We love sports. But we live to eat.
Baseball is best watched with a beer in hand and a carpet of peanut shells at your feet. The NFL was made for America, because the downtime between snaps gives us the time to order a hot dog and feed our passion.
The true national pastime is snacking.
While the French savor fine wine and Italians turn dining into art, the official American cuisine is ballpark food.
We might no longer win the Olympic gold medal in basketball, but nobody in the world can beat us to the concession stand.
Boog Powell, an Orioles slugger who went on to make his real contribution to the game as a purveyor of sublime barbecue sandwiches at Baltimore’s Camden Yards, once received this scouting report as a young hitter: “There are only two things that will prevent him from greatness. A knife. And fork.”
Wrong. Real genius did not find Powell until he put down his bat and picked up a carving knife.
Our patron saint is Boog, who dared to dream that stadium food should aspire to be more than that radioactive, molten-yellow goo vendors ladle on nachos at stadiums across the country.
You might say the most famous dynasties of U.S. sports are the Yankees and Lakers.
Championship teams, however, come and go. I say there’s never a bad year to drink Old Style beer at Wrigley Field or chow down on fish tacos sold at football games in San Diego.
Consider this the undisputed rankings of the best sporting munchies in the world. Of course, there are no losers, only thousands of deliciously empty pounds to be gained.
No. 1: Primanti Bros. sandwich
As much for flavor, these 1,200 calories win the title on the basis of pure, unabashed American decadence. This massive, teetering sandwich looks like Dagwood Bumstead’s steroid dream. Before devouring it, you must wrestle it into submission.
The brothers Primanti gave a new, wonderfully sloppy, twisted meaning for meal to go, by stacking their sliced beef beneath cheese, tomatoes, cole slaw and French fries. All of it, including what most sane humans consider side dishes, is slapped together between two slices of thick Italian bread.
This has been called the sandwich that ate Pittsburgh, and it not only is bigger than Jerome Bettis, but might be more beloved among Steelers faithful.
No. 2: Fish taco especial
Denver quarterback John Elway threw an amazing 16 touchdown passes in San Diego during his Hall of Fame career.
Big deal. I’ve thrown down no fewer than 50 fish tacos during my annual trips to Chargers football games.
Before being drafted by San Diego, offensive lineman Marcus McNeill had never heard of the local delicacy. “Now,” he admits, “I’m a fish taco guy.”
McNeill is also a 6-foot-7, 335-pound guy. You’d have a better chance against him in the trenches than at the taco stand.
No. 3: Sweet Italian sausages
The Dodger Dog is pure Hollywood, famous for being famous.
Want to know the truth? The Dodger Dog stinks. Old ladies wearing hair nets at your school cafeteria boiled a less rubbery hot dog.
Summer smells like peppers and onions being simmered on vendor carts behind the Green Monster. And these yummy Italian sausages might be the main reason Red Sox Nation outgrew those notoriously tiny seats in Fenway Park.
No. 4: Old Style beer
Homer Simpson was right. One of America’s basic food groups is beer.
And Wrigley Field is the nation’s No. 1 beer garden.
While an entire generation of baby boomers born in the Midwest memorized the Hamm’s Beer Song (“Brewed where nature works her wonders, aged for many moons, gently mellowed …”) before learning the words to “The Star-Spangled Banner,” we also grew up to discover nothing can kill the pain of another loss by the Cubbies quicker than an Old Style sipped – or chugged – from a clear plastic cup.
No. 5: Stinky cheese and red wine
What’s all this fuss about the Tour de France being tainted?
Veteran spectators know the best way to enjoy the event is on the juice.
As a bike race, it’s a bunch of aerobic superfreaks pedaling by in a blur.
But it’s one heck of a beautiful all-day picnic.
A little blue cheese, a little red wine, and faster than you can say Charles de Gaulle, who cares if that cyclist in the yellow jersey is doing EPO?
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-954-1053 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
