This is a belated post, created now by the powers of procrastination. Anyway. You know you’ve got a real town when you’ve got a hot dog cart. Congrats, Moscow. I’d seen NY Johnny out there late at night by Friendship Square, hawking dawgs to the drunken citizenry. Never brave enough to face the crowd, I’d only been a passerby to these glorious dogs until a few weeks ago. Set up at a family friend’s music show outside in the slanting evening sunshine, I couldn’t resist a hot-dog-cart hot dog. I was rewarded handsomely for my hot dog curiosity. Non-sketchy hot dog (made at local butcher) squeezed in the perfect super squishy white bun (WonderBread in bun form, melds to your hand shape in .4 seconds), plus mustard (ode to the Germans, father of das sausage) and buried under the best part, a mound of spicy, pickled-ish,delicously oily onions. And if that’s not enough, there’s Johnny himself, complete with a very legit Brooklyn accent and a whole Italian immigrant, these onions are shipped from the Empire State, this olive oil is made by my family, this delectable spicy onion slaw is a secret father-to-son recipe schtick going on. Now I’m hankering for a dawg.

Our man, NY Johnny.

Tom’s dog, mine was devoured before documentation.

And if you go, you’ll probably get your pic on what I’ve dubbed “The Dog Blog.” A great honor for any Muscovite.

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