Well, at least it puts an end to one of our greatest conundrums.
Few questions have stirred up as much controversy as whether a hot dog is a sandwich. Families have bickered, online discussions have exploded, and a 12-page brochure, Hot Dogs, Facts, Figures, and Folklore, written by the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council (yes, it’s a real association), argues why the answer is no.
Yet, in a memorable moment on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, the late Ruth Bader Ginsburg, also known as The Notorious RBG, argued—while pumping iron, I might add— that a hot dog could indeed fit the definition of a sandwich, which is simply two pieces of bread with a filling, provided there is more filling than bread.
So, bearing that in mind, could a hot dog be anything else? I didn’t think so until I ordered a halv special in Gothenburg, Sweden. It’s neither a hot dog nor a sandwich—it’s a whole new beast.
The First Bite
Anyone from Gothenburg knows that Mariaplans Korvkiosk is the go-to for a top-notch halv special. For the rest of us, this insider tip usually comes from a local, as it did for me from Johan Rudh, the urban cheesemaker at Cityysteriet whom I’d met earlier that day.
Conveniently close to the Göteberg Mariaplans metro stop in a quieter corner of the city, the korvkiosk (Swedish for hot dog stand) had a short line when I arrived at 3 p.m., though I’d been warned it was usually crowded at lunchtime and after work when locals stop by to snack on the way home.
Every person in line was ordering the halv special despite the menu’s other options. Rudh had only recommended the halv special, so I did the same. But I hadn’t anticipated the many topping options—pickles, pickle mayo, fried onions, strong or sweet mustard, or both. In a moment of panic, as the line behind me grew bigger and hungrier, I asked for everything but the onions—a choice I’d later regret.
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My halv special arrives piled high with pickle mayo, limp pickle slices, and what appears to be a bun buried beneath a mountain of mashed potatoes. Somewhere under it all, there’s supposed to be a hot dog, too. This is the first time I’ve used a fork to eat a hot dog, reiterating my thoughts that this is neither a hot dog nor a sandwich.
As I observed, the proper way to eat a halv special is standing, ideally propped against the chest-high silver bench on the side of the korvkiosk in the brisk air, with a Pucko to wash it down—just as Conny Simonsen first did in 1940.
The Special
Who is Conny Simonsen? He was one of two local boys from Hisingen, a large island in Gothenburg, who first asked for a hot dog topped with mashed potatoes. After football practice, they had stopped by a korvkiosk in Våmästareplatsen, ordering a regular hot dog but with one special twist—”a bit of mashed potato on top,” explains Jesper Talcoth, a korvgubbe ( sausage man) from Gourmetkorv, a popular korvkiosk chain in the city. “The name stuck.”
“It eventually became known as the halv special,” Talcoth explains, which is a hot dog with one sausage. For two sausages, it’s called a hel-special—hel meaning whole in Swedish. The locals usually pair it with a Pucko, he notes, describing the popular Swedish chocolate milk, which, incidentally, is also slang for “a stupid person” in Swedish.
As the dish gained popularity, it spread to korvkiosks all over Gothenburg, cementing its status as one of the city’s most beloved foods. Though it’s found all over Sweden, including in cities like Stockholm, the halv special has a special connection to Gothenburg.
The Korvgubbe With the Box on the Belly
Sweden opened its first korvkiosk about 26 years after New York introduced hot dog carts, but the general consensus is that the concept was inspired by Germany and its love of sausages.
As noted in Hot Dogs, Facts, Figures, and Folklore, sausages from Germany’s dog wagons were originally consumed while wearing gloves, as they were too hot to hold. At the turn of the 20th century, when a hot dog vendor ran out of gloves, he invented the idea of serving the sausages on a roll. Of course, this is all speculative. What truly matters is how hot dogs were sold, and that’s what first caught the attention of the Swedes.
In the late 1800s, Sweden saw vendors in Germany selling items from boxes strapped around their necks,’ Talcoth explains. Picture the hot dog vendors in Chicago, weaving through White Sox crowds with their metal boxes, shouting, “Hot dogs here!” Sound familiar?
Hot dogs soon appeared on Swedish streets in similar boxes. “They were one of Sweden’s very first street foods, if not the first,” explains Talcoth, who spent his youth working at his mother’s korvkiosk and now works alongside his sister, Malin Talcoth, owner of Gourmetkorv’s three Gothenburg locations.
“You could say sausage is in my blood.”
Although his mother wasn’t the very first woman to start a korvkiosk, it was indeed a woman who first brought hot dogs to the streets in Sweden, as noted by Bangers, a Stockholm restaurant dedicated to hot dogs. The Sausage Madame era was brief and soon followed by the korvgubbes.
A korvgubbe, or hot dog vendor, is a role anyone can hold today—Talcoth included, who once listed korvgubbe as his occupation on official visa paperwork. His more formal title, however, is verksamhetschef.
Historically, korvgubbes were mostly men wearing the hot dog box around their bellies and selling sausages on the streets. As the Banger trivia site points out, there were rules for korvgubbes. They could only sell up to 200 sausages daily and were not allowed to sell after 1 a.m. It worked well for a while. Hot dogs were a quick, affordable, and delicious meal—much like today. But in the 1970s, the hot dog boxes were deemed unhygienic and nearly banned.
The turning point came when artist Owe Törnqvist released Varm Korv Boogie, a hit song that sparked public debate and eventually led to the return of the boxes. By that point, it was too late. Most korvgubbes had moved on to selling hot dogs from kiosks, and the iconic belly boxes faded away.
Mariaplans Korvkiosk is one of the most recognizable korvkiosks in Gothenburg. The small, charming box with its vintage black-and-white cinema lightbox sign is a true attention-grabber, but korvkiosks across the city now come in all shapes and sizes.
The Gourmet Kov
Gourmetkorv has two locations, Lindholmen and Bohusgatan, where you can sit and enjoy a meal, while the Grösaks Torget location sticks with the traditional stand-and-eat approach.
“These days, one of the most popular toppings for the halv special is skagenöra, a shrimp and mayo salad,” he explains.
As with most street foods, they eventually get a gourmet makeover—but that’s not necessarily a bad thing, according to Talcoth. At Gourmetkorv, the halv special stays true to its roots, but they emphasize high-quality ingredients. “And a good sausage,” he says, “It has to be a quality sausage.”
So, is the halv special a hot dog? A sandwich? Or is it something entirely its own? Maybe it’s the culinary equivalent of a plot twist—unexpected, messy, and totally worth it. One thing’s for sure: in Gothenburg, no one’s arguing about whether it fits the definition. They’re too busy eating it.
