he name “Decarie Hot Dog” has been bandied about by folk here ever since I can remember, so we started off there. I was expecting a large, traditional fast-food space, but Decarie Hot Dog nestles in a room probably no bigger than your kitchen. It was a madhouse at 12:30 on a school day. Groups of school kids milled about in front, eating their lunches, while the more serious regulars had wrestled their way to one of the eight or so stools that line the counter. We, the less fortunate, had to stand at a counter.

A rotund counterman barked “What’s your order, please?” at each person in turn. My order was a hot dog, all-dressed, with fries. The total came to less than $4. I could have ordered a “Chien Chaud rotis,” a hot dog with a toasted bun, but Adrian insisted I order the steamie version. A steamie (steamé in French) is just a frankfurter in a steamed bun. The logic of steaming bread was lost on me, but I gamely dug in. The dog was covered with a good coleslaw and was surprisingly savory, the yellow mustard cutting through the vinegary-crunchy slaw and redeeming the steamed, taste-free moist roll.

The fries were a different matter. I have never liked the traditional overcooked, dark-brown, limp Montreal fry, but Adrian swears by them, as do many other Montrealers I’ve talked to. The grease rendered the bags containing the fries frangible to the point of rupture, a point that was not lost on Adrian, who managed to empty his bag before this could happen. I was unable to finish mine.

Our next stop was LaFleur, a Quebec fast-food chain, where the specialty is a Michigan hot dog. This version of the hot dog is derived from the Jackson Coney Island Hot Dog, which was a frankfurter with chile sauce on top created by a man named George Todoroff in Jackson, Michigan, in 1914 (he later set up shop in Coney Island, where the Michigan gained its fame).

This LaFleur outlet was little more than a truck stop. However, at the noon hour on a weekday it was very busy, with a line of people snaking down the counter.

My Michigan was disappointing: a wiener in a steamed bun covered with a granular tomato-based meat sauce. Adrian did me the favor of sprinkling cayenne on top. “That’s the traditional way,” he insisted. The bun was limp and caved-in, the sauce was without bite and the sausage small and generic. “This is an excellent Michigan,” Adrian crowed, tucking into his second.

Our third hot dog stop was La Plus Belle Province on Parc, for their version of the Michigan. This restaurant resembles traditional fast-food eateries much more closely than the miniscule Decarie Hot Dog and LaFleur. There was ample seating and a fairly large menu.

La Plus Belle Province’s Michigan was a curious yet intriguing steamie-style hot dog whose meat sauce contained small squares of carrot and tasted faintly of cumin and coriander. While a welcome departure from the blandness of LaFleur’s offering, I was still perplexed as to the popularity of the whole idea of meat sauce on a hot dog, in general.

Endeavouring to get to the root of my prejudices, I suggested our next stop be Costco, which was voted “best hot dog in Montreal” by the Gazette a few years back. Here I knew was a traditional dog with traditional condiments. Adrian would surely swing over to my side after tasting one of these.

As expected, the Costco Kosher all-beef franks, loaded with my selection of yellow mustard, relish, onions and coleslaw, tasted very similar to my perception of “how a hot dog should taste.” Adrian was contemptuous. “This is definitely the worst dog we’ve had so far,” he said, lip curling.

Curiously, I was almost beginning to agree with him. While conforming to all the North American ideals of what a good hot dog should be, these dogs were somehow without character, somehow homogenized – these were dogs without a face. -- Reviewed by Chef Nick