My Kind of Frank, Chicago's Is

Chicago Frank's

8 Eliot St.

HAVE you despaired of finding a worthy version of that sublime culinary experience known as the frankfurter in a city whose apotheosis of the genre is that distaff monstrosity called the "Fenway Frank"?

And have you despaired of finding food that is purely, brazenly American in the polyglot melting cooking-pot of Harvard Square, home of British pizza and Mexican cheeseburgers?

Despair no more, for we bring you good tidings of pure beef and high cholesterol. Chicago Frank's has arrived.

Located next to Charlie's Kitchen, whose famed Double Cheeseburger Special is about the only other remnant of unabashedly American food left in the Square, Chicago Frank's specializes in Vienna Beef wieners, prepared the Chicago way, with mustard, ketchup, relish, onions, jalapenos and tomato wedges, in a soft, gushy, poppy seed-coated Coney roll. You can also buy a double dog, with two franks in a single roll. Variations include chili dogs, cheese dogs and corn dogs. Putting aside visions of Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, we gave the establishment a try.

On our first visit, we ordered the Cheese Dog, with all the fixings. The wiener itself was sumptuous; its exquisite aroma and flavor were not over-whelmed by the condiments. However, the "cheese" turned out to be a greasy, Cheez-Whiz like mass that had been plopped in globs onto the unfortunate frankfurter.

This same pseudocheese is the primary ingredient of the Cheese Fries. Rather than served in the traditional manner--on a plate and smothered in a cheese sauce--the fries were packed into a paper bag, with the cheese globs troweled in on top. This method results not only in unattractive presentation, but also in messy fingers and poor distribution of cheese--the bottom fries are ignored. However, the fries themselves are among the best in the Square, cut thick, long and with the skin still on. And wonderfully greasy. This food is not for the faint of heart--or artery.

On our next visit we tasted the Chili Dog. This dog was drowning in what passes in Chicago for chili, a concoction of ground beef and kidney beans more notable for its heat than its spice. We also tried the Basic Dog. Here, at last, was the dog we had sought, unadorned--well, except for mustard, ketchup, relish, etc. Ya gotta have those.

WHAT impressed us most about the food at Frank's was the size. Of course, the dogs are plump, and they appear mountainous when slathered with the aforementioned condiments. But the "handful of fries" that accompanies each wiener is more like a plateful. If you order them a la carte, the "small" fries are enough for a meal, and the large fries, according to the counter help, are the equivalent of eight potatoes. We hate to think how many cattle gave their lives for Frank's franks. Even the drinks are huge; a "large" is about a liter.

The all-white decor gives the place the ambience of a hospital. Of course, it's only been open two weeks--Frank's is too new and too clean to have developed the character of a Tommy's or an Elsie's.

The guy behind the counter says he predicts success for Chicago Frank's anticipating the run-off from Charlie's and hungry River Rats as his clientele. But Frank's isn't likely to lure too many Harvard students away from House grilles as long as it closes at 11 p.m., serves even its Basic Dogs for as much as $2.25 and fails to diversify its menu beyond wieners to include Polish sausage and cheeseburgers (which it is supposed to do shortly).

Still, ya gotta give credit to a joint that, in a part of the country where they think you're supposed to slice hot dog rolls through the top, slices them the right way, through the side. Eating at Chicago Frank's is like being transported to what poet Carl Sandwich called "the City of the Big Buns." Or something like that.