It’s “pitchy” and “dog,” but not in a Randy Jackson way

7 types of baseball ballpark eaters

A taxonomy of dining-types around the Big Leagues

Even if you hate hot dogs. Even if you fear all the nitrates, hormones, cow lips, anal flaps and sawdust pumped into them. Even if stuffing a slippery, pink, semi-rigid flesh pole approximately six inches in length into your mouth incites repellant sexual imagery, there’s one place in the world where you’ll not only eat a toxic meat missile slathered in mustard water, but smile and burp out an order for a second.

The ballpark.

Where else, after all, would you pay $14 to horse down chewy pizza and stale Cracker Jack at 8 o’ clock on a Wednesday night, much less shout “Dirty Sanchez!” at Latin ballplayers whose names suddenly strike you as hilarious four $8 Miller Lites into your evening?

Full story here on Food Republic …

 

 

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