Whenever the door of 158 Southbridge Street opens, the sizzling of fresh hotdogs and the commotion of orders leaks out. Dozens of people rush inside the restaurant at 12:15 on this cloudy Saturday afternoon. It’s the start of the Worcester lunch rush.
How did New York City’s,“Coney Island” make its way into Worcester? In 1918, George Tsagarelis and his wife Catherine opened the infamous George’s Coney Island and has been serving hot dogs since. In 1940, George added the 60-foot, hot-dog-dripping neon sign that has welcomed customers for years. Today, George’s family continues the legacy of preparing delicious hot dogs that win Worcester’s “Best of the Best” award every year.
On this Saturday afternoon, the woman behind the counter is taking orders swiftly. There is a line of people extending towards the back of the restaurant. People lean over to their right and gaze at the order station, watching the cooks prepare fresh hot dogs. I listen to the bustle of conversations exploding on this line.
“How many hot dogs do you want?”
“I want a classic!”
“Here is your change. Thank you!”
The locals could care less about personal space and squeeze in line, having their orders ready to go. I inch closer and closer to the counter. The cash register is opening and closing with sharp, ka chings!
“Can I have a classic Coney?”
“Yes, you may!” Everyone seems ready to order but me. Ka ching ka ching! I’m getting closer and closer to the counter and becoming more and more nervous. A woman gathers dirty dishes near the far edge of the counter. The plates clap as they are piled on top of one another. Clap, clap, clap. Plastic chip bags rip open with a struggled pop! Aluminum cans open with a sharp snap and followed by a piercing click!
The lady behind the counter turns to me with a smile, “Can I help you, sir?”
I look away from the menu plastered on the wall,“Yes, you can! Can I have a classic Coney Island hot dawg? And can I have a regulah one as well?”
She looks puzzled. “What do you consider regular?”
I stare at the menu on the wall again and see dozens of topping combinations. I reply, “Just mustard and ketchup is fine. Thank you!”
I sit down at the table with my brown tray of food in front of me. The steamer moistens the buns with a soft hisssssssss. A small group of adult women approach the jukebox and inserts coins with tiny series of clacks. More ka chings snap in the room. The cook turns over the hot dogs on the grill with small sizzles, the hot dogs turn from a light brown to a brownish gold with every flip.