Costco Burbank: Post-Industrial Funk

COSTCO BURBANK
1051 W. Burbank Bl, Burbank
818.557.3780
Click for a Map to Costco Burbank

PARTICULARS:
Hebrew National Standard Hot Dog, Mild Polish,
Defrosted Pizza, Some sort of fruit smoothy
thing, pre-fab ice cream product, Churro Item,
A largely incompatible combination of foodstuffs
Health Department Rating: A

DISTINCTIONS:
Dirt cheap



Due to another recommendation from the Los Angeles Chowhound Message Board, Jon the Food Slob and Steve Doggie-Dogg made the trek out to Costco in Burbank to sample their legendary "Parking Lot Dogs". Steve has never felt the need to shop for five gallon jugs of Miracle Whip or fifteen pound sacks of microwave popcorn, so he never bothered to join Costco as a member. But Jon the Food Slob is the kind of a guy who loves a bargain... especially if it means filling his pantry with cans of tunafish hefty enough to be used as boat anchors. His card had lapsed, so he dutifully paraded through lines reminiscent of the DMV to get interrogated, photographed and documented so he would be awarded the honor of official Costco certification.

As soon as we had his Cosco card in hand, (imagine needing a special photo ID to be able to purchase a hot dog... Orwellian indeed!) we marched out to the outdoor area where the hot food is sold. We hesitate to call it a dining area or patio... both of those names evoke a mental image much more picturesque than the reality of what the hot dog fan is faced with at Costco. Imagine a cement floored, open walled aircraft hanger crammed with row after row of cheap plastic picnic benches. At one end is a bullet proof window with lines of people of all descriptions waiting for the right to purchase mediocre reheated food at ridiculously low prices from disinterested warehouse workers. Jon and Steve tried very hard to envision some sort of "Industrial Chic" asthetic in the bleak concrete and plastic surroundings... But all we could think of was how similar this must be to the the summertime dining facilities at Atascadero State Prison.



When it came to the menu, there wasn't much of a choice... Hebrew National Standard Dog or Hebrew National Polish Dog. No options of any kind were available. A self-serve condiments counter with bulk quantities of ketchup, mustard, pickle relish and onions stood nearby, right next to a bank of self-serve soda fountains. The sign said that a dog and a Coke was $1.50. We decided to get three of each kind of dog and a pair of Cokes to try it out. While Steve went around trying to capture the concrete "grandeur" of the environment with his camera, Jon patiently waited in line behind a couple of burly looking bikers, a multi-generational Muslim family in traditional dress, an elderly couple who looked down on their luck, and a Mexican family that must have had at least 15 wiggly children in tow. It was a very unique crowd to say the least. When Jon finally got to the window, the pimply faced Hispanic teenager wearing a plastic shower cap informed him that there were no more hot dogs. We would have to make do with all Polish. Jon reluctantly agreed and paid. The dogs and change were shoved into his hand... "NEXT!" the fella behind the window hollered. Jon was flustered by the abruptness of the exchange, but not so flustered as to not notice that the price for a dog and a drink is the same as the price for a dog by itself.



The Polish Dogs were the same kind of all-beef Hebrew National "Package Dogs" that Costco sells by the ton in their refrigerated bulk industrial meats section. They were mushy, salty and bland. The only difference between getting the dogs cooked at Costco and cooking them at home, is that Costco has a "patented slow cooking process" that makes the skin turn brown, shrivel and pucker like Moses's toes. The dogs were edible, but there was very little joy in eating them. The onions and relish from the dispenser were fine... not runny and stinky the way mass distributed condiments sometimes are. The buns were acceptable too, fluffy, not too soggy, with sesame seeds dotting them.



Wrapped in paper lined foil, the overall impression was that these were slightly higher quality cousins to the typical overpriced, overcooked movie theater hot dog. Yes, we paid half as much as we've ever paid at any other doggery to get our bellyful of franks... This might be an acceptable tradeoff to the casual hot dog eater, but to someone with a true passion for tubesteak, it's like Babe Ruth getting paid a million bucks to play a game of whiffle ball with the Girl Scouts. He might like the money, but it doesn't exactly provide the same thrill as hitting one out of the park in a real game.



We sat and sipped our Cokes and munched on our dogs quietly for a while, as the crowd slowly dispersed, and the shuffling warehouse employees appeared to clean up the mess left behind. Steve Doggie-Dogg confided to Jon the Food Slob that it's stuff like this that really depresses him... "Eating a hot dog should be a joyous celebration... a real treat among treats... but to some people, it's nothing more than cheap meat." Between bites, Jon mumbled his agreement with Steve's philosophical ramblings. We shoved our trash into a 50 gallon industrial trash barrel and wandered back through the vast, now-empty parking lot to our car. The orange industrial lighting added a strange, futuristic, other-worldly ambience to the lonely concrete plain. It wasn't a pleasant ambience. You won't find us coming back here anytime soon.