It all starts with a plain hot dog, wrapped in tinfoil and attached to a parachute.
A skydiving hot dog is a pretty cool concept. But what’s even cooler? This hot dog is completely condiment-free.
That’s exactly what was crossing through my mind as I made my way up to the catwalk at the very top of the Canadian Tire Centre while the Ottawa Senators
faced off against the Chicago Blackhawks
more than 100 feet below me.
While the Sens promo team drops a range of items from the catwalk throughout the season ranging from gift cards to T-shirts, I was told that the hot dogs are the unquestionable fan favourite. Maybe that’s why they’re often dubbed “Hot Dogs from Heaven.”
It was the first TV timeout of the third period, and the Senators had already scored two goals to open the frame.
“Look up. Look waaaaay up,” the in-game host announced to the sold-out crowd.
That was our cue to start spreading the joy of plain hot dogs on the eager fans below. My white-knuckled grip tightened around the railing.
Turns out, there’s a very specific technique involved when dropping a wiener from a parachute. It’s one that I have yet to master.
As Sens promo team member Matt Hajjar explained to me, hot dog dropping is a fine art. If the parachute doesn’t inflate properly, the dog will shoot down like a missile. You also have to throw it outward, otherwise the package might get caught in the rafters on the way down.
But with enough experience, it’s also possible to aim the hot dogs, Hajjar adds. He’s been doing this for three years and chooses Sens fans as the lucky recipients whenever he can. His strategy involves throwing the dog a bit to the right of his target to account for the drift the parachute will catch as it hits the air.
But that poses another problem for someone scared to be standing so high up. Aiming involved looking down. I chose the safer option of launching my hot dogs into the abyss and just hoping for the best.
My first two throws went almost too smoothly as the hot dogs drifted into the hands of hungry fans.
Maybe this wasn’t as hard as I thought.
By that point, I had an audience. Dozens of eyes were on me as fans reached their hands in the air and tried to catch my eye. I launched my third and final hot dog off the catwalk, and my efforts were soon met with a harmonic gasp of disappointment from the crowd.
The hot dog had gotten stuck in the rafters. I didn’t know whether to laugh or hide my face in embarrassment.
So how did I, a breaking news reporter with a fear of heights, get roped into launching food at hockey fans from hundreds of feet in the air?
Well, it’s because Hot Dogs from Heaven have no condiments. Just the meat and bun, exactly as God intended.
***
I went to dozens of Sens games growing up, and I’ve always had this burning question: if I were ever one of the lucky fans to snag a hot dog on a parachute, would it be something I’d be able to stomach?
You see, I don’t use condiments. On anything. I’m well aware that it’s weird. But I believe hot dogs and sandwiches are best enjoyed perfectly plain.
It’s a Citizen newsroom tradition to go across the street from the office to Ikea for $1 hot dogs to welcome a new hire. On my first day back in September, I didn’t think twice as I jumped right past the condiment station and sat down with my plain hot dogs in front of my new coworkers.
To make matters much more embarrassing, the Citizen’s
acclaimed food critic Peter Hum
was sitting right across from me as I consumed my bland lunch. (I’m sure he breathed a sigh of relief to know that this new kid certainly wouldn’t be coming for his job.)
Over the next few months, my quirk became a newsroom curiosity that came up often in team meetings.
Do you eat mayonnaise? (No). Does butter count as a condiment? (No). What about barbecue sauce on wings? (Acceptable). Don’t you find things to be too dry? (Absolutely not. Sandwiches shouldn’t be wet.)
I spent my childhood navigating the perplexed reactions of fast-food workers when I ordered a plain McDonald’s burger with absolutely nothing on it. They’d look at me like I had three heads. I’d often be handed a burger chock-full of condiments anyway. I daresay it happened too many times to be a coincidence, as the condiment gods conspired against me.
So when I recently found out from a friend of a friend that the hot dogs on parachutes were completely plain, I knew I had to see it up close.
And before I knew it, there I was, up on the catwalk. While it was obviously out of my control whether the hot dog recipients would rush to the condiment station upon realizing their gift was perfectly plain, I found solace knowing I was delivering the hot dogs exactly how I’d consume them. I’m sure plenty of fans ate theirs straight away to ensure they didn’t miss a moment of the hockey game.
But what about my lonely hot dog stuck in the rafters? The promo team said it wasn’t the first time it had happened, but when I asked how it would get down, no one seemed sure.
Three days later, the Sens hosted their next home game. Less than an hour before puck drop, a fan at the rink posted a video on social media, zooming in on my failed attempt.
“
During the hot dog parachuting Saturday, one of the dogs didn’t make it down,” the Sens fan wrote. “It’s still there for the game today. Who’s eating it if it falls down?”
Six days after that, it was still untouched. The same fan
posted another photo
with the caption: “P
robably all dressed at this point.”
God, I hope not.
