His name is Mario but everyone refers to him by the product he sells; hot dogs.

“Hey, Hot Dog Man,” a voice calls from a passing car. Wha’s up, mon?”

Hot Dog Man grins and without looking up from his work replies, “Yah, mon, is good, tanks!” Beside him, two green tourist benches fill with a never ending crowd of friends and customers, everyone happily knocking back a drink and a dog.

Mario has been in the same spot on Frontstreet in St. Marten’s Dutch town of Phillipsburg for at least seven years, his mobile cart wedged in a narrow alleyway between two storefronts. His neighbors are an endless string of jewelry shops, touristy t-shirt traps and a few real restaurants squeezed randomly into the mix. He started there selling woven palm frond hats he made on the
spot and although it was lucrative, supply and demand was tough.

Hot Dog Man has many friends. They collect around the cart sipping the $1 special, Heinekin Pilsners, talking politics and taking in the parade of passersby from the cruise ships who move up and down the street like an army of ants. Most of them are busy shoppers and stop only for a cold one to fend off the oppressive heat. But sometimes husbands send their wives on, grateful for a seat, a cold beer and a shopping reprieve.

Mario’s friendly demeanor holds up through all the crazy questions he’s asked every day; “Where’s the McDonalds?” “Excuse me, where’s the bathrooms?” “How do I get back to the ship?” He points and directs, explains and jokes. Pride for his island inspires his ambassadorial answers.

We discovered Hot Dog man last year while running between the grocery store and the dinghy, carting as much as we could carry. Our twenty-something son was with us and who’s to say if it was the Hot Dog sign or the $1 beer that caught our attention but for a few days, we were among Mario’s best customers. On our first visit he loaded up our lunch with the usual; mustard, mayo, relish, and sauerkraut before looking us each in the eye, asking, “Hot sauce?”

“Well, yeah. A little, please,” I said.

And when it was Kess’ turn, he added, “Mon, you wan lotta sauce, right?”

“Sure,” said Kess. “Hot sauce.” Mario handed the dog to Kess and knowingly watched him take the bite that would spark a forest fire in his mouth. “Man,” Kess gulped, “That’s HOT!” Mario smiled and handed him the fire-extinguisher, an ice cold Heinekin.

We dropped by that cart every chance we could, not because of the menu but to watch his face light up; to catch a handshake and the half hug he handed out.

There’s a lot to keep visitors busy on Front Street, for sure, but if a taste of this island is what you’re after, (and I don’t mean hot dogs,) be sure to take time for a cold one with the friendliest face in town.


posted by Jan