"Food is personal, papito."
These were the words spoken to me by Jaime Palacios, better known as Chino, the owner of Holy Dog in Middletown, New York.
Born in China to Chilean parents, Jaime grew up between Mexico City and the jungles of Venezuela before moving to Brooklyn at age 24. He comes from a family of artists; his aunt is the artist Sylvia Palacios Whitman. He keeps a cluttered studio stacked with massive canvases behind his hot dog shack, but he tells me that food is the most important thing.
Rob: Are you an artist?
Jaime: Yes, all my life. That I didn’t choose. This nightmare? (He gestures to his restaurant.) I choose it by myself.
Rob: Why’d you start cooking?
Jaime: What do you mean “Why”? That is what we do. You see, that is how families say “I love you,” is with food. The nucleus of society is the family. The nucleus of the family is the table where we eat. Where we share values. When that is broken, society starts crumbling. Food is the most important thing, it’s why we do things.
Rob: Would you say food is more important than art?
Jaime: Food is art.
Then he laughs, and then he makes me the chicken sandwich that 2 locals had been waiting for since before he opened up that day.
Jaime opened the Mexican bar/restaurant Veracruz in Williamsburg in the 90s, and it still exists today. He placed every stone in the backyard himself, sourced from his neighbors on Bedford. After he and his partner were evicted (a story I probably can’t share here), he moved up to Middletown.
As to why he chose Middletown, he told me his friend threw a dart at a map of New York state, and it landed there.
The experience of visiting Holy Dog can’t be captured on film. There is always a line, and there are less than 10 seats inside. You order directly from Chino, and he’ll relay it to the one other member of staff to prep buns and condiments. The atmosphere is smoky from the amount of charred sugar burning on his griddle, left behind by the balsamic glaze he blasts his dogs with. Your order will be communicated back and forth between you, Chino, and the worker more than once. Often, Chino will hand you something to try: A piece of a “Girlfriend Treatment” (sausage, peppers, onions, chili, cheese, pico de gallo, and chipotle mayo), or a bacon chili cheese dog (bacon-wrapped and deep fried). On Wednesdays and Saturdays, there are sliders—but only if you know to ask for them.
Rob: I noticed there’s no system to order.
Jaime: No, no, no. No computers, no… We don’t have a TV, we don’t have WiFi, we don’t take orders over the phone.
Why? We like people. We like to talk to you, we like to cook for you, and you should like to see what I’m doing. Because if I don’t see you, who cares what I give you? Right? Because if you just receive it, then that’s it. The delivery guy’s gone, who are you going to complain to?
Food is personal, papito. You put it in your mouth.
Food is personal. It’s a profound and simple sentiment that has resonated with me for weeks now. The impersonal nature of food delivery, of ghost kitchens, of slop bowls, of AI, of the gig economy, of the man in the street, of the filming without consent, of the spitting out Hong Kong egg tarts in London, of the “come with me,” of the rating it one through ten, of the anonymous internet—It’s fucking killing me. And I need to counter it.
But not all that’s in my purview. I control this space, and the other spaces where I distribute videos. I have to make it personal, because it’s personal to me and it’s personal to the people I interview. John Czerw died and it hurt me. A restaurant owner texted me this week asking if I can help stabilize the business so he can give it a last shot. The owner of Lodi Pizza offered to take a loss if I couldn’t sell the t-shirts I printed featuring his business. “It’s a pride thing,” he told me at the time about his pizzeria. “It’s like you’re selling yourself through the pizza.”
Food is personal. It’s something to live up to. I’d like to be as accountable making videos on the internet as Chino is selling hot dogs. So I’m putting that as the tagline for this Substack. I am accountable for anything published here, or on my channels. There is no executive board, there are no investors, there is nobody replying on my behalf. It’s just me, some writers I trust, and y’all.
A big thank you is owed to Jaime “Chino” Palacios. Maybe I should head back for a part 2? Let me know in the comments. And subscribe for more stories about people and food.
📍 Holy Dog
44 W Main St, Middletown, NY 10940
Fucking profound.