I was just a little thing, maybe 3 or 4. I went with my dad. I don’t remember how we got there, but I have a feeling we walked. We didn’t live more than a mile or so across the river. Either by foot or by car, we crossed what was known locally as “the high-level bridge” connecting the east and west sides of my hometown. Right at the west end of the bridge, right at the corner, was a small wooden building. At least I think it was wooden? That’s how it looks in my mind — board and batten, I think it’s called. More like a shack, really.
Inside was a small lunch counter with four or five stools and maybe one table. Behind the counter was a small man who I remember as being very old. I don’t remember my meal, but I know it was a hot dog and chocolate milk. I know that, because that was the only thing served there at Yann’s Hot Dog Stand.
Yann’s is one of those places in every hometown that everyone swears is “the best _____ in the world.” A place where those who move out of town always have to stop when they come back for a visit. A kind of place that takes on its own lore. Yann’s was known for two things: its five alarm hot dog sauce and Mr. Yann himself.
My tolerance for heat ranges mild to Cholula Green Pepper sauce. Yann’s will set the novice’s mouth on fire and please those who pride themselves on their ability to laugh in the face of the Scoville scale. I definitely did not have sauce on that hot dog when I went with my dad all those years ago. I would have had a plain hot dog, because that is really the only other option.
Ketchup? Not in Russell Yann’s place.
Mr. Yann is the “no soup for you” guy of the hot dog world. He did not go out of his way to be cheerful or welcoming to his customers. Most people know what to expect when they go in, and those who don’t, well, they’re probably going to complain on Yelp about the rude man in hot dog place in this Podunk town. He wasn’t much for talking; he preferred to let the signage do the talking for him:
“CASH ONLY.”
“NO KETCHUP. NO RELISH. NO CHEESE. DON’T ASK.”
“IF YOU’RE IN A HURRY, YOU’RE IN THE WRONG PLACE.”
“PLEASE PAY WHEN SERVED.”
Yann’s is open four days a week, from 8:30 am until the hot dogs run out, somewhere around lunch time. You can get a hot dog with sauce, onions, and mustard, sauce and onions, sauce and mustard, or plain. If you ask for anything else — including extra onions or sauce or mustard, but especially ketchup — you can expect a gruff if not exactly rude response. (“You want ketchup? Go to Lupo’s,” he’d say, referring to another local lunch spot.) To drink, you have your choice of milk or chocolate milk. Sounds odd, but milk is, of course, the best remedy to cool a mouth burning with capsaicin. Most people say the chocolate goes best with a Yann dog.
Why go to a little shack to be served a hot dog that will burn your mouth off by a grouchy old man who thinks he knows better than you what toppings you should get? I don’t know. If you’re from my town, you just do. Those who enjoy heat say that sauce is unmatched, and everyone loves to tell their own Yann story, of being yelled at for asking for relish or for otherwise annoying the old man behind the counter, who was rumored to be a very kind and generous man beneath the gruffness. Yann’s has been a part of Fairmont for several generations. So beloved is this place that when the bridge was renovated in the late 90s, Yann’s got a makeover, too.
Mr. Yann continued selling out hot dogs, grumbling at customers, and refusing ketchup requests with righteous indignation right up until yesterday (January 14th, 2021). Today the news came that Mr. Yann died, at 89 years of age. It was big enough news that my dad told my mom to text me about it.
I confess, I haven’t frequented the place — if I’m feeding my nostalgia when I visit, I’m getting Colasessano’s pizza – but I have passed on the anecdotes of its oddities over the years to those not from Fairmont. I am saddened by the passing Mr. Yann and the end of this particular era. Even if I was not a Yann’s devotee, I have a Yann’s memory. I ate a hotdog there with my dad.
Russell was the second generation to run the place, and he has children, so perhaps the little shop will live on. Surely someone has the recipe for that sauce. I hope for the sake of Mr. Yann’s memory, ketchup remains prohibited.
How do you pronounce that? Like “yawn?”Report
Rhymes with man.Report
Love to try that sauce, but my palate responds to capsaicin in the parts-per-billion range so it’d probably be napalm in my digestive tract. Sweet memories, though.Report
Great story, Em.Report
For some reason, I was expecting Yann to be Chinese. Maybe his family exchanged the g in Yang for an extra-n somewhere. This seems to be the sort of restaurant that be run by somebody of a different ethnic group than the majority of the surrounding population. Yann does look like something of a tribesman though with that nose.Report
I would guess an Anglicized version of Jahn.Report
Yann is a Breton cognate of John, and thus a moderately common given name in France. It seems to be very rare as a surname, though.Report
That’s why I kind of figured something German or maybe Dutch. Jahn is not an unusual surname and there are lots of variations on Johan. Not hard to imagine an English speaker hearing it as ‘Yann’ from one of the guy’s low-German speaking ancestors and recording it that way.Report
I was always a little weirded out by Maine’s neon red snapper hot dogs, but they’re pretty good.
https://www.seriouseats.com/2010/03/hot-dogs-red-snappers-in-maine-wa-beans-rices-frankforts.html
I’d like to visit Yann’s and try the sauce on these, although chocolate milk does sound like a good way to cool the palate.Report
Aloha Em!
I too went to Yann’s with my dad when I was very young. (Late 50’s) Russell’s father Tony was behind the counter then. We called it “Tony’s”. My dad had to pick me up to sit on the stool.
I remember seeing Tony walking to work across the bridge with a pot dangling from his hand. I assumed it was the sauce that he or his wife made at home. Tony was gruff but always kind to us.
He loved his family and provided a good life and a legacy for them. The last time I saw Russell and Kathy was the day of my mother’s funeral. They provided a delicious memory on a sad day.
To the Yann family I send my condolences and thanks. “Thanks for the Memories!”Report
I was in Morgantown from just before Thanksgiving until Dec. 10th due to my mother being in the hospital. Since I now live in Texas, I don’t get to Yann’s much these days; only when I’m back in the area visiting my mother. Before I left for home, I made the required ‘Yann run’ to get a couple dozen to take with me. My earliest memory of Yann’s was my Dad taking me and my two younger brothers to Yann’s in the early 1960’s. I grew up in Bridgeport and went to school at Fairmont State so I’ve eaten a LOT of Yann dogs over the years. I got to know Russ pretty well, so I shed a few tears for Russ when I learned of his passing. However, I’m more than thrilled that Cathy is continuing the legacy.Report