Again, I am compelled to remind you that my beloved handle, Slow Foodie was wrested from me and only the Silverlake Bodhisattva sprang to my defense. I am now me. Layne Murphy and it's spring and we’re back at Dodger Stadium, so hardcore that we attend pathetic freeway exhibition games although it gave us an opportunity to check out our new seats and the new fifteen buck (!) parking system. And man, it would be so easy to run some shuttle buses up from the Chinatown Gold Line station, but that’s another big ole Dodger chip on my weary shoulder, along with their chums at Union 76.
But every spring I return to the stadium with the hope that there is something edible to eat. Our new seats are near a South Street Philly Cheesesteak which we’d never tried and so I dropped 8 bucks for a miniscule sandwich and a fistful of potato chips. The dainty thing was nicely oniony and satisfying in that way that cold meatloaf is satisfying, if it is satisfying to you, of course. But may I be condemned to dine only from the salad bar at Burger Continental for the rest of this and infinite other lifetimes, if I do not religiously import food to Dodger Stadium for every single game. There is not one thing at the stadium that is anywhere near is delicious as any number of things which can be brought in. And don’t you forget it.
I may have a malt or an ice cream or one of those insipid frozen yogurts in the plastic batting helmet during the dog days of summer. I may even succumb to the $3.00 beverage they have the nerve they call coffee if the vicissitudes of being a professional carpool driving menopausal she-devil have born heavily on me. But, with perhaps the exception of a Dodger Dog (for luck, occasionally) and a Camacho’s taco, which I have never tried but feel obliged to eventually, as it is actually a local merchant and more importantly, local to our seats, I will not even fall victim to the garlic fries nor the rancid peanuts, however artfully they are tossed at me. Report on Camacho’s coming soon. Otherwise, brown baggin’.
The absolute best Dodger carry-in is banh mi. I am fussy and only really love the sandwiches at Baguette Express in San Gabriel and haven’t done a decent recent exploration of Chinatown, so this perfect of portable foods, hasn’t been on the menu as often as I’d like. Langer’s is a great option but their unusual hours require a bit of clever strategy. Phillipe’s also is a good carryout choice, heavy on the house mustard. Another favorite is a selection of sushi and stuff from either of the two great supermarkets in Little Tokyo. Remember, no canned drinks, only plastic bottles are allowed inside.
Bag o’ tacos from truck is always a good option too, although in the interest of personal hygiene, I would patronize a truck that’s rather dainty of hand and grease and make sure to have a ton of wipey things in my purse. However, even my new huge feedbag could not contain enough wipies were we to bring in barbecue, so that is verboten, likewise are hamburgers because they just get icky when they’re cold. Even Rover won’t eat a cold burger. In all but the most beer soaked of sections, Zankou is just too smelly.
Alas, stadiums all over the country purvey local food specialties. Piroshki and stuff. We have Dodger dogs, which, I’m sorry, is a sub sui generis hotdog. There. I said it. Dodger dogs suck. Grilled. Steamed. Beef. Even if you can find a little packet of sauerkraut they suck suck suck. Even though Skully gushes so much love into the radio spots. Bleech Dodger dogs I say Bleech!
Give me deli and Viet Namese sandwiches and tamales and real food from the best food city in the world as befits our beloved Dodgers. Do they really deserve Carl’s Jr.? And think about the Goldline shuttle, too, ok?
More writing about food by the same writer is at that writer’s food blog:
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