When I dream at night of eating dinner the dream does not take place in the cozy nook in our kitchen nor does it take place in our new dining room, no, the setting of such a dream takes place at a picnic table with a loudsepaker and a glowing menu. That is how often we eat at Superdog. We now consider it our back patio. The grilled cheese on rye is crave worthy and I consider the winking hotdog statues to be some of the greatest American folk art out there. Eric even stole Spin magazine from the gym so that I could see a photo of one of our favorite bands standing on the roof. Sigh. Superdog may very well be the best part of our new neighborhood.
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