A Culinary Delight

By John J. Cox
A Resident of Woodside


New Yorkers have been blessed with some of the greatest figures in history: Statesmen, such as Theodore Roosevelt, Franklin Roosevelt and Fiorella LaGuardia; captains of finance and industry, such as J.P. Morgan, John Jacob Astor and Cornelius Vanderbilt; sports legends, such as Babe Ruth, Jack Dempsey and Joe Namath; entertainers, such as Tony Bennett, Duke Ellington and Billy Joel; literary giants, such as James Fenimore Cooper, Herman Melville and Walt Whitman. The list could go on and on.

But in the field of the culinary arts one man stands alone. He is Alan S. Geisler, who passed away last week at age 78. He is the genius who 44 years ago created the red-onion sauce without which no New York hot dog would be complete. Concocted at the behest of the owner of Sabrett, whose frankfurters are a New York mainstay, the sauce became so popular that in recent times it was, and continues to be, marketed in its own packaging in supermarkets. Before that, the only way you could get your hands on it was by purchasing a Sabrett hot dog from a pushcart vendor in the City streets. Anyone who has lived in or visited New York knows how distinctly "New York" these hot dogs are. The pushcarts that populate City streets are equipped with Sabrette umbrellas, announcing not only the presence of the hot dogs, but more importantly, Geisler's sauce. For as good as a Sabrett hot dog may be, it is the sauce that makes it a quintessentially New York dog.

Other places have their own version of the sidewalk hot dog. Chicago dogs, for example, are noted for their tomato and relish toppings on a poppy-seeded bun. Cole slaw, I have read, is a popular topping in the South. But here in New York it is Mr. Geisler's Sabrett onion sauce, along with mustard and sauerkraut if you're adventurous, which is the necessary accoutrement.

I was introduced to the New York hot dog in the mid-60's. At that time the first Sabrett pushcart appeared in my neighborhood in Queens. A young stocky fellow named Frank (no pun intended) set up his cart on a little triangular street on the north side of Broadway and 63rd Street. During the day his only company was his dog (again no pun intended), a well-groomed boxer who would sit quietly beside the cart. Before long he was doing a brisk business providing lunch to the many people who worked at garages, factories and warehouses along Broadway and nearby Northern Boulevard. And on weekends, before we drove off to visit one relative or another, my father would pull his car up behind Frank's cart and each of us--my mother, brother and me--would get a dog and a soda. I don't remember exactly how much it cost, but in those days it was our idea of dining out.

At that young and timid age, I always refrained from sauerkraut (a phobia I have long since overcome). And I could not then see the point of combining the onion sauce with mustard (a phobia I have not overcome), so I took my dog with onions only. I still do.

And my appetite for it never abated. After a few years Frank was doing so well that during winter months he suspended business and, with his loyal canine friend, vacationed in Florida. But his return each spring was as welcome as the warm weather, green leaves on trees and baseball.

In the decades since, I have continued to eat my dogs the same way. It is only when I am at a backyard barbecue, or in some other city where the onion sauce is not available, that I'll resort to mustard or sauerkraut. Otherwise, a dog without Mr. Geisler's sauce is like bacon without eggs, ham without cheese, water without scotch whiskey. It does nothing for me.

Oh, I know the sauce has some drawbacks. For one thing, it is sticky and the one napkin typically issued by vendors is never enough. And yes, it's messy, too. Anyone who regularly uses the sauce is bound to ruin some shirts and ties. Once I even ruined a new pair of expensive white sneakers. I didn't care. I continued to wear those stained sneakers until--well, there's no need to provide a description of that.

Anyway, if somewhere there is a food maker's hall of fame, I nominate Alan S. Geisler. His contribution to the life of New Yorkers should be forever enshrined.