Hotdogs Story Archives - West Virginia Public Broadcasting

91-Year-Old Restaurant Keeps Chugging Despite All The Changes In Downtown Roanoke

In the midst of downtown Ronaoke’s reinvention, a 91-year-old restaurant is coping with new growth all around it, by keeping things much the same.

What keeps the customers coming back?

“Because it’s never changed,” responded Mark Saunders, who’s been a regular at the Texas Tavern since the 1970s.

Communities across Appalachia have used outdoor adventure as a marketing tool to attract new visitors—and new residents, too. Roanoke, Virginia, has succeeded, using its location amid the Blue Ridge Mountains along with new apartments downtown to attract millennials and reverse decades of population loss.

But while the change is good for the city’s energy and bottom line, it can be disconcerting. Ever since the ‘30s, customers have been able to walk into the Texas Tavern and order “two and a bowl with.” If you’re not familiar with the tavern’s lingo, that translates to, “two hamburgers and a bowl of chile beans with onions.” The Texas Tavern recently celebrated its 91st birthday and looks well on the way to its centennial.

Danny Fralin makes chili dogs during a recent weekday lunch shift at the Texas Tavern in Roanoke, Virginia. Fralin has been a cook at the restaurant for 37 years.

The diner’s secret can be found amid the lunch hour, as church bells just up the street ring in the noon hour on a Tuesday in downtown Roanoke. Spring is showing, so despite the pandemic, people are out and about. And the Texas Tavern is seeing a brisk movement by customers.

”How’s the elevator business?” third-generation owner Matt Bulington asks a regular.

“Up and down, buddy!” replies the operator in a rehearsed joke that still cracks up the cooks.

The banter here is just part of the appeal. The diner is tiny — 10 seats, and right now they’re all blocked off with yellow caution tape — but its crisp red and white paint and the unmistakable smell of its grill practically dominate the larger buildings around it.

Saunders, for example, started coming here back in the ’70s but still usually orders the same thing.

“It’s either two with, a bowl and a drink,” Saunders said, indicating a preference for burgers and a bowl of chili beans with onions, plus a soda. “Or a Cheesy Western, a bowl and a drink.”

For Saunders, the lack of change provides much of the appeal. The Texas Tavern’s small menu offers up blue-collar classics like chili dogs, small hamburgers, and the Cheesy Western – a hamburger with a scrambled egg and the tavern’s signature relish. Regulars tend to be passionate about their favorites.

The menu at the Texas Tavern hasn’t changed much since it originally opened in 1930, and that’s the way customers like it.

“Two hot dogs and a chili beans.”

“Cheeseburger.’

“The Cheesy Western! No. 1, Texas Tavern!”

The price is right, too. The Cheesy Western is one of the most expensive item on the menu — $2.85. Owner Bullington’s great-grandfather started this joint.
“My great grandfather, Nick Bullington, had been an advance man for the Ringling Brothers circus and the Gentry Dog and Pony Show, and had his own railroad car,” Matt Bullington said. “He traveled all over the country.”

It wasn’t long before he discovered the chile recipe in Texas. And then soon after, he discovered White Castle, an emerging chain restaurant that sold small hamburgers — the first fast food. Bullington decided to make a go of it and opened The Texas Tavern in Roanoke in 1930. The Great Depression was taking hold, but the Norfolk and Western Railway had its headquarters there, which gave him a built-in customer base.

“Times were hard, but it was a really fast-growing city with good economic potential,” Matt Bullington said.

Roanoke has changed dramatically since then. Railroad jobs are mostly gone. Downtown has completely transformed, from office buildings to rental apartments for a new, younger set. Texas Tavern’s competition used to be other diners. Now it sits alongside upscale international cuisine and craft breweries.

That was before the pandemic hit. COVID-19 has turned downtown into what Bullington calls “a ghost town.” It’s pushed the tavern into take-out only, at least for now. And the tavern’s customers are craving constancy.

“It’s kind of one of those places people like to come back to, as everything else changes,” Bullington said. “The food stays the same. You walk in and it looks like it did in 1950, or 1970, or 1990.”

Since he took over in 2005, Bullington has added sausage gravy to the menu, and replaced an old cigarette vending machine with a vintage Coke cooler — and that’s about it. That’s the way regulars like it.

So while Roanoke is seeing new growth and an evolving economy, the Texas Tavern is chugging toward its 100th birthday in 2030, doing what it’s always done: selling inexpensive comfort food in a setting that looks pretty much the same as when it opened. In doing so, it’s become a foundational piece of Roanoke culture and cuisine — a link to the past that gives comfort in the present.

“Somebody that didn’t understand the business might think, oh, he should modernize this and open up and create more seats because we only have 10 stools, which — you’d be losing something,” Bullington said. “You’d be missing something.”

