Category Archives: Random tidbits

Sandwich of the Week: At the Park

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Now that Ryan’s not around to accuse me of shillery, I can say this without fear: Citi Field has the best ballpark food in the country. Of the 50-some Major and Minor League parks I’ve visited, at least.

Most stadiums have one or two good specialty items and then all the standard fare. Citi is really the only stadium I’ve ever attended where I struggle to settle on what to order. It’s usually the tacos, but I at least consider a pair of fine sandwiches: Mama’s Special from Mama’s of Corona, and this week’s sandwich of the week. Hat tip to Eric Simon for buying me one a couple weeks ago.

The sandwich: Pulled pork sandwich from Blue Smoke, multiple locations including two inside Citi Field.

Insider tip: Go to the Blue Smoke on the Promenade level of Citi Field, even if you’re sitting on the lower level. There’s almost never a wait up there.

Bonus tip: The actual Blue Smoke restaurant in Manhattan is worth a visit because the rest of the menu that’s not available at Citi Field is excellent. Try the mac and cheese. It will get you drunk with awesomeness. And their vast selection of bourbons will get you drunk with drunkenness.

The construction: Pulled pork in barbecue sauce with pickles on a brioche bun. I also added fresh jalapenos from the toppings station.

That is, I believe, one of the most underrated aspects of the food at Citi Field — unlimited free fresh jalapenos! You could make a meal of ’em, really. That might anger the Mets, but whatever. They’re still carrying Ollie Perez.

Important background information: I know embarrassingly little about pulled pork considering how much I know about ribs. I need to bone up (no pun intended). I know that there are multiple styles of pulled pork even within the state of North Carolina, and based on the flavor I’m pretty sure the Blue Smoke pulled pork is smoked over hickory.

In other words, expect a post in not too long involving me making some pulled pork. That’s a skill set I obviously need to hone.

What it looks like:


How it tastes: I hope you know already, but if not: Tremendous. Just… wow. And look, maybe expectations are tempered a bit because it’s inside a ballpark, and maybe this would be a little disappointing if I got it at the actual Blue Smoke and it had been sitting under a heat lamp like it was. But I don’t know. It didn’t taste dried out at all.

It tasted like an explosion of smoke and meatjuice and vinegar, with sweetness from the sauce and tartness from the pickles and spiciness from the jalapenos. Damn, that’s just a hell of a sandwich. Straight up.

What it’s worth: Ten dollars is a lot for a sandwich anywhere. It doesn’t seem terribly unreasonable inside a ballpark, but I’m not going to argue that this is a ten-dollar sandwich. I mean, pulled-pork is generally expected to be inexpensive, after all, and one of the best pulled-pork sandwiches I ever ate — from a  place called Keith-A-Que off the road in Georgia — cost me a flat buck.

But still, I think relative to other ballpark food — in Citi Field or elsewhere — ten bucks isn’t a terrible deal for this sandwich. The best bargain is those tacos, of course, but the pulled-pork sandwich seems like a steal when you consider it costs about as much as two fountain sodas.

How it rates: Is this really a Hall of Fame sandwich? Hard to imagine at a ballpark, and again, I suspect my perception might be biased by lowered standards. But I have to give it a 90. As for baseball players — there just aren’t a lot of Hall of Famers from North Carolina. This can be Catfish Hunter, because I imagine this sandwich would have a sweet mustache, even if it isn’t made of Catfish and doesn’t require any hunting.

Food truck stuff

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The show is called “The Great Food Truck Race.” Seven specialty food trucks — home-style Cajun, fine-dining French, pressed sandwiches, Vietnamese banh mis, crepes, hamburgers and banana pudding — will set off on a six-week road trip from Los Angeles to New York, stopping along the way to peddle their grub. The teams who sell the most food advance to the next town; the losers pack up their fryers and head home. As the celebrity chef Tyler Florence, who hosts the show, put it recently, “It’s like ‘Cannonball Run’ with food trucks.”

– Josh Eells, New York Times.

Not to burst your bubble, but if you read the rest of the article you find out it’s really not a whole lot like Cannonball Run with food trucks. I generally prefer the food shows that just display awesome food and tell you where to get it or how to make it over ones that involve reality-TV challenges. Plus it really seems like the banana-pudding truck faces an uphill battle against the hamburger truck.

But all that said, this sounds like a decent show. Because hey, food trucks.

I’m never much one for trends, but the food-truck one is something I can get behind. After all, I ate food from food trucks long before they came into vogue and I don’t plan on stopping after the wave breaks. There’s a big difference between a food-truck fad and a Silly-Bandz fad. One of them provides me delicious food for reasonable prices. I’m not entirely clear on what the other one does.

I have a lengthy history of eating food from mobile distributors.

