Killer Buns the Weapon in the Battle of the Hot Dog Hawkers

The Van Nuys Weenie War is a lot like warfare the world over, except with cholesterol.

On one side there is Lisa’s Big Weenies, a little trailer with a pink, festive umbrella and a variety of small compartments containing a few pounds of frankfurters and buns, spicy and yellow mustard, and assorted soft drinks.

At the height of the Weenie War a few weeks ago, Lisa Gregory and her provocatively clothed female assistants sold hot dogs for as little as a quarter.

Her opponent is Nancy Cicatelli of Nancy’s Courthouse Dogs, who sometimes drags herself out of bed and drives to the courthouse at 4:30 a.m. to secure the best spot for her little red trailer.

For, like any good war, the Weenie War is about land, in this case a few square feet of asphalt next to a parking meter at the intersection of Sylmar Avenue and Delano Street, near the Van Nuys Courthouse.

The battle for that pigeon-poop-spattered street corner has included allegations of vandalism, unfair price cutting and claims that one side is exploiting physical attributes to boost sales.

Looking over at her competitor recently, Cicatelli lamented that Gregory, her competition, had slashed her prices to ridiculously low levels. Besides that, said Cicatelli despairingly, Gregory’s breasts are very large. “So what can I do?”

Gregory, 23--whose company slogan emblazoned on her business cards is “Bite the Big One”--happily admits she is taking advantage of a Cheesecake Gap.

“I don’t like bras,” she said. “The better you look, the better you sell.” She also encourages employees to attract male eyes.

“I give a bonus for a girl who causes an accident.”

Said one of her vendors: “We wear shorts and little tops.”

The Weenie War started several months ago. Gregory, who operates eight carts and chose her company name because “it’s so obnoxious, it’s cute,” bought a company that for years had been working the courthouse area, a “profitable location” because of all the foot traffic.

But some legal problems delayed her getting a cart on the spot, and Cicatelli moved in. Just as there are codes of professional behavior among attorneys and doctors, Gregory said, there is a code of honor among hot dog cart operators. When all the niceties of polite language are boiled away, it amounts to: “You don’t go taking another person’s location.”

In this case, Gregory said, Cicatelli had no right to the courthouse spot because Gregory had a prior claim. Cicatelli didn’t buy that. Once Gregory got there, things quickly got hotter than a boiled frank.

“She was really aggressive and going up to my employees,” said Gregory. Gregory said she obtained a restraining order to stop Cicatelli from harassing her workers.

Cicatelli’s boyfriend, Clive Richards, 31, sees it differently. “From the beginning she considered it a war. We didn’t consider it war.”

The first shot was fired when Gregory slashed her price from $1.75 to $1 per hot dog. Cicatelli counter-volleyed with a two-for-one deal, Gregory recalled.

Not to be outdone, Gregory cut her price to 50 cents. Cicatelli followed suit, said Gregory.

Finally, Gregory bought 11,000 hot dogs and hunkered down for trench warfare. With this artery-clogging, all-beef doomsday device held in reserve, she could afford to cut her price to a quarter. The first day, Gregory sold 500 dogs in a little more than two hours.

Gregory said she told Cicatelli: “I’m going to wipe you out. I have every right to do it and I can afford to do it.”

This was not just Sabrett rattling.

The battle spread to a second front. Although there are several usable locations around the courthouse plaza, the best is felt to be the Sylmar-Delano intersection. A large parking garage there is used by jurors, witnesses, testifying cops and judges, all in a hurry, with maybe a minute to gobble a red hot with relish and onions. Gregory and Cicatelli began competing to see who could stake the earliest claim on the prime spot.

Cicatelli was arriving at 4:30 a.m. “That was a hassle,” said Richards. Gregory responded by purchasing a beat-up old car for $200 and parking it at the intersection. One day, she found the tires slashed and the windows smashed.

“We didn’t have anything to do with that,” said Richards indignantly. The car was finally towed away.

Although Cicatelli has been heard to complain about the physical dimensions of her opponent, Richards said he has no objections to Gregory’s dress or measurements. “She’s got it to use, go ahead and use it,” Richards said.

But he pointedly added that Cicatelli has been successful because she “dresses conservatively, is pleasant and we don’t try to pull any gimmicks.” Translation: How do you want your hot dog? Primly neat and clean or smothered in cheese?

If Richards was trying to embarrass Gregory, he can forget it. She is not afraid to admit she ladles on the sex appeal to sell her product.

“She’s always said we dress risque,” Gregory said of Cicatelli. “But it’s class risque. Lace and cutesy things. My girls are good conversationalists too.”

In fact, she would match her employees against any in the nation, including the famous Bikini Girls who sell hot dogs on the beach in Florida. “We would blow them away,” Gregory said.

Although Cicatelli is still doing a decent business, Richards said, “I don’t know if it’s worth this hassle.”

Meanwhile, as the war goes on, customers are taking advantage of the hostilities to get some of the best hot dog deals in town. Municipal Court Judge Michael Luros said he buys hot dogs from Lisa Gregory, not because her employees set his heart beating faster but because she sells the kind of hot dog he used to eat back home in New York.

“Those are nostalgic for me,” he said. “I go to her for the Sabrett’s hot dogs, not any other assets.”