We’ve tried to explain this rationally — simply and in a straightforward manner. We’ve explained the reasons why and pointed you to some very good sources for more information. But let’s make it even more basic.

Please look at the formula above.

Simply because a beef is labeled “Grass-Fed” does NOT make it good, or “green” or whatever the fuck you tree-hugging hippies call it. And just because a beef is grain-finished does not make it bad. What you really probably don’t want to eat is beef from feed lots, for a variety of reasons we won’t get into right now.

Now these yahoos at Let’s Be Frank, while well-intentioned, did you all a grave disservice when they stamped their damn hot dog cart with “100 % Grass-Fed.” What they did was reinforce in the tiny little minds of passersby that YES! GRASS=GOOD. ME LIKE HOT DOG. YUM. MMM. Then they get distracted and start to think about bacon.

OK. So we all know now, because the hot dog vendor has done the research, that there is grass-fed cattle that is feeding amid the fucking stumps of fucking rain forests.

And we also know that grain-fed does not necessarily equal bad. Grass-fed beef become synonymous with the fact that it was not raised in feed-lots. The opposite is not true.

As we said, the folks at Let’s Be Frank discovered this when they met the fine people of Five-Dot Ranch, sixth-generation ranchers out of Lassen County, Calif who hold themselves to higher standard than just being able to slap a 100-percent grass-fed label on their beef. Because the cattle are grain-finished, the beef cannot be labeled 100% grass-fed, but because Let’s Be Frank wisely decided that Five-Dot was the most sustainable and environmentally friendly source it could use, it will have to take it’s stupid little sign down.

Chelsea Papaya on 23rd Street and Seventh Ave has torn down its classic boardwalk-evoking sign. (You remember, it had a cartoon bald man stuffing a hot dog into his mouth — and if it looked a little phallic, so what? It’s Chelsea).

But what it has replaced the signage with is puzzling at best. The store now looks  like an all-night shop in some Tokyo red light district that carries Manga porn and has peepshow booths. Which some might consider a step up, we suppose. Of course some people are into watching cartoons of robots diddling young schoolgirls.

Angry Orthodox Jews in Brooklyn were demanded an eye for a non-kosher frank this weekend. The New York Post has some truly amazing video footage of the enraged patrons hurling vulgarities and fists at the counterman, who then retaliates with an electric knife. He didn’t get very far, because it was plugged into the wall, but he does fend off the irate skull-capped attackers with a few game swipes. Next time he’ll get a cordless. The mob got ugly when they discovered that the hot dogs they were scarfing down on challah at Cheskel’s Shawarma King in Borough Park were not kosher, like the shop ordinarily serves. An employee had run across the street to pick up packs of the non-kosher chicken dogs earlier, and didn’t go to the further store with kosher franks. According to the Post report: “They were yelling at the guy behind the counter,” one witness told The Post. “They started spitting and throwing things at him. They were shaking the counter and trying to jump over to search the fridge.” Answering to a higher power apparently only applies to tube steaks.

Oh the Adirondacks. The fresh air, the camping, the ponies in Saratoga, the minimall-themepark-attractions, the giant Santa-cum-Paul Bunyan sculture flaking paint like crazy, and, of course, the meat. You have no idea how beautiful it is. We snapped this little advertisement for meat sauce fixin’s for you hot dog (nothing like meat condiments for your all-beef gas-station dog) at a Stewart’s in Glen’s Falls, N.Y. It was actually affixed to the handle of the pump, so you can’t miss it. Nice ad placement. In case you were wondering, there are ten Stewarts in the Glen’s Falls vicinity (including South Glen’s Falls and Queensbury).

A fried egg. Pickled beets. Pineapple rings. Chile mayo. Farm-fresh tomatoes. Guest of a Guest’s Rachelle Hruska. What do these things have in common? They all enjoy topping Australian beef. Let’s start with the fried egg (because that is the one that likely had you scratching your head). July’s Gourmet magazine has a recipe for a little-known delicacy called the Aussie Burger. This is not for the faint of heart. It comes topped with all of the above (sans Hruska, of course). Sort of makes a Chicago dog look like sorbet. The Aussies also outdo the Texans who grill up a hangover cure dubbed the Texas burger (though they give New Yorkers the credit-slash-blame for this one), which is basically a bacon egg and cheese sandwich in a hamburger. So now on to Hruska, who when asked by Black Book mag where the good Hamptons parties were, answered: wherever the Australians are. At least she managed to not say Surf Lodge for one answer. Kudos.

Update: Stay tuned for news of this historic summit.

What did we tell you? Once Shea is meets the wrecking ball it’s going to be champagne and Kobe beef dogs for Mets faithful. Maybe not exactly Kobe, but grade-D shredded beef patties padded with cardboard fiber filling are going the way of neon silhouettes and purple walls. Good-bye Bubba Burger; hello Pat LaFrieda. A just announced deal by the New York Mets and vendor Aramark with Danny Meyer’s Union Square Hospitality Group will bring a Shake Shack to the new ball park (though you’ll likely have to get on line in the top of the third to to have any hope of getting food by the seventh-inning stretch). Double header burgers. Six types of dogs. Also a Blue Smoke, too. Now that the Mets are winning they deserve Kansas City ribs and pulled pork. In addition a Meyer-run taqueria and Belgian frites stand are planned. So it might not be the greatest burgers and barbecue to ever hit New York, but it sure beats the monstrosities currently thrust on those who go through all the trouble of trekking out to Willets Point.

At the end of the Montauk Century—a 100-mile bike ride sponsored by the Five Borough Bicycle Club in NY each year—participants were tired, wet, achy, and hungry. And those arriving to the finish line at the Second House in Montauk after 4:30 pm would have remained hungry if not for our favorite healthy snack: the humble hot dog. Pasta and salad gone, health-conscious cyclists (whom we should note had no problem wolfing down cheesecake, cookies and Gnutella on raisin bread at rest areas along the route) raised hell, grilled the beleaguered Second House staff and spouted invective at 5BBC volunteers. That’s when the dogaganza began. With nothing but hot dogs to satiate the frothing masses grillmen worked overtime and made miracles like Christ with loaves and fishes. Even when buns ran out, cyclists loaded plates with naked wieners and slathered them with packets of Gulden’s mustard. We worry about the effects of such a high concentration of nitrates on deprived bodies, but not really.

The ever-dwindling options for hot dogs at Shea Stadium shouldn’t be much cause for concern. Once that purple eye sore is relegated to the trash heap it so deserves one can only imagine that fans in the primo seats will be treated to Kobe beef dogs served on silver platters by butlers in blue and orange. However, in the meantime we’re left with Nathan’s (which bumped Kahn’s when the Cyclones came to Coney Island) or Glatt Kosher (only available at the far right-field food court, which spruced up the house that Kranepool built after the ’86 championship). We had the misfortune to sample a Glatt Kosher dog recently, and if the crazed Hasids who make these tube steaks answer to a higher power it’s one who’s never eaten a decent dog. This thing was soggy and overly thick, like a roll of SPAM wrapped in baloney. This is what the food court, once the crown jewel of Shea’s culinary offerings, has been reduced to: Bad Kosher and a Dunkin’ Donuts. Bring on the wrecking ball; if only to end this wiener abomination.