Roadfood_ Revised Edition - Jane Stern [139]
Cozy Dog Drive-In
2935 S. 6th St.
217–525–1992
Springfield, IL
LD | $
Route 66 from Chicago to St. Louis has become Interstate 55 and the Cozy Dog Drive-In is now situated where the old Abe Lincoln Motel used to be, but the motto of this mid-century Mother Road treasure still holds absolutely true: “One calls for another.”
Invented during World War II by Ed Waldemire when he was stationed in the Air Force in Texas, the corn-clad, deep-fried pup was originally called Crusty Cur and was a big hit with flyboys at the Amarillo PX. After the war, Waldemire’s wife convinced him that his wiener needed a more appealing name, and in 1946, they opened the first Cozy Dog (so christened because no one eats a single, lonely one). You don’t have to be a street food connoisseur to know the difference between a cozy dog and an ordinary corn dog. The cozy’s batter jacket has a vivid crunch and earthy corn flavor; the dog within is plump with juice. Family baskets include four cozy dogs and a large order of (freshly cut) French fries.
Garrett Popcorn Shop
670 N. Michigan Ave.
312–944–4730
Chicago, IL
$
The management of Garrett Popcorn Shop insists that the product it makes is not caramel corn. It is CaramelCrisp, a trademarked name for a foodstuff that, to us, looks a lot like caramel corn. In any case, we have no desire to argue with the place that makes our all-time favorite caramel-coated, popcorn-based snack. Whatever you call it, CaramelCrisp is simply sensational.
Generally speaking, candy-coated popcorn is frivolous junk food. CaramelCrisp is serious and soulful, its taste and texture dramatically more important than any other kind of candied corn. In fact, it doesn’t really taste candied at all. The popcorn itself is a tender, earthy note within its caramel sheath, which is deeply buttery and has a dark flavor that teeters at the edge of tasting burned. Like the singed crust atop a well-made crème brûlée, the corn’s coat smacks of fire more than sugar.
Another thing that makes it good is that it is always served hot and fresh. Once mixed with caramel, it is spilled into an L-shaped trough against the front wall where a woman worries it with two large scoops, ensuring the caramel corn doesn’t clump into pieces larger than three or four popped kernels. As it achieves a perfect consistency, it is shoveled forward into the other end of the trough, where it is scooped into wax-paper bags that are weighed out for customers.
Almost equally excellent is Garrett’s cheese corn, which is impossible to eat without your fingers turning bright orange from the cheese that coats and infuses the hot popped kernels. It is hilarious to stroll along Michigan Avenue, known as the Magnificent Mile for all its high-end shopping, and see otherwise dapper folks whose hands are the color of a school bus. Even knowing the mess that inevitably results, including orange stains on jeans and jackets, lips and chins, we cannot stop eating it once we start. The vivid cheese immeasurably enhances the starchy corn flavor of the puffy kernels, making a savory snack that is almost unimprovable.
But it can get better. Instead of ordering either CaramelCrisp or cheese corn, you can ask one of the women working the counter for a “mix,” also known as a “Chicago mix.” She fills a bag half full with caramel corn, then tops it off with cheese corn and shakes. The combo—which stains fingers only half as bad—is a giant taste sensation that seems to cover the whole spectrum of what a tongue can appreciate: salty, sweet, buttery, earthy, crisp, and chewy. Frankly, even a mini-mix, which is a mere eight ounces, exhausts our ability to eat anything else for hours. It is, for us, a perfect food.
The only negative thing to say about this place is that it is so insanely popular among Chicagoans that the wait in line to buy the product can be thirty minutes or even an hour. There