Back when I worked in a soulcrushing temp position at Macys.com, there was a pizza truck that used to park outside and sell grandma-style slices. They were amazing, and it made that job ever so slightly more bearable.

Near the MLB.com offices in Chelsea, there was (probably still is) a taco truck that came at night to the corner of 14th and 8th. Real good, fresh Mexican food — an awesome treat during a late-night editing shift. Plus the truck had a big sign that said “Bienvenidos a tacos,” which translates to: “Welcome to Tacos.” Thanks buddy, but I’ve been here for years.

The best food truck near my current office is almost certainly the Jamaican Grand Duchy cart, which I don’t visit nearly enough.

The grease trucks at Rutgers prompted this site’s first sandwich writeup.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the stellar Mr. Softee, pretty much the O.G. food truck.

Finally, I enjoyed a chili dog at the Haven Brothers food truck in Providence last week. It’s basically an 18-wheeler that parks outside City Hall from dusk ’til dawn every night, and the trailer part of the truck is a tiny little diner with a kitchen, seats and everything. Cool place.

Any recommendations for food trucks? I’m all ears. Also, teeth and mouth and stomach. I’m all ears and appetite.

Sandwich of the Week: Not a sandwich

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Fun fact: Rhode Island has laws governing how jonnycakes are made. The state’s legislature commands that Rhode Island breakfast spots use a specific type of cornmeal and nothing else. No flour or cornstarch. Also, the law says that it’s jonnycakes, not johnnycakes.

I have no idea how Rhode Island enforces that. Do they use undercover food cops, or does a team of state troopers just come busting through a diner’s doors on a hot tip from a disgruntled employee? Also, I mean — I’m no fan of false advertising or anything — who cares? If I want to open a Rhode Island coffee shop and serve johnnycakes with a little bit of flour to thicken up the batter, they’ll probably still be delicious. Why should the state intervene?

Also, the state legislature named coffee milk the official state drink of Rhode Island. Apparently Rhode Island politicians have a lot of time on their hands.

The sandwich: Chow Mein Sandwich from Evelyn’s Drive-In in Tiverton, R.I.

The construction: An order of chow mein — the American-Chinese food dish with frizzly noodles and vegetables in some sort of soy goo — piled onto a hamburger bun, sort of.

Important background information: It is amazing to me that a state so fixated on culinary semantics should allow this thing to be sold as a “sandwich.” I don’t know for sure what constitutes a sandwich, but I know this is not one.

For these writeups and just in life, I use a very broad definition of the term “sandwich.” Since the verb “to sandwich” means to squeeze  between two things, you’d think a sandwich should necessarily have two starches bookending some sort of meat, cheese or vegetable.

But that discounts wraps, gyros and so many wonderful meat-wrapped-in-bread concoctions, most of which I consider sandwiches.

I would say, very generally, that to be a sandwich, the item must at least make some pretense toward portability. I mean, even if once you take a bite out of the thing the ingredients spill all over your plate and you have to use a fork like a sucker, that can still count as a sandwich for me. If you can’t pick it up in the first place, I don’t think so.

Of course, that dismisses so-called “open-faced sandwiches” and items like the Croque Madame, but I’m cool with that. If you need to start with a fork, it’s not a sandwich. We’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Plus I’ve never had much time for the French, and I’m not comfortable ordering something called “Croque Madame” in the first place. It’s like asking for a “pink lady” at a bar. I’m a pretty secure dude all around and I happen to generally enjoy pink beverages, but it’s got “lady” right there in the name. Can’t bring myself to do it. (Pink lady apples are still cool.)

So while I haven’t yet reached a comprehensive definition of sandwich, there must be standards. And the Chow Mein sandwich didn’t meet those. You’ll soon see why.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Not terrible, just not at all like a sandwich. I don’t think I’ve ever ordered chow mein from a Chinese restaurant — I’m more of a lo mein guy — but this chow mein was decent and plentiful. Sodiumy.

And it came with a hamburger bun, which is novel. Half the hamburger bun was on top of the order of chow mein and the other half was buried somewhere underneath. So it did have two pieces of bread, like many sandwiches. That’s something it had in common with sandwiches. But the rest of it, no. Not a sandwich.

What it’s worth: Evelyn’s Drive-In is awesome, I should say. They’ve got picnic tables set up overlooking a gorgeous lake. On the drive there you can spot tremendous, awesome wind turbines all about. Plus all the rest of the food we tried — fried clams, lobster bisque and the like — was delicious.

It’s a nice place, and certainly worth the 20-minute drive from Newport if you’re vacationing there, as I was. I mean, you’re on vacation. You’ve got time for a scenic 20-minute drive to enjoy some fried seafood.

And the Chow Mein sandwich was only $5.50 or something, which yielded a whole lot of chow mein. So that was alright. Probably not worth wasting precious gut room on when there’s so much delicious seafood available, of course.

