I like baseball just fine. But with all apologies to my hometown of St. Louis, old bottlecap Busch Stadium and the vein-tattooed biceps of Mark McGwire, I go to the baseball stadium to eat. So when, five innings in to the Angels-Yankees’ potentially American League-clinching faceoff, all I’ve had is a jumbo dog, it was only natural that I started eyeing my neighbor’s piece de concession. Nachos. No regular stand would do, he told us. Apparently we needed to locate a special faux adobe stationed near the faux rock that made up the faux waterfall that plummets into Angel Stadium. Since one of our team eaters was a vegetarian we opted for beans, which was a good choice, considering what happened next.
Do you want cheese? Gallon bucket of oozy plastic fluorescent orange cheese rippled atop the beans. Chips are no longer visible.
Hot, medium or mild? Um, mild? We’re not sure of anything anymore. Viewing the cheese deluge has put us into a strange state of shock.
Do you want onions? Still, like totally speechless from cheese trauma.
Do you want onions? We nod, scared.
Jalapenos? Yes, a few? We get a dozen.
Do you want sour cream? The woman lugs out a monster, triple-nozzled squirt bottle. We all scream. For sour cream.
Stupidly, we inquire about the bowl of guacamole that sits off to the side in the topping tub. It’s $1.50 extra, is that okay? Why ask, you’ve already plopped six avocados-worth of guacamole on our nachos. The only thing they weren’t ready to heap atop our nachomountain were extra chips. When we asked for just a few more, the woman shook her head and pointed to the beginning of the nacho-topping march. You gotta buy a whole ‘nother thing of nachos. We ran away, far away.
Stopping to rest twice (at beer stations) on the way back to our seats, we began tackling the task set before us.
Nachos are so misunderstood. Supposedly they “require chips” to easily convey the toppings from heap to mouth. But not these nachos. These nachos blended into a slippery mass of condiments and once-chips that was a finger food of a more challenging, yet ultimately more rewarding degree. Jalapenos are incidentally just as good at salsa/sour cream delivery and should not be ignored for these qualities. Add a fork and these nachos became fine Mexican cuisine…like Southwestern ravioli! Or perhaps a Velveeta salad!
By the bottom of the sixth, the game is pretty much over; the Angels move ahead 4-2 with some artful base stealing I could almost see over the horizon of the Bowl That Wouldn’t Die. The Angels are well on their way to the World Series. But I had my own battle to wage: Me vs. a chipless nacho sludge that had grown comfortably warm in the sun. All I needed now was a straw.
