Even with egregious amounts of hops pulsing through my veins, the hot dogs at American Coney Island made my nervous system collapse into a mushroom cloud of misery. You would figure that imbibing barley pops with your buddies would put you in a joyous state of unhindered merriment. We even chatted it up with the lackadaisical guy working the counter. This cashier was personable, possibly stoned, and supportive of our decent into an alcohol induced haze.
And then the coney dog rolls out of the factory window, dressed to the gills in chili and defeat. Two bites into this throng of sodium and I'm lolling in despair. The chili tastes like it was purchased in the can aisle of a 99 cents store. And the hot dog is in a sad state of quality and flavor. With Mermaids down the street offering Nathan's franks, there's really no reason to roll the dice at American Coney Island. White flag raised.