Hot dogs, what has become of them? It used to be when I ordered a hot dog I knew pretty much what it was going to be. That's simply not so any more.

On the 4th of July I found myself in a food line that snaked down a long flagstone path full of dozens and dozens of fellow party goers. I never got a chance to scope out the grill before answering the ageold question: hot dog or hamburger?

I chose a hot dog. It was a hot dog kind of day on a hot dog kind of occasion. I ordered a hot dog only to have delivered onto my sagging paper plate a half pound sausage that approximated a sawed off drain pipe.

What's got into America's favorite picnic food?

When I was a kid you knew perfectly well what size a hot dog was to be. We always managed to loose at least one onto the charcoal during the grilling process, so a proper hot dog had to be small enough to somehow fall through the grill grate openings. The hot dog I had on the 4th couldn't have fallen through a storm sewer grate, let alone a Weber grill.

There's nothing like meeting new neighbors at a picnic. First impressions and picnic food, well that's kind of a fatal attraction combination.

Due to the size of the party crowd, my wife and I wound up eating lunch perched on some flagstone steps leading down a little path. There was a number of folks seated nearby and introductions were made while we all ate.

Due to their size, the hot dogs required quite a bit of chewing. It seemed every time we were introduced to someone new I had to hold my hand above my head to give the universal signal that I couldn't talk with my mouth so full.

But there were other issues at work. Mustard and poppy seeds were also there to be dealt with.

What is it with white Polo shirts and mustard? There's an attraction at work between the yellow of the mustard and the white of the shirt such that a coming together of sorts is inevitable.

With a hot dog the circumference of a rolled up newspaper, the mustard on shirt event is guaranteed. This occasion was no exception.

And the issue of poppy seeds - this is one thing I will never understand. Why do bakers and bread makers everywhere litter perfectly good white bread buns with little black seeds? The seeds have no taste. They add no texture. They're kind of like the paprika on deviled eggs. What's the point?

The point of poppy seeds is that they are guaranteed to stick between incisors 8 and 9 and 12 and 13. Those locations are absolutely guaranteed. Personally, I have been known to accumulate a dozen or so poppy seeds in a single sitting. On those occasions my wife and I have a secret signal that identifies the problem. Once I get the poppy seed stuck in teeth signal I assume what is known as the "picnic pout" which requires speaking without showing one's teeth.

Again, what interesting circumstances under which to meet one's neighbors.

Fast forward to last Friday night with friends Martha and Bill over for dinner. My wife is back from the grocery where the butchers have sold her these huge brats the size of Christmas sausages. This time out the brats have the curve of a boomerang and they intersect the bun in the very middle only. The saving grace is that on this evening the buns are sans poppy seeds and I take a pass on the mustard.

I should note that good things come out of all adversity and that picnic challenges are no exception. I have it on good authority that two important inventions were both conceived on the 5th of July. Those inventions would be stain stick and dental floss.