Paris is the City of Light; Paris is the perfect backdrop to fall in love; Paris has Emily, leafy parks, unparalleled bread, grand boulevards, and ancient cathedrals. Paris is maybe the last place you’d expect to find a great hot dog.
While I happen to think a hot dog is the perfect snack, the entire concept seems completely at odds with chic French dining. Unlike New Yorkers, who love to grab-and-go, Parisians sit down to savor everything from pizza to hamburgers with a fork and knife. It’s not a place known for quick bites or eating with your hands. But look around and you’ll notice that the city is practically teeming with incredible hot dogs in every arrondissement. My favorite is Clark Hot Dog.
I’ve spent a lot of time in Paris—after New York, it’s the city I know the best—and it’s been my mission to find the best hot dog. A hero’s journey, but one I have undertaken with pride—and a little heartburn. I’ve downed dogs in a dusty expat haunt (Harry’s New York Bar); a hole in the wall (La Mosaïque); a kosher deli offshoot (Schwartz’s Hot Dog); a small to-go window (Poly); a classic bistrot (Chez George); and a bougie sandwicherie that boasts a bakery bun, butcher dog, and homemade condiments (Buffet Local). But Clark Hot Dog never seems to make the best-of lists, which just means more for me.
Clark Hot Dog is just a few blocks away from the unrealistically chic Place des Vosges, a public park on historic royal grounds. Tucked back on a quiet street, just out of reach from the buzz of Le Marais, Clark is a window in a cement wall, a little red awning flanked by two chalkboards, and a tiny yellow sign. If there is a line (there is rarely a line), it consists of a few French high schoolers vaping on their lunch break or un salarié (an office worker) grabbing an afternoon snack.
The menu is both warmly familiar and totally surprising in a US-through-the-French-lens kind of way. It has four beef options—Le Classic, Le Coney Island, Le Brooklyn, and Le Gringo—and one vegan option, Le Californien (LOL). The accouterments are a little unexpected: Avocado somehow made it onto Le Coney Island but not Le Californien; spicy jalapeños laugh in the face of stereotypes on Le Gringo; there’s a slice of cheddar cheese cradling Le Brooklyn and Le Californien; and Le Coney Island boasts coleslaw. Up is left, right is green—it feels dangerous and subversive and I love it.
The dog and bun slowly ride through a toaster together. (Remember Quiznos? It’s the same idea.) Then you pick from a list of condiments, and this is where the magic really happens. There’s a tart relish made from cornichon. There are crunchy fried onions, like the classic French’s brand ones, only better. There’s a very spicy BBQ sauce, which I highly recommend. There’s a deliciously sweet Thai chili sauce and something called Samouraï, which is not at all Japanese, but a Belgian condiment of ketchup, mayo, and harissa. There’s a honey mustard under the charming heading Les Exotiques. And, of course, there’s ketchup, mustard, and mayo.