In most communities across the country, a hot dog is a simple recipe: a weiner, a bun and a squiggle of ketchup or mustard.
But in Charleston, West Virginia, a hot dog recipe would be found in the “dessert” section: pastry dough, fluffy cream and a drizzle of chocolate.
The donut is more commonly known as a “long John,” “cream bun,” “bar donut,” and many more outside the region.
It’s the Spring Hill Pastry Shop in South Charleston that coined the iconic moniker for the long, yeast‑based pastry split and filled with cream or custard, dusted with powdered sugar or topped with chocolate.
The hot dog has been on the family-owned bakery’s menu since its opening in September 1948 and remains its best-seller.
According to Clio, a nonprofit that offers digital content on historical and cultural sites, the idea for the hot dog pastry was created by current shop owner Robin Williams’ grandfather.
“The icing that goes in those is a recipe that he made back then. He was just looking for something to put it in … he decided to roll these pieces of dough up to where they come out shaped like a hotdog bun and he could slice it and fill it with that icing. He really liked that icing,” she said.
And it’s clear the community agrees: Spring Hill Pastry Shop makes about 150 dozen hot dogs per day.
While the hot dog has become the most popular iteration of the pastry, other bakeries in the area have created their own versions.
Sarah’s Bakery in South Hills makes “chubby buns,” while Batter & Bliss Baking Co. offers “Molly dogs,” named after owner Rylee Vealey’s dog, in various flavors like banana pudding and strawberry crunch. Valley Cakes & Cafe in Poca serves “wimpy Johns,” which are a bit more elevated.
Charleston’s hot dog — or chubby bun or Molly dog or wimpy John — pastry is a local chapter in a larger Appalachian story.
Variations of the same long, yeast-raised, cream-filled pastry appear throughout the region, often under different names.
In parts of West Virginia, Kentucky and Ohio, it’s more commonly called a long John or cream stick; in Pennsylvania’s Appalachian counties, similar pastries show up in neighborhood bakeries as cream bars or filled donuts, sometimes split, sometimes injected, sometimes topped with chocolate or simply dusted with sugar.
The name matters as much as the pastry itself. Calling it a hot dog isn’t a mistake — it’s a local shorthand, shaped by place and memory, the same way coal towns and river cities developed their own dialects, rituals and recipes. It signals belonging.
In an era where regional quirks are often flattened into something marketable, Charleston’s hot dog pastry remains stubbornly, proudly specific.
It’s a reminder that Appalachian food culture isn’t a single story, but a collection of small, deeply rooted ones — passed down through family bakeries, renamed across county lines and kept alive every time someone walks out with a white box under their arm.










