Wear your sunglasses as you exit the 2 or 3 train at Bergen Street, because the giant neon sign that spells out B-A-R-K glows with thousands of nuclear watts late into the evening. The interior is far more dark and chill, with raised counters running the width of the storefront, flanked by stools that allow you to perch but not slouch. Make your way past the seating area to find an ordering station deep in the interior, from which the dogs are dispensed. The staff is friendly as hell, clearly trying to win you over to their effete frank lifestyle.
Years ago, I noted you can tell that times are bad when hot dogs become dinner, rather than just a snack. And today, just as hot dog carts have progressively disappeared from city streets, dogs have found a new kennel in semi-upscale restaurants. Bark is the most advanced evocation of this idea, styling itself as an eco-friendly hipster hang, and mounting a menu that gives tube steaks the respect they may—or may not—deserve.
First off, the weenies themselves. Snob-wise, a Nathan's or a Sabrett wouldn't do. Bark offers a single frank, a proprietary link manufactured by Hartmann's Old World Sausage of Canandaigua, New York. That's nearly locavoric, right? These franks display a wonderful snap when you bite into them, but the pork-beef combo inside is as pale as Casper the Friendly Ghost. To compensate for this comparative blandness, the boiled dogs are basted in a smoked lard-butter combo, which lends an amazing savor.
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