Ryan is the only person in the world who can accurately claim to have been a Designated Eater at a Wilmington Blue Rocks game. His job, as Designated Eater, was to consume the ballpark cuisine that my gluten-free diet prohibits.
Ryan, a self-described “engineer for a large chemical company” said he lives in “West Wilmington” before acknowledging that West Wilmington isn’t actually a place. He further clarified that he does not live in “the city proper” but that wherever he does live, it’s “close to Newark.” Good luck tracking Ryan down. He’s practically off the grid.
As Blue Rocks mini-plan ticket holders, Ryan and his family (wife, two kids) regularly attend games at Frawley Stadium as well as various other, more or less local, Minor League locales. His daughter Rose Grace, playing the role of disaffected young teenager to a tee, told me that she “hates baseball” and “I’m only here for the food.” Nonetheless, she had no interest in tagging along with her dad as he did his Designated Eater duties.
Sam, 10, was into it. He was with dad for the duration, and occasionally played the role of co-Designated Eater.
We began with where we had to begin: the Sweenie Donut Dog, a hot dog with bacon and raspberry jelly placed delicately within a glazed donut. This item, unveiled in 2015, is named after Blue Rocks icon Mike Sweeney.
Have at it, Ryan.
“It’s very sweet. A spicier meat would be nice, but not everyone likes a spicy meatball,” said Ryan, who devoured the Sweenie Dog before I got a picture of him eating it. “Jelly on bacon is nice; the hot dog is just along for the ride. This is definitely something that you have to try, but not an everyday type of meal.”
It certainly is not an every day type of meal. Can you imagine ingesting this viscous, salty-sweet ingredient combo every day? It probably wouldn’t be healthy.
As you may recall from my previous post, this wasn’t just any day at Frawley Stadium. This was a “Celery-bration,” in honor of Blue Rocks mascot (of sorts) Mr. Celery.
And what is a Celery-bration without a celery bar? Answer: Not a very good one.
Therefore, the Blue Rocks had a concourse celery bar. In exchange for $5, celery consumers received five (5) celery sticks and a choice of two (2) of the following: peanut butter, Nutella, blue cheese, ranch, wing sauce, Buffalo chicken dip and homemade hummus.
Ryan and Sam opted for hummus and peanut butter.
Reactions to the celery were, not surprisingly, muted.
Sam, whose favorite food is “hamburgers with bacon,” said that the hummus “didn’t have much of a taste. Ryan lauded the peanut butter as “creamy” before tautologically declaring that “celery is celery.”
Finally, Sam, Ryan and I made a stop at Chickie’s and Pete’s, a sandwich and seafood chain that is much-loved throughout the greater Philadelphia area.
The Blue Rocks added Chickie’s and Pete’s prior to the 2014 season, making it the first Chickie’s and Pete’s location in the state of Delaware. The Trenton Thunder and Staten Island Yankees (not to mention the Philadelphia Phillies) also have Chickie’s and Pete’s at the ballpark.
As you can see from the signage, Chickie’s and Pete’s is the “home of the world famous crabfries.” These crab fries contain no actual crab; they are thinly-sliced crinkle-cut fries with an Old Bay-style seasoning and accompanying white cheese sauce. (And they are gluten-free, and they are delicious.)
Instead of the usual “pose with food item” picture, I took a video of Sam trying to throw crab fries into Ryan’s mouth. They were — spoiler alert — unsuccessful, but it’s the thought that counts.
Ryan and Sam weren’t the only father-son combo in close proximity. My dad, a resident of fairly nearby Pennington, New Jersey, was tagging along as well. He was wearing his Ben’s Biz shirt and just-purchased Mr. Celery hat.
As for the crab fries, Sam said they were “really spicy, and even when you touch them they’re hot. Ryan added that the cheese sauce was “a necessary part of the experience.”
“I’d eat more, but I’m saving room for the celery eating contest,” said Ryan. “I want to make all Designated Eaters proud.”
Wait, what? A celery eating contest? I almost forgot. As part of this “Celery-bration,” I pulled some strings and had Ryan entered into, yes, a between-inning celery eating contest. Here’s how it went down:
After the contest ended, an enraged Mr. Celery flipped over the table and charged at the participants. Mr. Celery may use a piece of celery as a baseball bat, but nonetheless he feels obligated to decry the frivolous consumption of his own kind.
Despite the fact that Ryan went down in on-field defeat, denied a year’s worth of celery, he still enjoyed his Designated Eating experience.
“It was very enjoyable, Ben,” he said. “Maybe you can find a way to make this quote more exciting.”
I did not find a way to make Ryan’s quote more exciting, but I did find a way to include this picture of him shaking hands with my dad.
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