Friends And Family Remember Russell Yann, Iconic Owner Of Fairmont Hotdog Hotspot

Yann’s Hotdogs in Fairmont, West Virginia is easy to miss, if you’re not looking. It doesn’t even have a sign out front. Inside, there are only nine seats at the lunch counter. It’s a tiny place. But Yann’s has a huge, devoted following.

There are regulars who go there for lunch every day. There’s even a story about a homesick West Virginia boy stationed in Korea, who had his mom cold-pack the dogs and ship them overseas.

But if you wanted a dog from Russell Yann — the iconic restaurant’s equally iconic owner, who died on Jan. 15, 2021 — there were some rules to follow.

Hotdogs at Yann’s come with three toppings: mustard, diced onion and Yann’s special spicy sauce. You could ask Yann to leave any of those things off. But for goodness sakes, don’t ask for anything extra.

“You would never say ketchup,” said U.S. Magistrate Judge Michael Aloi, who used to practice law in Fairmont and knows the rules well. “If you said ‘ketchup’ you might as well just leave the place. All the regulars, their heads would pop up. You didn’t say ketchup. And it may be a felony in Marion County to have requested slaw on the hotdog.”

Yann was serious about his hotdogs. His parents started the restaurant in 1927. He started helping out when he was just five years old, and he promised his parents he’d keep the business going after they were gone.

Yann was so adamant about making the dogs, and making them his way, that he’d get kinda gruff if customers tried any funny business.

After he died, the Marion County Convention and Visitors Bureau shared a photo of him that captures this.

It’s a photo of Yann, standing behind the counter just like he did every day. He’s a smallish guy with white hair and glasses, dressed in a white polo shirt and a white apron. There are 18 hot dogs buns laid out in front of him, ready to be filled and served to customers. And he looks miffed that someone is taking his photo.

But really, that gruffness was just Yann’s sense of humor.

Marion County Sheriff Jimmy Riffle worked for Yann for over 20 years and got to see the man behind the act.

“If there was a fire in the community, usually when the firefighters got back to the station, there would be hotdogs and drinks for them,” Riffle said. “He had a routine of, every Tuesday, sending hotdogs and drinks to the West Virginia State Police because that was the day, back then, when they gave drivers exams and a lot of times they didn’t get out of the office for lunch.”

“If there was a bad wreck or the police departments were out and the rescue squads were out, whenever they got back to the station there was always something for them,” Riffle said.

Yann showed that kind of courtesy to all his customers.

“If you’d gone in there more than once or twice. He would remember your order,” Riffle said. “Customers would just come in, sit down and we knew what they wanted. He’d make them and I’d set them in front of them.”

He was known to occasionally sneak Little Debbie Cakes in with kids’ orders. And he took the hotdogs on vacation with him.

“He used to make trips to Disney World in Florida. He would take stuff to make hot dogs there and make them for the staff and workers in Disney World,” Riffle said.

Aside from those Florida vacations, Yann was a constant presence at his restaurant. Even as he got older and his daughter Cathy Galambus returned home to help him run the place.

“Truly, he didn’t know anything else,” Galambus said. “He came from an Italian family that worked hard and he never really had any hobbies or anything. So he always said, ‘What would I do if I stayed home? I wouldn’t do anything. I would have anything to do.’ So he came to work.”

“And he loved it here,” she said. “This was his home. This is what he knew. And he enjoyed the people. It’s just the type of person he was and the background he came from.”

Then, of course, the COVID-19 pandemic hit.

Yann, 89 at the time, started staying home more to keep from getting sick. But he still made time to pass along the restaurant’s secrets to Galambus, including the recipe for the restaurant’s famous sauce, which until recently was known only to Yann.

“I moved back here with my dad when my mother passed away,” Galambus said. “And my promise to him was to keep it going. So that’s what I’m doing.”

The restaurant wasn’t open for several days following Yann’s death. A sign hung on the door. “Closed. Family Emergency.” Per his wishes, there was no public funeral.

But by the end of January, Galambus had the place back open. And ever since, the restaurant has been swamped by folks, coming by to get a few hotdogs and pay their respects to her dad.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how busy we’ve been. That’s the people outpouring their love back in,” Galambus said. “I don’t think he knew the impact he made on the community. He just did what he thought was the right thing. And everybody thought he was gruff and had a rough exterior, but he was really really soft at heart.”

Even his avowed hatred of ketchup had a reasonable explanation. Back in the day, Galambus says, the restaurant actually offered ketchup if customers wanted it. In those little packets. But one day during the lunch rush, a customer decided to smash one of the packets with a fist, right on the counter.

