4 May 2025 – Somewhere between Budapest and Varaždin
We stopped at one of the Hungarian service stations along the highway. My dad needed a snooze, so we left him in the car and my mum and I went inside to the cafe. I ordered a Hungarian megadog for me and a large cappuccino for my mum.
“This one?” the commessa asked, pointing to an enormous coffee cup.
“Wow, yeah, that is big,” I said. “But yeah.”
She made the coffee and left the cup to fill while she prepared the hot dog roll. She pierced it on a large rod and put it on to toast, then finished making the cappuccino. Her movements were swift and assured. This was not her first megadog and large cappuccino combination.
“Sauce?” she asked me.
“Ketchup and mustard, please.”
She picked up the ketchup bottle, gave it a practised shake, and squeezed a solid squirt of ketchup into the hole of the roll. Then she did the same with the mayonnaise.
“Oh!” I said.
“Oh!” she said at the same time, realising her mistake.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
But she looked disappointed. She had let down stop.cafe hot dog makers all over the country. A customer had asked for mustard and she had given them mayonnaise! They would take away her hat! She must hang up her apron in shame!
But then…
“Ah!” she said, and she turned to the sink behind her. There was a long handled spoon, like one for making a latte, and she slid it into the roll and scooped out all the condiments, the mayonnaise and the ketchup too. She returned to the sauce station and refilled the roll with ketchup and with mustard.
“Hungarian megadog with ketchup and mustard,” she said, handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I said, taking it, and we were both delighted.
