Some things were meant to happen. LeBron James was meant to return to Cleveland. Ross and Rachel were meant to be together (I think? I’ve never seen “Friends”). And this column was meant to feature Fenway Park.
As I’ve discussed, baseball is possibly the only thing I enjoy more than munching. Typically, though, ballparks don’t embody fine dining. Peanuts and Cracker Jacks are delicious, but their tastes rarely vary. Furthermore, due to Fenway’s lax rules, I often bring my own food (meaning Super Sour Scandinavian Swimmers) to games. Nonetheless, instead of skipping covering a collision of my worlds, I chose to nosh at America’s Most Beloved Ballpark — home to my favorite team, the Boston Red Sox.
So, last Wednesday, I set out on the Green Line for Kenmore along with 15 of my 2024 NECBA Champion Tufts Club Baseball teammates with clear eyes (somewhat), a full heart and an empty belly.
After arriving, I went straight for my “appetizer,” a world-famous Fenway Frank. I found one wrapped in foil, amidst a pile of similar sausages, at a mildly dystopian grab-and-go self-checkout stand.
The hot dog was as ordinary as it gets. The bun, a top-split lobsterroll-style offering, was too small for the meat. The Frank was apparently both boiled AND grilled (quite the innovation). However, after dousing it in ketchup (I apologize if that’s improper hot dog etiquette), all flavor disappeared. Still, the Frank wasn’t overly mushy, the bun didn’t disintegrate and it was surprisingly filling, yielding a solid bite, even considering the slightly absurd $6.50 price tag.
The quest for an entrée proved difficult, as the lines for loaded fries and burgers were seemingly interminable. After wandering for 10 minutes, a barbecue brisket sandwich caught my eye. Featuring heaps of sizzling brisket, a sweet barbecue sauce and, for some reason, white American cheese on a pretzel roll, the concoction was unlike anything I’ve ordered at a ballpark.
The sandwich was surprisingly very good. The brisket melted in my mouth, the sauce was tangy without dominating and the portion was sizable. Conversely, the cheese felt out of place and the roll was cold. Overall, though, the brisket was so tasty that I thoroughly enjoyed the dish, but I should’ve gotten more napkins.
After Andruw Monasterio gave the Sox a 1–0 advantage, it was dessert time. What better sweet snack than an ice cream helmet? I split the helmet with one of my teammates, and we ordered a vanilla-chocolate soft serve swirl. I don’t normally eat chocolate ice cream, but there’s something about a ballgame that makes ice cream taste better. The treat was the perfect way to cap off the night, as Aroldis Chapman shut down the Guardians for a Sox victory.
As always, my gut reactions:
Fenway Frank: Fairly fine, frankly.
Barbecue brisket sandwich: Soxfan (wants) more.
Ice cream helmet: Can’t be beat.
I’m writing this on Tuesday, Sept. 29. It’ll be submitted on Wednesday morning and published on Thursday, Oct. 1. Thus, I have no idea what will happen in the Red Sox-Yankees American League Wild Card Series starting Sept. 30. I could read this article on Thursday eager for a third Wild Card game or a second playoff round or with the sinking feeling that follows a playoff exit.
All I can do now is bask in hopeful ignorance. There’s still baseball to be played, and I’ll be there to watch. Whatever’s in store for the Red Sox, at least they provided me with a night of fantastic munching before falling apart/winning the World Series/doing something in the middle.
Yankees suck. Go Sox.
