Saturday, February 16, 2008

Rutt's Hut and Andy's Corner Bar - HotDogs, Marvis, and Microbrews

That is what they call a yoohoo at Rutt's Hut, the greatest hotdog joint on the east coast. We ended up there tonight before a long night of drinkery. We built a drinking foundation with rippers, and I ordered a Yoohoo so johnny could experience the lingo. He found this incredibly amusing, and it became the word of the evening.
Rutt's Hut is an institution in North Jersey, home to deep-fried, unbattered hotdogs known as Rippers.
Two rippers

Johnny's order was "Two rippers, frenchy one, Pepsi one!" and mine was "two rippers, Marvis one!" And let me tell you, those dogs get an airy quality once the fry grease bursts their skin. They have no weight to them, and you can overindulge easily. Now that I've had them again I'll give them the edge over New Orleans' Lucky Dogs. Their fries are perfectly crispy and light, but their onion rings are a cardiologist's wet dream, a sloppy pile of greasy onions and bits of fried batter. Their relish, seen on the right-hand dog, is uniquely sweet and pickle-barren, and I always slather it on liberally. Who knows what's in it, but it seems vegetable based and therefore is healthy and negates any arterial plaque brought on by eating two frankfurters that just swam in a vat of fry oil.

Sarah met us in Hoboken shortly afterward, because there was a Devil's game last night, and picking someone up at Newark Penn Station when a game lets out is madness, like Sparta madness. Oddfellows is one of our favorite restaurants, but the bar scene leaned towards Abercrombie & Bitch popped-collar brats, so after introducing Johnny to Abita beer, we hauled ass out of there to Andy's Corner Bar. It's a small cozy joint not far from the GWB, but they have 2 cask ales and a nice tap selection. They lean toward hoppy beers like Sly Fox Pale and Hop Rod Rye, both of which I liked. Johnny had his Ramstein Winter Wheat, and Sarah had a few wheat beers, like Weihenstephaner Hefe Weizen, made at the oldest continually running brewery in the world. Quite tasty. My fave of the night was Gulden Draak, a Belgian Dark Triple that tasted like good port.

Here are my dear friends humiliating themselves at this fine establishment. I clogged the jukebox with familiar tunes and when "Two Step" by Dave Matthews came on, Sarah's favorite song ever, she put on a little show for us.

We are a classy bunch.

We closed the bar and were going to head to Hiram's hotdog stand in Fort Lee but some fellow beer mavens told us it closes early. So we headed back toward Rutt's Hut, because there is no better drunk food. To our great dismay, the neon sign was dim when we got there. Apparently Rutt's now closes, so some things do change and even great institutions fade into modernity. We went to the Lyndhurst Diner instead, since they never close, and a burger is a close second to a greasy hot dog in sated a drink-sotted belly.

As a bonus Sarah stuck her earring in one of my old ear holes, from my old punk days. Just to show that I won't post embarrassing photos without taking some lumps myself. And no, the Rufus Wainwright concert is not rubbing off on me.

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