I went to the 57^th Street Art Fair the first weekend of June.

I spotted the oil painter from Colorado and the Eastern European print-maker who features barely veiled political themes with an Alice in Wonderland vibe standing under their square tents ready to engage the crowd and, hopefully, sell a little art.  They come every year.

I turned near the raku ceramics artist’s display and walked into a wall of sweet smelling oil. Children scampered around me trying to keep their powdered sugar dusted funnel cakes from sliding off their paper plates.  Man, I thought, I must be close to the food concessions.  I suddenly became hungry for a charred Polish or foot-long dog.

I don’t know that I’m much of a hot dog fan, but I can’t seem to deny myself the urge when at a ballpark or summertime festival.  First, you have to eat a hot dog on the bun it belongs to, and I generally try to avoid eating bread. Then, you have to slather on the appropriate condiments, which can be filled with all sorts of nasty stuff that practically glows in the dark.

But a fully loaded hot dog is so filling -– so complete; blanketed with a long wedge of pickle, tomato bits, chopped onion, and so on.  A Chicago dog, with the works, is like eating a veritable garden in a bun.  A hot dog is oddly satisfying.

Having consumed most of the hot dogs in my life at a ballpark, or zoo, or street fair feels like I’ve shared meals with thousands of others, and I find this oddly satisfying too.

Who’d think so many people would come together over a couple ounces of steamed sausage? But people will often feel very passionate about their dogs.  Different people like to season and decorate them differently, and people will claim loyalties to specific stands or grills.

It’s an innocent enough illusion, thinking your place is unique.  On weekends, I’ve driven by Hot Doug’s and witnessed three-block long lines (supposedly, people wait in line for fries cooked in duck fat).  Do the dogs at Hot Doug’s really taste especially great, or do they just conjure up special memories? Is the appeal that it is a treat you can easily afford?

And having a favorite stand or kiosk or push cart vendor – fans of Superdawg or Gene & Jude’s, or Wolfy’s could argue for eternity about who makes the best, but they all start out with pretty much the same ingredients and use the same process.  Don’t they?

And I love this about eating hot dogs, how they feel special and made-to-order even when they basically consist of pretty unremarkable components. Like everyone on this planet is special and pretty much the same as everyone else.

Eating a hot dog, even just smelling the steam and onions and mustard that surrounds one, and thinking This is summer! Is no small thing.