A once eager tourist, Jeremy W., learned the hard way that while Chicago may be known for its culinary delights, it has absolutely zero tolerance for heresy. The man, visiting from Kansas, made the ultimate Windy City faux pas by walking into a local hot dog stand and asking for a “Chicago-style hot dog with just ketchup,” resulting in what witnesses are calling a “ketchup-induced incident.”
“The second he said ‘ketchup,’ the whole place just went quiet,” said Frank L., a lifelong Chicagoan and innocent bystander to the tragic incident. “It was like watching someone order a well-done steak at a Michelin-star restaurant. You knew something bad was coming, you just didn’t know how bad.”
Eyewitnesses claim the atmosphere at Gino’s Red-Hots immediately shifted from friendly neighborhood joint to something resembling a hockey fight, minus the ice. “It started with the guy behind the counter,” said Claire M., who claims she’s seen similar incidents at least twice this year. “He didn’t even say anything. Just slowly took off his apron and handed it to the guy next to him, like he was prepping for a fight. It was like a scene out of a mob movie.”
Within minutes, Jeremy W. was the recipient of a not-so-gentle education on Chicago’s culinary boundaries, delivered via flying condiments, poppy seed buns, and the occasional elbow. Emergency services were called to the scene, where paramedics reportedly treated the man for a mild concussion and a bruised ego.
“I just wanted a hot dog. I didn’t know ketchup was such a big deal here,” said Jeremy from his hospital bed, where nurses insisted he try a proper Chicago dog before being discharged.
For those unfamiliar, a true Chicago-style hot dog comes loaded with mustard, onions, relish, a dill pickle spear, tomato slices, sport peppers, and a dash of celery salt—not ketchup. The condiment’s omission is considered an unwritten rule so sacred, it might as well be in the city charter.
“Ketchup is for fries, and for the weak,” said one hot dog vendor, who asked to remain anonymous but proudly displayed a “No Ketchup Zone” sticker on his cart. “You don’t come into our house and disrespect tradition like that.”
Local residents, while shaken by the incident, expressed little sympathy for the misguided tourist. “It’s like walking into a pizza joint in New York and asking for pineapple,” said lifelong resident Steve R. “You’re just asking for trouble.”
Jeremy W. has since vowed to return to Chicago—only if he’s allowed to bring his own Heinz bottle, though doctors suggest he stick to deep-dish pizza instead.
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