Pink's Hot Dogs

Let’s face it, there’s a Pink’s Hot Dogs in every city.

Not literally, of course. We say this in the sense that Pink’s is that one place in every city that supposedly represents its culture and culinary identity perfectly, yet actually fails in every aspect. Overrated might be a more familiar term.

Not to discredit Pink’s history, which is long and interesting, but somewhere down the line she managed to lose every last ounce of her magic. The tiny little stand on the corner of Melrose and La Brea is now an uninteresting food trap, chock-full of Indiana tourists searching for the “real” Los Angeles. If you think a hotdog topped with sauerkraut and named after Rosie O’Donnell is the real Los Angeles, you should probably leave as fast as f*cking possible. Heck, eating at Chipotle next door is probably a more authentic LA experience these days. (And it would certainly save you waiting in the blaring sun for an hour and a half.)

But maybe we can’t blame Pink’s for attracting every tourist from Santa Monica to Hollywood. They’re just working their business, right? OK, fine. But we can certainly blame them for not continuing to elevate their food. The fact of the matter is there is absolutely nothing special or noteworthy about what Pink’s puts on the plate. Wanna know where you can get a heated up hotdog with cheese on it? At home. Sure, Pink’s is open late, which could make it appealing to the drunken stumblers of Saturday night, but, unfortunately for Pink’s, there are about ten other late-night joints in the vicinity on Melrose that are far easier and drastically more fulfilling.

Should you come to Pink’s once? Yeah, why not. Wait in line, have a hotdog and contemplate what else you could’ve been doing with your Saturday off. And then find somewhere better to go. Because this city is full of places that actually deserve your attention.