In an echo of the bland and character-less stainless steel equipment behind the counter at Jeffrey's Hamburgers, the food -- by which I mean the Polish dogs -- is equally without character.
What is a Polish dog? It is evidently not a Polish sausage. Aside from being made of meat, it's one other dimension is an unimaginative unidimensional hotness. The sweet relish is curiously bland, the brown mustard amazingly has no bite, and the bun is a white-bread artifact from the 1950s.
After a look behind the counter at the cooking area, I am left to wonder what it takes for a short order cook to be allowed to be expressive rather than orthodox. It seems a simple assembly line with a set collection of ingredients that have no room for creativity.
I'm looking in the wrong place for a good Polish sausage. The ball park at the San Jose Giants or Rossotti's in Portola Valley are without local peers.