Yann’s Hot Dog Stand, Chocolate Milk, and Hometown Tradition

Yann’s Hot Dogs in Fairmont, WV. Picture from Yelp

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.