Jason Engelhart:
T.S. Eliot was being incredibly shortsighted when he wrote,
“April is the cruellest (sic) month,” in “The Wasteland.”
Certainly, his poem would not have been as powerful had he begun with, for
example, “April is a swell time.” Still, Eliot may not have been so
down about April had he considered the fact that it marks our national
pastime’s annual awakening from hibernation.
After a long winter, there is nothing quite like walking
into a stadium, smelling the freshly-mown grass and watching oversized men
channel their steroidal rage into knocking around a five-ounce ball with a
stick.
The game day experience is impossible to replicate, and it
would not be complete without some good ballpark food. Whether one eats out of
boredom caused by the length of the game or out of the hunger that inevitably
follows spirited cheering, baseball and food go hand in hand.
A couple of decades ago, fans had few options when they went
to the ballpark. Just as they are today, hot dogs were the most popular ballpark
fare then, and they were essentially the same from ballpark to ballpark. Sure,
the dogs may have had sport peppers on them in Chicago and green chiles on them
in Denver, but that was pretty much the extent of the options for folks looking
for hot food.
In the recent past, the hot dog-weary fan’s only alternative
was something the friendly concession stand folks insisted were nachos.
However, those who deviated from the processed meat norm received a plastic
bowl of cold chips with a glob of lukewarm processed cheese unceremoniously
plopped into a small compartment at the side of the container. This is a far
cry from the warm tortilla chips covered in melted cheese and beans anyone who
orders nachos deserves. Often, it was a safer bet to stick to the tube steak or
else settle for a prepackaged snack like peanuts or Cracker Jack.
Fortunately for those finicky eaters who avoid franks,
processed cheese and peanuts, ballparks have recently begun to take the advice
of their brokers and diversify their culinary portfolios. In addition to the
old mainstays, many ballparks today have begun to offer options like sushi,
salads and specialty sandwiches.
Often, these exotic menu items represent regional variations
in cuisine. The classic example of this is the “Rocky Mountain
Oysters” served at Coors Field, home of the Colorado Rockies. I will not
explicitly say what they are, but I can say that only “ballsy” fans
order this Colorado delicacy. In fact, the concession stands only get about 25
orders per game.
Of course, other, less gross examples of regional ballpark
fare exist as well. The concession stand menus at the country’s ballparks read
like a food tour of the United States. There are boiled peanuts at Turner Field
in Atlanta, fish tacos at Petco Park in San Diego and authentic St. Louis-style
barbecued pork sandwiches at Busch Stadium.
Even for fans who do not like ballpark food of any kind, it
is hard to go the entire game without at least grabbing something to drink from
the concessions. There is nothing like standing in the hot summer sun for three
hours to make one’s whistle feel very dry. When this happens, the reluctant fan
must choose among three unsavory alternatives: an overpriced bottle of water, a
comically overpriced six-gallon soda or a criminally overpriced beer.
For game day guzzlers who select the lattermost option, the
likes of Budweiser and Miller have long dominated the ballpark beer market.
Sure, there are some folks who prefer Old Style, but most connoisseurs would
agree this David tastes even worse than either of the two insipid Goliaths of
the beer world. Furthermore, most folks in the Old Style camp like the Cubs
too, so their preference for quaint quaffs is more likely a result of
deep-seated masochism than a desire for “indie” beer.
Luckily for baseball enthusiasts who genuinely wish to shy
away from beer’s mass-produced and perverted cousins, the past few years have
seen a craft beer explosion at stadiums all over North America. Cincinnati Reds
fans can enjoy Red Legg Ale while the Colorado Rockies serve up Fat Tire and,
not to be outdone, the Milwaukee Brewers offer a wide selection of beers
including Miller, Leinenkugel’s, New Glarus and Sprecher.
The recent improvements in concessions at stadiums across
the major leagues have made 2008 a great year to go to a ballpark and enjoy a
game. Maybe if T.S. Eliot had had more ballpark menu options during the April
that inspired “The Wasteland,” he would not have been so unkind to
baseball season’s first month. It sounds ridiculous, but never underestimate
the power of good sushi and a ballgame.
Jason Engelhart is a
senior majoring in economics and history. Please send all Rocky Mountain Oyster
recipes to [email protected]. Send all other correspondence to
[email protected].
Ben Voelkel:
Jack Norworth, a singer and songwriter from the turn of the
19th century, had it right. In 1908, the Broadway performer left his mark on
the landscape of American culture with a simply written tune that hits at the
heart of the country’s love affair with the game of baseball: “Take Me Out
to the Ball Game.”
“Take me out to the ball game,/ Take me out with the
crowd,” the tune goes, “Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,/ I
don’t care if I ever get back…”
It has been 100 years since Norworth wrote the tune, but
fans still “Root, root, root for the home team” at ballparks all
across the country during the seventh inning stretch as they enjoy their
peanuts, Cracker Jack and other assorted ballpark favorites.
Nearly a century after Norworth, one of the great (baseball)
thinkers of the late 20th century threw in his two cents when he quipped,
“When we lose, I eat. When we win, I eat. I also eat when we’re rained
out.” This modern-day Buddha — for he, like the common conception of an
ancient philosopher, is on the portly side — is none other than former Los
Angeles Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda.
He had great reason for his affinity for eating — he spent
much of his life in the cradle of American cuisine, the baseball stadium.
Baseball is a game in which history is king, and the hot dog
is a part of that history. At a 1902 New York Giants game at the Polo Grounds
on a cold April day, as the story goes, a concessions seller was having trouble
selling ice cream and cold soda, and he turned to selling hot sausages in buns.
They were a hit, and the hot dog was born in one of baseball’s all-time holy
grounds.
But there is a trend among some stadiums to begin catering
to a more upscale audience, one that apparently is too good for the standard
fare.
The sale and promotion of mystery meats and extravagant
eats, such as Rocky Mountain Oysters (Colorado Rockies), grilled salmon
(Seattle Mariners) and shrimp tacos as ballpark food flies in the face of more
than 100 years of baseball cuisine.
“Oysters,” fish tacos and boiled peanuts?
Seriously? To quote the Miller High Life man, “Y’all must be crazy!”
What is a baseball game without the deliciously salty aftertaste
of peanuts and the quiet crunch of shells being stepped on, as the vendor
snakes through the concourse pitching his own perfect game of tossing tubers to
those who call? And what about the smell of a hot dog or brat as the wrapper is
undone and the enjoyment of the first bite, which, somehow, tastes like a
baseball game? Without that traditional food, the game loses a bit of what
makes it so special.
And it’s not like you go to a baseball game for the food. It
wouldn’t make any sense to do so. Spending gobs of money on transportation,
parking and a ticket to the game just to order a gourmet meal does not fit
anyone’s description of a smart dining habit.
So why pretend that is the case? Fans are there for the
game, not the food, and as any baseball fan knows, enjoying traditional
“baseball food” is as much a part of the game experience as catching
a foul ball or swaying to “Roll Out the Barrel.”
For all of recorded history, when one has been seriously
hungry at a baseball game, he has turned to a staple of mainstays at the
concession stands.
If you go away from hot dogs, peanuts and popcorn, you lose
a piece of what makes the baseball game the event that it is.
And that would leave everyone hungry for more.
Ben is a junior
majoring in political science and journalism. He’ll be just fine with a hot dog
and peanuts, thank you very much. He also backs the Italian (No. 3 in the
program, No. 1 in your heart) in the Miller Park Sausage Race. He can be
reached at [email protected].
