Hot dog!

Racing isn't the only tradition at Martinsville

A Martinsville baptism has two prerequisites: stamina, and stomach.

It helps to be a mountain goat -- the better to climb infield walls, bleacher steps, and the steep asphalt path from the Martinsville Speedway’s media lot to an elevator landing.

It also helps to have a goat’s stomach, because visiting this rural, southern Virginia track means one true concession-stand option. And unless you’re allergic to processed meat, you’ll be ridiculed to Greensboro and back if you don’t at least try one of the Speedway’s renowned hot dogs.

“They’re probably the cheapest concession on the circuit,” says Speedway owner Clay Campbell, listing the cost at $2 per dog. “It’s just something that people bring up with they talk about Martinsville.”

The brand, Jesse Jones, is a regional phenomenon, according to Campbell, who reveals the track sells between 60-70,000 dogs during each of its two NASCAR race weekends.

“I don’t know how spread-out this particular hot dog is, but it’s something that goes back with us close to 50 years, I guess,” Campbell says.

Nestled in buns, the skinny, pink-red dogs are dressed -- either partially or fully, or left naked -- then wrapped in wax paper. They’re Friday and Saturday’s main course in the infield media center, where they lie stacked in cardboard trays labeled by dominant ingredient: slaw, onions, chili, et al.

“This is straight from the Lord to you,” says veteran motor sports journalist Dick Berggren, shaking a wrapped dog.

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution’s Rick Minter tosses away wrapper No. 1. “You know the good thing about these?” he asks, unwrapping dog No. 2. “No good part of the cow was wasted to make them.”

“Processed pig intestines,” PRN’s Steve Richards says. “Red dye number seven.”

People grab the dogs by handfuls, wash them down with soft drinks or bottled water from a cooler. Bowls of snack mixes and potato chips go largely untouched.

"I ate three when I came in this morning. I got an iron gut." Dale Earnhardt Jr.

The chili is sans beans, a brown paste rather than a spread. The slaw’s finely-chopped sweetness balances the mustard’s bite, and the crimson hot dog is texture rather than taste under all the condiments; think of the first person who ate a raw oyster, or tomatoes back when Europeans thought they were poisonous.

“I ate three when I came in this morning,” Dale Earnhardt Jr. says Friday afternoon, his face brightening at the mention at Martinsville hot dogs. He remembers eating them at 10 a.m., and promises it wasn’t unsettling.

“I got an iron gut,” he confides.

Dale Jarrett has an iron will.

“I quit eating those,” Jarrett says; he hid in his hauler Friday afternoon while crew members chowed. “I buy them for the guys, but gosh, I used to have at least eight or 10 during the weekend. But I know (Wood Brothers Racing co-owner) Eddie Wood, who weighs about 120 pounds, he’ll have six. He probably had six this morning for breakfast.”

Actually, Woods said, he had eight Friday. And six on Saturday. And four more on Sunday.

Tony Glover, Sterling Marlin’s team manager, waits until Saturday for his hot-dog breakfast -- after eating six on Friday. He’s spotted with a handful at 8:30 a.m., in the Winston Cup garage.

“I just get basically a chili bun,” Glover says. “The guys aggravate me about how many of ‘em I eat. Heck, I might go through 12 to 18 for the weekend. It’s fun.”

Glover, though, has a hedge against indigestion. “No dog,” he says. “Every now and then a dog. Most times just chili and mustard. I always try to be the first one to get one in the morning. That’s the big deal.”

Dodge PR rep Ray Cooper informs Marlin of Glover’s eight-to-10 goal during a morning press session.

“I’d hate to be around him tonight,” Marlin says. The points leader echoes Jarrett; he’s sworn off over-indulgence. But he lauds a Wrightsville Beach, N.C., hot-dog joint.

“"I'm not much in standing in line for food, but there's a hot dog stand in Wrightsville Beach that's so good I waited 45 minutes in line one time for hot dogs," Marlin said. "I bought about 12 I think. A friend of mine ate six of them."

The cheerful concessions lady who supplies the media center with hot dogs exclaims, Oh, when told of “Glover dogs.”

“You mean lost dogs,” she says, and returns with a cardboard tray labeled as such. Media center inhabitants swallow snickers moments later when an unsuspecting gentlemen selects a “lost dog,” takes a bite, peers at it, and tosses it in a trash can.

As the sun bake the Speedway late Sunday morning, NASCAR patriarch Bill France shakes his head when asked about his first Martinsville hot-dog experience.

“It was a long time ago because I’ve been coming to Martinsville since back in the '50s -- over 40 years ago,” France says. “Practically since the track was built. I don’t recall them being as good as they are now. Great hot dogs, aren’t they?”

A known aficionado, France says he indulges “more than my cardiologist might recommend.” And as if the Martinsville tradition wasn’t enough, Mark Flynt is grilling his own version in the garage. Flynt, who owns Pulliam’s Barbeque in Winston-Salem, is a France -- and NASCAR -- family favorite. He slings slaw and chili, too, peppers some dogs with homemade hot sauce.

All sorts of NASCAR folks stop to ask for a handout, folks who likely ate plenty of Martinsville hot dogs on Friday and Saturday. Outside, the Speedway has a peanuts-and-popcorn, carnival atmosphere. Pre-race festivities have peaked, and a few drivers slip by after driver introductions, heading for a final pit stop; one expects them to snag a last-minute snack.

“If you’ve lasted very long in this business, your stomach’s pretty much made out of cast iron anyway,” Glover says. “So not a lot bothers it.”

 

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