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| - Too hungry to make it all the way home the other night, a drained, hungered, athirst Kay and Darren made their way to Mt. Washington for refreshment and comfort on a scalding, congested day.
What we found was the illegitimate son of D's Sixpax and Dogs from Regent Square. Upon entering, our ears were assailed by stridently played-to-death selections from AC/DC and Motley Crue. The music was blaring so much that the gent taking our order at the red-and- silver, diner-style counter could hardly hear my words. I should have brought my earplugs.
Like another reviewer, I too ordered the Golden Retriever, a Steeltown take on a Chi-Town classic complete with all the appropriate accessories (radioactive relish, dill pickles, tomatoes, celery salt, school bus-yellow mustard, and sport peppers). The frank itself was grilled immaculately, its natural casing snapping like bubble wrap with every breach of my incisors, its juicy beef essence permeating each chomp, the accompanying toppings only enhancing and never distracting from the proteins at hand.
And the fries were ochroid spud cudgels par excellence with their coats of outer crispness and plush insides.
The bacon cheeseburger might have been a winner had it been cooked to medium rare instead of well-done. Judging by the dense texture, I suspect it may have been in a freezer a bit too long as well. The bacon was very crisp, however, and the other fixings, including the bakery-quality bun (used for the dog also. did they both come from Grandview Bakery?), were plentiful and fresh.
Packs and Dogs has an odd mancave/greasy spoon/bro-bar vibe about it that I'm not sure works. As I alluded to before, the music was entirely too loud, especially considering that this was an early Thursday evening and that attendance was scant; it was as if a kegger party was being held and hardly anyone showed up. A MMA program could be seen on the flatscreen telly on the wall, but due to the noise (and I love loud, heavy music, just not when I'm trying to eat at a restaurant) we couldn't hear anything uttered by Joe Rogan or the muscled, deformed-of-ear fighters he was interviewing. Leather couches, a jukebox, and a dart board populate the front, which I suppose is intended to create a comfortable ambience, but I cannot imagine that being the case at P&D's on a sultry, intoxicated Saturday night.
While quite obviously a copycat of the East End's version, Mt. Washington's Packs and Dogs misses the bullseye in terms of atmosphere despite making mighty fine hot dogs and french fries. You can relax at D's. Here? Not so much, I reckon. At P&D's busiest, you may have luck getting into a fight, finding a liason, drinking yourself into the gutter, or simply garnering attention to your tanned, scarcely-garbed self.
P.S. Packs and Dogs would be an effortless 4 stars if it was just a hot dog stand and nothing more.
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