Munch and hot dogs go way back. The prospect of free hot dogs after the game was pretty much the only reason Munch played organized sports as a youth. "Munch! Find your glove! You're in right field," the coach would bark, often (coincidentally) after the other team had just gone ahead by 16 runs.

"Are you sure? I'm just here for the free hot dog," Munch would reply. "In fact, you know what? I'll just mosey on over to the concession stand right now. Anybody want a Cow Tale?"

And so began Munch's long, illicit love affair with the hot dog (and the Cow Tale, but that's another story) and all of its incarnations: the Chicago dog. New York-style. Dodger dogs. Coney Island dog. Chili dog (preferably outside the Tastee Freeze). Hot dog with the cheese on the inside. The kind of dog they shoot from the PNC Park hot dog gun. Skinless. Natural casing. Kosher. Beef. Pork. Beef and pork. Pork and beef. Hot dog with a fried egg on top. Munch has even sampled a veggie dog and found it to be not an altogether unpleasant experience.

Munch mentions this because a new hot dog place just opened on Mount Washington, Packs & Dogs, in the space vacated by the glorious Village Dairy, where the potato pancakes were delicious, the coffee was cheap and the second-hand smoke was free of charge. Times changes, though -- there's no smoking at Packs & Dogs, for example. But there is plenty of beer -- lots and lots of beer, exotic names we've never heard of, IPAs galore, big bottles and little bottles and ...

Hold on a second here. This is all sounding familiar. Sounds an awful lot like D's SixPax & Dogs in Regent Square, now that we think about it. But this isn't a case of plagiarism -- it's imitation, which is the sincerest form of flattery, and if you're going to model one hot dog joint after another, Packs and Dogs couldn't have picked a better one.

The beer is the main attraction at this new shop (200 varieties to D's 900), but let's talk about the dogs for a minute. They're all named after dogs. Get it? Chihuahua = chili dog with cheddar cheese and onions. Irish Setter comes with coleslaw and fries. The deep fryer in the corner churns out fries ($2.75) and onion rings ($3.50), which won good reviews.

On the first visit, Munch sampled the German Shepherd ($3.25), selecting the natural-casing frank over the Vienna all-beef. Munch likes the juicy snap of the natural casing, and wasn't disappointed by the P&D version. Munch swished it down with a sweet and malty Brooklyn Brewery Brown Ale. On a second visit, Faux Vegetarian Friend of Munch (FVFOM) picked the veggie dog with the "Bloodhound" preparation ($3.75) -- bacon, cheddar cheese, onions and barbecue sauce, but hold the bacon (because she's kind of a vegetarian, remember?). FVFOM said it was the best veggie dog she's ever eaten -- indeed, it was, because it's the only one she's ever eaten. Boss of Munch said the Chicago-style Golden Retriever ($3.25) was sufficiently loaded with extras (mustard, relish, tomato, pickle, peppers, celery salt). Munch loved the "Bulldog"-style kielbasa ($4), nicely spiced and blistered and blackened in all the right spots, but Colleague of Munch (COM) wanted more chili on her chili dog ($3.50), and that seems like a reasonable request, for chili is proof that God loves us.

Hey, Packs & Dogs! More chili on the chili dog next time! Some folks like the chili dog neat and clean. Some prefer the chili to be spilling over the bun, like a Sloppy Joe. COM likes 'em sloppy.

The more napkins, the better.

The decor is clean bordering on antiseptic, owing partly to the reservoir of empty space where the Village Dairy deli counter used to be. That space could eventually be filled with tables -- as it stands, the only seating is in the stiff wooden booths, recycled from their Village Dairy days, that line the walls.

But Packs & Dogs is a work in progress, trying to strike the right balance between six-pack shop and purveyor of foodstuffs. Someday soon, Munch hopes, its hot dogs will be as impressive as its beer selection.