Traveling Feast

I’m not quite sure what has happened this year: free tickets to Mariner’s games three times in four months.  Tonight it the tickets were even Suite tickets.

This meant FREE food and drinks throughout the game.

But I also had a mission.  After my recent Ivardog encounter I felt it imperative that I try the iconic sushi of the stadium: the Ichiroll.

$9 behind home plate buys you eight pieces of what is essentially is a spicy tuna roll with matchstick cucumber thrown in for good measure.  I’ve definitely had worse sushi, but that faint praise.  Our sixth inning sample was better than most supermarket rolls, but only barely.  It was dominated by an extra wasabi kick that took the spicy level up to the point that it was hard to taste the fish.  The rice was also gummy.

I love the IDEA of the Ichiroll as well as the name, but the execution significant room for improvement.  So far the Ivardog is clear front-runner in the Safeco Field concessions smack-down.  Yet I did get a tip via Facebook that the Kidd Valley hamburger from a stand out behind left field needs to be tried before an overall winner is selected.  I guess this means another visit to the ballpark.

While I should probably reserve judgment until after downing an Ichiroll, my second visit to Safeco Field was marked by the discovery of a new personal favorite:  the Ivardog.

In honor of my Grandpa Peterson, I am working hard to develop a deeper appreciation for baseball strategy and statistics.  But the honest truth is that my orientation toward all things edible insured that the most memorable part of both recent trips to Safeco was the hunt for the best stadium food.  On my first visit earlier this year we knocked off the Garlic Fries, the deep fried mushrooms, and a monsterous plate of nachos.  The verdict: (1) overrated, (2) decent, (3)  too many colors not found in the natural world.

This trip my daughter Megan opted for the clam chowder and I spotted a relatively-reasonably-priced menu item called the Ivardog ($5.75).  In a departure from ballpark norms, it promised actual shredded cabbage in addition to something deep-fried on the bun.  Perfect: I could count it as a salad for the day.

It also turned out to be quite good.  Visit three to Mariner World will require some sushi sampling, but chances are I’ll also find some flimsy excuse like a double play to celebrate with another Ivardog.

At the Mariners game last Thursday we couldn’t stop with just Garlic Fries.  In the 5th inning we went prowling the concourse for more to eat and happened upon a lonely tortilla themed booth at the far end of the 300 level.  Unlike nearly every one of the other stands we had passed, there was no line here.  It also occurred to us that nachos might make a good chaser for the garlic fries and deep-fried mushrooms we’d already polished off.

We place our order just as one woman was going on break so a second woman with iron grey hair and a severe expression stepped up to fill our order.  “Nachos?” she asked sharply.

“Yes.”

“Beef or chicken?”

“Chicken.”

“Black beans?”

“Yes.”

Actually we answered yes to almost every question that followed and could barely believe the mound of toppings that grew and grew on top of a fairly small bed of chips.  If anything I would have expected her to be stingy with us.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

I can’t say the nachos she handed us two minutes later were the best nachos I’ve ever had.  They weren’t.  But they just might have been the largest.  And the molten cheese goop laddled on top didn’t stay there; it cascaded down over the sides of the basket into the larger drink container and through the holes to drip on the concourse.  I think it took us the better part of an inning to excavate deep enough to find a chip.

My sister informed me there was one sacred requirement during my first visit to Safeco Field in Seattle for a Mariners game.  It had nothing to do with Mariners memorabilia.  Nothing to do with the stadium or even baseball.  I had to order (and eat) the “world famous” garlic fries.

Typically when I eat garlic I know I will be sleeping in the basement, but Karen wasn’t along on this particular Seattle junket so garlic fries it was.  That would be RAW GARLIC fries for those of you not yet among the Safeco Field initiates.

Each order came… somewhat curiously… with two thin slices of fresh apple.  I pointed this out to the woman in the concession stand and asked her what the slices were for.  She looked at me with a crooked smile and gestured to her mouth before saying “You know… your breath.”  I appreciated the thought, but one glance at the garlic on the fries told me that an apple slice or two would be woefully inadequate.  Bingo.  I don’t know if it was the garlic fry effect or the fact that the Mariners were playing poorly, but by the 7th inning most of the people around me were gone.

If you are a garlic fiend, one order might be enough to convince you to buy Mariners season tickets.  If you are not, the very fact that the fries are a signature item for the stadium might make you decide to never set foot in Safeco.  The reality for the rest of us is probably somewhere in the middle, but I confess my favorite description of the fries came from a friend, Peter Tobin, here in Spokane when he caught wind of my stadium dining choice.  He called the fries “goopy, greasy, smelly, morsels of love.”

Thanks Peter.  I’m betting you sleep in the basement a lot.