I'm a New York Mets fan in a family with die-hard Texas Rangers fans. It makes for some awkward moments. The Mets are doing what they do -- falling behind with Big Apple style (heartbreaking style). The Rangers are doing what they do -- swatting aside the competition as anyone would pesky mosquitoes. It really chaps my hide. Nevertheless, I love baseball, especially watching it from within a stadium. So, when I was presented with two all-you-can-eat-seats tickets to an Angels-Rangers game, I snatched them from the hands, like the Angels would surely snatch victory from the jaws of the red-hot Rangers. Alas, that wouldn't be the case. The game was among most boring pitchers' duels I had ever seen. The Rangers' first-inning home run single was all it took for the team to gain the upper hand and end triumphant.
Like the Rangers' win over the LA club, the all-you-can-eat buffet at the wall-to-wall window restaurant with sticky tables was a minor success, not a blowout. There were three standout options were the popcorn, the hot dogs and the cheese-product nachos topping. The former were scooped out of a beer-bucket cooler and as addictive as stale movie popcorn. (I love stale movie popcorn.) Unfortunately, I didn't see a dispenser of fake butter. Instead of burgers -- how could there not be rubbery pre-frozen patties? -- fans munched on franks. They had a surprising snap for being boiled. But again there was disappointment associated with the pabulum. The condiment station didn't have deli mustard, only its day-glo yellow sibling. The cheese had a slight kick and didn't turn my gastrointestinal tract into a water-park flume. It was an improvement on the middle-of-nowhere goop served at many a rural Tex-Mex joint. (I'm thinking of you Griggs.)
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The barbecue chicken breast with onions was the biggest loser. Tough and dry, not even the commercial vat sauce could rescue it from the mouth of Satan (read: the Texas Rangers). The buns almost made the "meat" bearable. They were hearty enough to withstand the disintegrating properties of condiments.
Thankfully, there was a comedic element to my outing. The chefs (if you can call them that) were wearing toques, as if they were culinary school instructors.
If only the home team had lost!