"Budweiser in one fist, two dogs loaded with kraut in the other"
Dad had season tickets to the Mets—prime seats down the third-base line, and my buddy Keith and I jumped at the chance anytime we could go. Before kids had Venmo or Apple Pay, all we needed was cash and a MetroCard. We’d take the train to the Staten Island Ferry, sneak a few Foster’s on the ride, hop the 4/5 train to the iconic 7 train—straight shot to the promised land: Willets Point–Shea Stadium.
Budweiser in one fist, two dogs loaded with kraut in the other, vanilla helmet sundae crowned with rainbow sprinkles—our religion. We were 16 and those were the days. Real New York.
Although I dreamed of playing under the lights wearing blue and orange, college injuries put me out of commission, and reality set in.
Although I dreamed of playing under the lights wearing blue and orange, college injuries put me out of commission, and reality set in. I had to get a job; turns out college loans don’t pay themselves. I’d visit my Uncle Gus, and he’d talk about his Navy days; I had my eye on the Marines, but my buddy talked me into the Navy instead. I joined with my brother, and we quickly learned two lessons: never volunteer for anything, and seasickness ain’t got a cure.
I wound up meeting a couple of stand-up guys on those endless mid-watches, chatting under the stars about what we’d do when we got out. In Trinidad and Tobago, there was a fine establishment named “Frankie’s”. That’s when the idea for Frankie’s Franks was born—I spent two solid years between 2017 and 2018 hashing it out with a few guys, and didn’t flip the first dog till June ’22 when the stars, the cash, and the guts finally aligned. One of those guys still flips ’em with me today; loyalty I've found out is the most important commodity in life.
My wife and I are raising a couple of kids in the middle of the madness. Running a Hot Dog Cart in St. Augustine ain't for the feint of heart—early mornings, late nights, juggling a day job and bedtime stories without dropping the ball. But that’s the life so far, and at the moment I wouldn’t trade it. Nothing beats a customer walking off with mustard on their shirt and a grin that says you made their day. We’re holding on for dear life and loving the ride. God bless, grab a dog, see you when I see you.
Hit us up. We’re ready to roll.
When you dial our number or book a gig, you get us—no middleman, and no one I don’t personally trust. We’re a two-man operation, but we’ve fed thousands at events in Jacksonville, St. Augustine, and Green Cove Springs—all with positive feedback. This setup isn’t rocket science. It’s a tried-and-true playbook that’s worked for 100 years straight out of NYC, but we’re always tweaking the setup to make it even better.
