Peggotty was my collie. I used to buy hot dogs from Steve's for both of us. We ate them in my car parked on West 50th Street. She liked hers with just chili and I liked mine with chili, onions, mustard and slaw. We both ate two. It got to the point where if we were driving within a few blocks from Steve's she stood on the seat, nose pressed to the window, tail wagging frantically.
Peggotty left me. I still go to Steve's. Maybe because I remember her so well when I park on 50th Street or maybe because I simply enjoy the place. I omit the slaw these days and I sit at the counter. This little diner is typical to what can be found in most big older cities.
I have no idea why so many reviewers shiver over the location. There are places I never go, ever, like Chagrin Falls or Hudson. They are scary to me. West 50th and Lorain Avenue is far more tolerant and welcoming of differences.
LA has Pink's with stars waiting in line to buy hot dogs with odd toppings named after people with money and fame. Cleveland has Steve's with no lines and a Peggotty hot dog but no one but me knows its name.