Behold the batting helmet sundae, striated coil of vanilla soft serve extruded into a plastic hat and stabbed, at point of purchase, with a spoon that stands on its own, like the ceremonial first shovel at some grand civic groundbreaking. It’s a Wednesday afternoon at Citi Field and cupped in your trembling hand is a miniature Mets batting helmet. Pasteurized, homogenized, romanticized, the helmet sundae is the sun-kissed marriage of Mr. Softee and Mrs. Met, food and baseball, a divine partnership. And what God has joined together, let no man tear asunder.
This is a love story about stadium food. Last spring, television cameras caught a couple at Wrigley Field Lady and the Tramp-ing a hot dog, attacking it simultaneously from either end until they eventually met in the middle for a kiss.