The rating: N/A, not a sandwich. It’s like asking me how Jets guard Brandon Moore is at baseball. I mean, hey, he’s not a bad football player. He’s just not a sandwich.

On refs, dinosaurs, sandwiches and McGwires

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Whoa, OK. Getting my head above water, sort of.

Anyway, I want to thank the guest posters who kept this site moving while I was away. And while I’m at it, I should respond to what they had to say.

(I believe there is still one guest post forthcoming, from a Ted bad at reading calendars.)

Here we go.

Tom Boorstein on officiating: Tom is not kidding. Outside of perhaps Brendon Desrochers, Tom cares more about sports officiating than anyone I’ve ever met. When Tom, Brendon and I worked in the same room at MLBAM, I would sometimes enter to find the two of them passionately discussing a call that had been made the previous night. I’d put my headphones on and get to work, and then 45 minutes later get up to go to the bathroom and they’d still be going. Unbelievable.

Anyway, I have a spotty history with officiating. As a freshman in college — in my younger, angrier days — I got kicked out of intramural football for punching a ref in the first game. I maintain that he completely deserved it and there was no way I was holding. But whatever.

My relationship with referees was only slightly less violent when I coached JV football years later. In my own high-school football days I generally avoided interaction with the refs, mostly because I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself since I was undoubtedly the dirtiest player on the field.

I umped Little League baseball games for a little extra cash while I was in high school. For some reason the kid assigned to be my partner was really into it and would actually show up with his own chest protector and beg to be the home-plate ump.

That meant I got to stand out between first and second base to take care of calls in the field, which rarely even happen in Little League. Basically I just got $15 to watch Little League games. One time the partner guy appealed to me on a check-swing. I didn’t have a particularly good angle and I wasn’t paying much attention, but I rung the kid up anyway because a) let’s move this game along, bro and b) how often was I going to get that opportunity?

Chris Wilcox on the triceratops travesty: I agree with nearly everything Chris says here. I mean, look, we know dinosaurs existed for real, but they mostly exist in our imaginations anyway. I want the triceratops to be pretty badass and its horns to be sharp and pointy. Not going to let science get in the way. Also, I mean, we’re kind of talking about semantics anyway. You’re telling me the triceratops is only a young torosaurus? Screw that. I’m maintaining that the torosaurus is just an old triceratops.

Incidentally, I feel its worth noting that our whole species has only been around for about 200,000 years, and dinosaurs dominated the earth for over 160 million years. Dinosaurs were around nearly a million times as long as homo sapiens have been. That’s nuts.

Eric Simon on National Ice Cream Sandwich Day: Eric did a great service to the world in alerting us all to National Ice Cream Sandwich Day, but he also touched upon an important topic I plan to cover in Saturday’s Sandwich of the Week post: What constitutes a sandwich? Mull that over while I do. I will attempt to reach some sort of comprehensive definition by the weekend.

Patrick Flood on the Army of McGwires: Hilarious and fascinating. So the McGwires would be good enough to be a really good baseball team, but not good enough to completely dominate? That seems to pass the smell test.

The further discussion in the comments section covers a lot of the ground I would have here, and sort of begs the question: Should the player best-suited to winning a clone tournament be considered the greatest player ever? Also, I’d be interested to see how different types of players would fare in clone tournaments.

Would 25 Ozzie Smiths prevent so many runs to make up for their lack of offense? How would 25 Joe Morgans fare if they had to be managed by another Joe Morgan? Would 25 A-Rods suffer because of terrible clubhouse chemistry, or the inability to create a 24+1 environment when every guy on the team is the +1?

Flood’s answer to my question really just opens us up to more questions. The only real way to solve all this is to get on with some cloning.

Celebrate: It’s National Ice Cream Sandwich Day!

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No, they aren’t as good as sandwiches with meat in the middle, or those with fried chicken instead of bread, or even those with grilled cheese sandwiches instead of bread, but ice cream sandwiches are sandwiches nonetheless, and we Teds — legitimate and honorary alike — love our sandwiches.

Well, apparently today is National Ice Cream Sandwich Day, which may or may not be a real holiday celebrated by upright primates, but at least one website (and Google News) seems to think it’s an actual thing, and if nothing else it’s an excuse to cram an extra sandwich into your craw today.

So indulge yourself. And yes, your damned right chipwiches count as ice cream sandwiches.

Introducing: Sandwich of the Week

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I heard your demands: More sandwich reviews, another Sandwich Week, Sandwich Month, Sandwich Decade, actual sandwiches. And I’m known to give the people what they want, especially when that involves me eating sandwiches. I can’t figure out a way to deliver sandwiches directly from the blog to your desktop yet – we don’t have the technology, unfortunately – but until I can, I’m going to provide the Sandwich of the Week writeup on Saturdays. That’ll go a little ways toward taking care of the weekend-post thing, too. And since sandwiches are timeless, I can write them during the week and post them Saturdays, to keep you in suspense and to keep my weekends clear.

