take me out to the ball game

Wrigley Field. It's is one of the oldest baseball parks in the United States, coming in second behind the Red Sox's Fenway. But according to many Chicagoans Wrigley is the nicest stadium in the country, blowing wannabees like Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium out of the water. The ivy covered outfield walls, the hand-turned score board, the art deco main entry marquee, and of course the delicious ballpark eats are just a few of the things that make Wrigley Field...Wrigley.

For our big adventure of the weekend, Jac and I bought tickets to visit the home of the Chicago Cubs and watch them face off against the Cincinnati Reds. The game started at noon, so we planned to wake up early to shower and get ready, then stop by the grocery store for sandwiches and drinks, eat and drink on the L down to the game, have further drinks at the game, sing "Take me out to the ball game" in the seventh inning stretch, get a mouth-watering Wrigley Field classic Chicago-style hot dog, perhaps eat some peanuts with or without the shells, hit up a bar in Wrigleyville for one final bevvie, and then hop back on the L in pursuit of the Connolly household, AC, TV, and sleep. 

But everything did not go according to our plan. Our car was gone. Yet, another was available. But with an alternative route. And the grocery store was not on it. Jac's brother Nick and two of our friends Jason and Judson were also planning to go to the game, so the five of us drove to the train station and instead of starting our day off with coffee and sandwiches, chose whiskey and coke zero. A natural substitute.

We made it down to Wrigley about 30 minutes before the game was supposed to start, and sought out a bar to fuel our bodies with burgers, fries, and of course beers. Most of the boys got the $7 burger basket special, but Jac and I held out--we were waiting for Wrigley. We were waiting for stadium food. We were waiting for our dogs.

After about an hour and a half at the game, fully engrossed in watching both the players and the fans, and slowly sipping on a few local Chicago brews, I came to a realization: Jac and I had yet to eat. (Well, minus the 3 bites of leftover pizza before leaving the house and a singular french fry I stole off of Zerden's plate) Skinny Maddie would say "Way to go girlfriend!!" but Hungry Maddie, Healthy Maddie, Fratty Maddie, and Fatty Maddie usually think one thing: "You have to eat or else your metabolism won't start, and you will die." Thus, I announced it was dog time.

Jac knew just where to go. Down two flights of stairs, around the corner, and hang a left, and we entered into what appeared to be a restaurant inside the stadium, complete with chairs, tables, napkins, and more--No ketchup stains for us! I headed straight to the cashier and ordered myself a beef dog, topping it off with sauerkraut and grilled onions, then garnishing with ketchup, mustard and tomatoes myself...and clearly adding fries on the side. Go big or go home. This was supposed to count for breakfast and lunch after all... The dogs were up in a matter of minutes, but they were down in a matter of seconds. So satisfying. So delicious. So necessary. 

"Is my biggurl happy?" 

"Mhmmm.....sreeewww hppee."