“It went everywhere,” Galumbus said.”It went all over the walls, all over the ceiling, everywhere. And that was the end of it. That put him over the edge.”

From that time on, ketchup was forbidden in Yann’s. He even kept a boombox behind the counter loaded with a clip from the movie “Dirty Harry: Sudden Impact.” If a customer asked for ketchup, Clint Eastwood’s disembodied voice would growl: “Nobody … I mean nobody … puts ketchup on a hotdog.”

And much like Inspector Harry Callahan, Yann was a larger-than-life character.

“You didn’t forget him once you met him,” Sheriff Riffle said. “He’ll be missed. Not just by family and friends, but by the community in general,” he said. “It’s one of those things, when somebody passes away … There won’t be another one.”

This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the Folklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council. The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts and culture.

Marmet’s Yellow Slaw Offers a Tasty Twist on the Standard West Virginia Hot Dog

If you go to a West Virginia restaurant and order a hot dog with “everything,” most of the time you’ll end up with the same thing: a weenie in a bun topped with a beef-based chili (no beans), mayonnaise-based coleslaw, diced onion and mustard.

Some places leave off the slaw. Some places make the chili spicier than others. Some places put ketchup on it, much to the horror of slaw dog purists. But no matter these slight variations, the flavors remain more or less consistent.

Except in the little town of Marmet, West Virginia, about 10 miles outside the state capital. Here the slaw is yellow — because it’s made with mustard, sugar and apple cider vinegar, not mayonnaise. This lends the dog a complex sweet and tangy flavor.

The yellow slaw started in the 1930s at a Marmet restaurant called Blackie’s, which later became the Canary Cottage. In the 1970s came another restaurant called the Dairy Post, which was open until the early 2000s.

After the Dairy Post closed, Marmet suffered a years-long drought of yellow slaw — until Frances Armentrout opened Chum’s in 2008. This tiny stand makes the original yellow slaw recipe, which Armentrout got from her friend Lou Kinder, former co-owner of the Dairy Post.

“She came in from out of state and showed me the recipes,” Armentrout said. “She’s a wonderful friend.”

Chum’s sells hundreds of hotdogs every day, most of which feature the iconic yellow slaw. Marmet Mayor Jay Snodgrass is a regular.

“Anybody that I have bring to meetings, I’ll try to get them down here at least once,” he said. “They always seem to fall in love with it. And they come back.”

You can try to make yellow slaw at home. The West Virginia Hot Dog Blog published a recipe in 2010:

3 lb head of cabbage, shredded fine and drained
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup honey
1/2 cup plus 1 Tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup plus 2 Tablespoons yellow mustard
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon white pepper

Combine ingredients and leave overnight in refrigerator.

At the time, blog editor Staunton Means claimed he found the recipe in a box at a flea market — although he now admits that’s not true.

“As a blogger, especially when you’re a blogger about hot dogs, you don’t have a real strong sense of journalistic integrity,” he said. “I was approached by someone who claimed to have the famous Marmet yellow slaw recipe. But he swore me to secrecy and he said that, if his name got out or if anybody knew that he’d shared it, he’d be in big trouble. So I had to make up a cover story to honor my source.”

There’s an additional twist to the story. Although the recipe will render something pretty close to Chum’s yellow slaw, Frances says it isn’t the genuine article.

“It’s very different from ours,” she said after being shown the blog post. “There’s a couple things in here that we do not put in ours.”

So if you want the real deal, head to Chum’s in Marmet. Walk up to the window and say, “I’ll have a hotdog with everything.” Those magic words — and $1.85 — will get you a dog topped with chili, diced onion and yellow slaw. No mustard needed.

30-Mile Meal Creates Dog for Festival

As Huntington’s Hot Dog Festival approaches, the members of 30-Mile Meal in the city are set to unveil their West Virginia Dog, a product they say perfect symbolizes their work with the surrounding community.

An all West Virginia produced hotdog, that’s the idea from 30-Mile Meal Huntington. The organization has created the West Virginia Dog from locally grown and produced products in an effort to illustrate the collaboration they want to see between themselves and the community. Each part of a traditional West Virginia hotdog is locally sourced, including the beef or pork in the dog itself, the wheat for the bun and the toppings: mustard, onions, slaw and chili.

Thirty-Mile Meal used a Kickstarter fundraising campaign to raise enough money to pay local meat packing company S.S. Logan to produce 7,000 dogs. Lauren Kemp is with 30-Mile Meal Huntington.

“We’re creating an everyday West Virginia traditional food that isn’t necessarily healthy, but is all local, when you buy our hotdog you’re supporting 12 different farms and food manufactures,” Kemp said.

The dogs will be available at the 11^th annual West Virginia Hotdog Festival at Pullman Square in Huntington Saturday.