Chicago Vs Seattle: Which Iconic Hot Dog Style Is Better?

Is there a culinary symbol more distinctly American than the hot dog? For the sake of argument (and I love to argue), let's say no. While sausages date back to ancient times, New York street vendors, many of them German immigrants, first dropped them into rolls starting in the 19th century. From Philly to Houston, plenty of U.S. cities pride themselves on the distinctive toppings they pile onto this stadium staple, but two of the most recognizable styles have to be those of Chicago and Seattle. I, a self-identified hot dog enthusiast, aim to answer an absurd but incendiary question: Which of these franks would win in a fight?

Preeminent glizzy authority NHDSC (that would be the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council) describes the former as featuring mustard, dark green relish, raw onions, sport peppers, sliced tomatoes, celery salt, and a pickle spear, usually on a poppyseed bun. Seattle's unique iteration comes on a toasted bun with a smear of cream cheese and a pile of grilled onions (sriracha and jalapeños optional).

On a recent trip passing through both cities, I tested and compared these variants based on taste, texture, and construction. To select my sausage purveyors, I sought guidance from Yelp, Reddit, and Google reviews, which pointed me toward Chicago's Devil Dawgs and Matt's Famous Chili Dogs in Seattle. Both average at least 4 stars on 1,000-plus reviews. Not everyone who delights in the dawg will agree with my final verdict below, but like Nero — whose cook, Gaius, may have created the first sausages — I merely fiddle as the rage of disgruntled dog disciples burns bright.

In accordance with Chicago tradition, Devil Dawgs' signature item featured mustard, chopped raw onions, phosphorescent green relish, tomato crescents, a couple of sport peppers, and celery salt piled atop a warm (not hot) and rather shriveled sausage. Once I entered the graffitied, neon-lit dining room of the chain's South Loop location and ordered my $5.95 entree via touchscreen kiosk, I grabbed a table next to a framed picture of Anthony Bourdain chowing down on the very same dog I would meet in eight minutes' time. (Three minutes in, I also received a 24-ounce Caramel Salty Pretzel shake that — and I'm not proud of this — cost almost $3 more than the dog itself.)

So, how was that crucial first bite? Wrinkles aside, the Vienna's casing gave with a decent snap, and its interior offered a nice chew. The peppers' pickled kick, along with the mustard's tang, buried any flavor from the sausage, but combined with the ripe tomatoes and vinegar-heavy dill spear, the toppings' acidity handily cut through the dog's oily center. My tasting verdict? Delicious.

Unfortunately, the accoutrements pulled double duty as feature and bug. Their moisture and heft dealt the petite, unseeded bun a devastating blow, and with each sloppy bite, I was drawn further from hunger while hurtling ever closer to a mushy, dripping, inevitable end. Luckily, the shake's decadence smoothed over this dog's Cardinal sins (no need to forgive the outdated football pun, Chicago — I don't deserve it).

From without, Matt's Famous Chili Dogs — a one-room building squatting beneath the gloomy sky of Seattle's Industrial District — looked far from promising. But looks, famously, can be deceiving, and I learned this firsthand when, just three minutes after ordering, I bit into the crisp, toasted bun of Matt's $6.39 Seattle Dog. Like standard renditions of this regional staple, Matt's version keeps it simple: bun, dog, cream cheese, and grilled onions. This dog was humbler in length than its Chicago counterpart but larger in diameter (you'll thank me for not resorting to some variant of the word "girthy"), and its green-bean snap released a bouquet of curling steam.

The pure-beef frank, made in-house according to the menu, was tasty but lacked any robust flavor besides, fittingly enough, a satiating beefiness. (This did nicely complement the salty crunch of my $3.19 shoestring fries and the sweet chill of the $5.49 chocolate shake.) Grilled onions and meat are always a welcome combo, but the cream cheese — arguably the style's most quintessential and controversial element — bumped this dog up from good to great. Its creaminess adhered the smoky diced onions to the sausage, and the cool, generous smear added some pleasant contrast in the texture and temperature departments. It was also more substantial than conventional condiments like mustard, lending the simple combo some heft. Maybe most importantly (in case Chicago is taking notes), fewer toppings meant the airy bun remained intact until the very end.

My ruling? Each dog was delicious in its own way, but due to its sturdiness, simplicity, and textural contrast, the West Coast dog has earned the coveted title — and this time, I must apologize in advance — of "wiener."