I'm sitting here at the softball field watching my step-daughter and her team get warmed up for a her game tonight. It's unseasonably warm for a mid-April day here in the Pacific Northwest, and at 6pm it's still well over 80f. Most of us are melting, even in shorts and flip flops. what I would t give for a super cold margarita on the rocks....
I love America's favorite pastime. To me there is nothing better than going to the ballpark and watching a game. I've been to a couple great ball parks across the US. Hands down, Fenway is my favorite park, and that's not just because the Red Sox are my favorite team. It's just a cool park.
Fenway hasn't been taken over by the corporate mega-giants pimping every consumable imaginable. It's old school. I like that. I like that sense of history. The brick walls with ivy crawling all over them. The hard red plastic seats that make your butt go numb after five minutes. Home of Cy Young, Roger Clemens, Wade Boggs and of course, The Babe. The Greats!
From a culinary viewpoint it's not much different than any other park though. Beer and sausages. Nacho with fake cheese food substance. Popcorn and Cracker Jack.
As I sit here getting ready to watch the first pitch I'm craving the smells and flavors of a ballpark hot dog with spicy brown mustard and heaped tall with sauerkraut, grilled onions and peppers. I know what you're saying though, "that's not Paleo."
And your right.
It's kind of hard to eat a hot dog without a bun, but doable. So go ahead and enjoy that hot dog smothered in sauerkraut, just don't eat the bun. I know that hot dogs themselves aren't the best for you, but who am I to tell you to deprive yourself the simple joy of a hot dog at a ballpark.
As a matter of fact, I'm off to the concession stand now.
As my Mom always told me, "make good choices."
