Meatless Monday is less a practice in moral fortitude (pigs die of natural causes everyday, right? RIGHT?) and more a challenge in finding delicious, savory dishes that also happen to be vegetarian. For this week's foray into meatlessness, I share with you how to do it right when surrounded by the highest concentration of charred animal flesh in one enclosed space. This is how to go meatless when odds are stacked against you and hunks of meat taunt you from behind their sweaty cages.
This is how to go meatless at Rangers Ballpark in Arlington. And there's only one thing you need to know: garlic fries. They even have their own Facebook page.
I heard there was a veggie dog option. Yeah, they serve chips with some kind of yellow, viscous
chemical cheese sauce. Popcorn and peanuts are vegetarian too, I guess. If we're going there, walking and buying overpriced shirts are also vegetarian options. Yelling at Wash is vegetarian. Doing the wave is vegetarian. It will also get you forcefully removed from my section. By me. Or Chuck Morgan.
So you get my point, there are plenty of options to help you ignore those glorious smells of bacon-wrapped hot dogs, pizza, burgers, brisket, chopped barbecue sandwiches, turkey legs, delicious legs of other animals, barbecued chicken, beef gorditas ...
But there's only one thing that smells better than all of these things: garlic fries.
How there isn't a line wrapped around the entire lower concourse with people violently climbing over each other to buy them is .... oh wait, yeah that happens. I waited through three innings for them once. The garlicky gentleman in front of me bought seven baskets. SEVEN. That's the better part of a one-hundred dollar bill. That's a tank of gas for a Honda Accord. That's ... a lot of money for fries. But they are oh so wonderfully worth it.
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SHOW ME HOW
The garlic fries at RBiA are simple: hot, crispy fries thrown into a bowl big enough to bathe a toddler and tossed with a mixture of fresh garlic, Italian seasoning, some oil and topped with a metric ton of shredded Parmesan. Most stands have this mysterious, unlabeled sticky squeeze bottle in which to squeeze some kind of spicy-ranch-Cajun-sauce-dip stuff all over your heaven fries. Once completed, then comes the quasi-impossible task of trying to make it back to your seat without strangers eyeing your paper basket of goodness with the jealousy of one million middle school girls. This is better than any smoked, grilled, fried or baked meat.
Garlic fries are available to all regardless of how much you paid for your ticket. Nose-bleed ticket holders can destroy their breath just as easily as guy-sitting-behind-Nolan can; all you need is $8.50 and the willingness to miss some of the game to wait in line. Take it from a repeat offender, Meatless Monday is better at the Ballpark. See you on Garlic Fryday.