Why only once a week? It’s a fair question, given how much we all love sandwiches. But to maximize enjoyment of life on earth, we must achieve some sort of delicate balance between healthy living and utter gluttony. I want to eat lots of interesting sandwiches, but if eat too many now I’ll die young and then won’t be able to eat any more sandwiches.

A friend of mine once said, “I’m going to die someday. And when I die, on my deathbed, I’m sure I’m going to say, ‘I should have had more cake.’” It’s one of my favorite quotes ever. I just figured I’d pass that along.

OK, no more nonsense. Here we go: Continue reading →

Heart attack of the clones

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“We mustn’t build up a fortress against cloning and the offspring of clones,” said Arnaud Petit, a director at Copa-Cogeca, the largest European association of farmers and cooperatives.

– James Kanter, New York Times.

Ahh, speak for yourself Arnaud Petit. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in a remote location, building up a fortress against the clones.

Seriously, though, check out the article — it’s an interesting read on the history and possibility of eating cloned animals, plus an overview of the nature and strength of people’s ethical hangups with the practice.

Obviously the intersection of meat and science is important to me, but I have yet to fully formulate an opinion on the matter. Eating cloned animals seems a bit weird, I suppose, and definitely feels more likely to lead to some sort of zombie outbreak. But at the same time, I can’t pretend the way we currently raise animals for consumption is entirely natural.

And I’m never clear on the term “natural” anyway. First of all, how can something truly be artificial — if you trace any chemical back far enough, it has to come from some natural elements, right? Like we can be all, “oh, MSG, that’s not natural.” But where does MSG come from? What constitutes “natural flavors?”

Plus, I mean, humans figured out how to clone stuff. Humans are part of nature, right? Is this particular technology somehow innately different than the development of all the tools we use to benefit society already?

I have a lot of questions and no answers. If cloning ultimately means we’ll have more delicious beef for less money, I’m for it. If it means all meat will taste the same and/or infect our brains and turn us into bloodthirsty cow-people, I’m against it.

Funny prank I wish I could claim

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Apropos of nothing other than the discussion of fast-food burgers in the comments section of the last post:

On Grand Ave. in Baldwin, not far from where I grew up, there are a McDonald’s and Burger King about a half mile from each other.

A few years back, my buddy Mike and a couple of his friends had a clever idea.

They went to Burger King and bought a Whopper. One of them stuffed the Whopper in his jacket pocket and they went to McDonald’s and ordered, among other things, a Big Mac.

They sat down in the dining area with their food, then Mike returned to the counter with his Big Mac box and asked to see the manager.

“Ahh, yeah… I ordered a Big Mac, but I got a Whopper,” he said, opening the box to reveal the Whopper he had stuffed inside, complete with — naturally — various ingredients that do not match those served at McDonald’s.

Here’s where it gets awesome:

The manager didn’t doubt him in the slightest. He just picked up the box, walked back into the kitchen, and without any irony shouted, “Who’s makin’ Whoppers back here?”

Wing man

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My wife is a fan of fried food, an occasional comments-section lurker and completely awesome, so, inspired by the discussion here, she got me a deep-fryer recently.

To test out the unified wing theory put forward in the aforementioned post, I attempted to make my own Buffalo wings yesterday.

And lo, they were delicious. It turns out making awesome buffalo wings is incredibly easy if you have a deep fryer.

Step 1: Acquire wings (I bought “wingettes,” which are already cut into the two familiar wing pieces, instead of full wings which you have to cut yourself like a sucker).

Step 2: Put wings in fryer at 375-degrees for 12 minutes.

Step 3: While the wings are frying, mix roughly equal parts Frank’s Red Hot and butter and a pinch of celery salt. Most recipes don’t call for the celery salt but I learned it on a tip from a Buffalo native and remarkably smart grad-school professor. You don’t need much at all, but it really enhances the hot-sauce flavor. Gives it a little extra kick.

Step 4: Toss wings in sauce.

Step 5: Eat wings.

Look at them:

So how were they? Awesome, like I said. They tasted like Buffalo wings. As good as any, I think.

One thing frequently underestimated in judging the quality of wings is the importance of freshness. Eating these just minutes after they came out of the fryer, I realized how important it is that the chicken skin still be crispy, despite all the delicious wing sauce.

I slept comfortably last night, and not just because of all the fried food. I could rest because I could rest assured that now, among my limited arsenal of skills, I can include the ability to make Buffalo wings. And that’s important to me. It’s a nice thing to have in my pocket, and maybe I can use it to get me out of trouble at some point in the future.

I am a wingmaker. A wingmaker and a baconmaker. Of these distinctions I am proud.