As I sashayed on the boardwalk and right into Diamond Dawgs, 753 Asp Ave. in Norman, I was about to yell, to no one in particular, “This ain’t hot dogs…this is genocide!” but quickly caught myself when I sadly learned this eatery wasn’t the world’s only David Bowie-inspired frankfurter restaurant.
Instead, for some odd reason, Diamond Dawgs is a baseball-themed wiener outing, with quotes from the likes of Jimmy Buffet covering the wall. Disappointed and a little disheartened, I grimly moped up to the counter, “Rock and Roll Suicide” playing on repeat in my Stardust-kissed mind...
While my date—who warned me not to put my trust in a hot dog restaurant—had quickly decided on the “Dawg Pile” ($6.99) frank, I eventually decided on the “Cincinnati Red Hot” ($6.99) because it sounded like a track off Young Americans; additionally, because it was so prominently displayed on the menu, “The Wonderboy” ($4.49) corn-dog coney along with a side of Onion Strings ($2.49) were dutifully added to the home-run order.
For a supposed sports-based joint on the Fourth of July, there was a wide variety of hungry clientele here, from the typical Chads with the popular bent-to-the-side ball-caps to a comical hippie carrying a bag of not-so-popular juggling-sticks, all ready to perform at a moment’s notice. And there I was, dressed in tight red trousers, a black see-through blouse and a glittery eye-patch, obviously misjudging the room. But it was far too late to ch-ch-ch-ch-change now, as the food was on its way.
My Cincinnati Red Hot, with its fried jalapenos and sautéed onions covering on top, was a spicy red hot link grilled to the nines, a little jack cheese on there for androgyny’s sake. Each bite was a villainous breath-taker, the need for water an absolute necessity. The Dawg Pile, was a namesake “Diamond Dawg” wiener blanketed with a soul-lovin’ helping of Fritos, chili and cheese, all a rich source of a confident-enough sausage.
While the Onion Strings were good for perhaps a small handful, the extremely large basket had me wishing I had ordered a different side—perhaps the French fries—instead leaving me to cup the leftovers and save them for the next time I need to make a rather tasty green-bean casserole in a hurry. That being said, the engorged Wonderboy was a fine credit to corndogs everywhere, a hand-coated monstrosity that was a might bigger than what the Goblin King was packing in those riding pants.
While I still haven’t gotten over my initial letdown—think about the rock and roll renown you could be drowning in, Diamond Dawgs—but, regardless, Norman’s Dawgs really has got a lot to bark, bark and ruff, ruff at. For clarity’s sake though, I’ll just go ahead and say that Diamond Dawgs rule….ok? Cómpralo ya!
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