Friday, June 13, 2008

On Fenway Franks, Piss Beer and Communism


Recently the New York Times did a piece discussing the best ballpark foods. Mysteriously (or wisely) left off was any discussion of the concessions at Fenway Park. Big fucking surprise... today the Globe disclosed that Fenway failed its food inspection for, among other things, "leaving sausages to thaw in stagnant water," "employees using unsanitized gloves," and "rat droppings" on the floor. These findings actually seems run of the mill to me. I was expecting more of the "returned from bathroom without washing hands", "sneezed on nachos", or "acrylic nail fell in chili". Disgusting conditions aside, I am not going to hold back here: I hate Fenway food. It's low grade, over-priced swill that should never be consumed by anyone for any reason. But for some reason, the planning part of my brain has never caught on to the notion that maybe I should eat before I go to a Sox game. Instead, I get hungry and end up back in the concession lines eating...

Hot Dogs and Sausages:


Let's be honest here: if you have been to Fenway you have tried "the Fenway Frank" at least once, or gotten sausages from that guy near the entrance to the bleachers who is screaming the same thing over and over which is seemingly impossible to decipher. ("Cubs and Mar"?) There is a tendency for some to romanticize the Fenway Frank: "It's a delicious treat that's a staple of summer dining". But let's be realistic here: it's a low grade hot dog dipped in luke warm water for like twenty seconds and then slapped on a roll that is guaranteed to stick to the roof of your mouth. And it's fucking gross, no matter how much brown mustard you slap on it. Ask yourself this question: if you were anywhere other than Fenway, would you ever eat this crap? The Fenway Frank is disgusting. Nothing beats throwing a dog on the grill or getting one that is, you know, actually cooked. But like mindless *gasp* Zombies, we eat this crap without fail at every game. Mix that in with the inevitable eight beers at a game and you are cooking up a royal rumble in your colon.

Beer

Which segues nicely into the other part of Fenway that drives me crazy: the selection and price of beer. Look at your options: Coors Light, Miller Light, Bud Light, Pussy Light. Sweet... and for eight dollars a pop! I love drinking at baseball games. It makes the game much more exciting, your conversations more lively, and that skank next to you seem not so bad. Now don't get me wrong, I can go to a game and not drink, but where the fuck is the fun in that? Call me an alcoholic, a drunk, a typical Bostonian, whatever, I like to drink at baseball games. Well this little past time has become obscenely expensive. Last game I attended I spent over $60 in booze and don't remember the 6th inning on. Now you may say, "HZMLS, why don't you just drink less?" Shut up, go drink a lemonade and suck on your thumb. It baffles me that in some "civilized" stadiums, where the police and vendors trust the patrons, beer is actually sold in the stands. Just imagine what Fenway Park would be like if they allowed vendors to sell beer in the bleachers:



Nachos and the Proletariat uprising :

This is my theory: somewhere in that park there is good food, and I am guessing that its somewhere where all the rich folks sit. Up there in the State Street Pavilion and those fancy box seats, they are eating catered dinners of lobster rolls, sirloin steak, and a nice imported lager. We need to find out how to get in up there, rob their seats, steal their women and take the real food back to the people at Fenway. The people need someone: a charismatic leader, someone who will take bring the victuals back to the peasants. That person must put aside any personal goals and look out for the welfare of the people, and fellow Hysterics, I will be that leader. VIVA LA REVOLUCION!

2 comments:

GHABB,Y~! said...

That last part read like the lyrics to Folsom Prison Blues.

SmartyBarrett said...

Gluttony? I think you mean "Gluteny"! Heck yes, not affected by this!

/celiac diseased