Joy Dog ($13). Picture this: char siu pork consorting with a slab of chicken liver pate atop a faint whisper of shoyu mayo and japalenos, under an avalanche of pickled carrots, daikon (overpowering, this) and cilantro.
Setting it aside, we turned our gluttony to a better use of those raw materials: this time, the Hog ($12): a brioche bun supporting pork belly, all the better for a hoisin glaze and lick of sriracha aioli, and supporting, again, a whole lot of pickled carrots and daikon. Or go for a bare-naked dog and customize it with scads of aspirational add-ons.
Ready to serve as a first responder’s resuscitating devices are a couple of coleslaw options. The prairie slaw showcases ultra-crisp and colorful strands of snappy veggies heavily dosed with celery seed, while the apple-infused version—definitely the go-to choice—pairs cabbage’s native sharpness with batons of sweet green apple. High five for that one. The kitchen’s crispy bread-and-butter pickles hit the target, too. So do the fried Brussels sprouts, slathered with melted cheddar. And, possibly, the dish of booya (untasted), the Iron Range’s answer to chili.
Who needs dessert? Right: nobody. So with a good conscience, skip the shakes and ice cream that constitute the café’s finale. Oh, wait! There is a shake called S’mores & Bacon. Let me rethink that …
