Chili Dog Stakeout

You had me at chili dogs—my stomach roared the moment you called it out, so I dashed straight back inside to track down the scent! I scrambled up the wooden dining chair leg and hauled myself onto the smooth tabletop. Right beside a red-and-white checkered paper liner, a glossy plastic squeeze bottle of yellow mustard was standing guard over some freshly scattered paper napkins. I threw both gloved arms around the tall plastic bottle, bracing my red sneakers against the slick wood, and slid it two inches closer to mark my official feast perimeter. Eggman's tricks can wait tonight; fueling up on the greatest food on Earth is my number one priority.