Nationals Park, Washington, D.C.

Last night we went to the new Nationals Park to see the Nationals v. Phillies game. This was also my first chance to see the new baseball stadium paid for with our tax dollars. It's a nice enough place, but I really have to say I don't see what was wrong with the old venue at RFK Stadium farther down the river to the east, especially given the public funding of both sites.

As expected, one of the highlights was the plethora of dining opportunities presented by the new facility. This is one area where there does seem to be some improvement over the RFK Stadium, as there are quite a few more interesting places to eat, including branch locations of places like Ben's Chili Bowl and Georgetown Cafe. The prices seems to be equally exorbitantly high here as they were at RFK: big sandwiches go for around $8.50; baskets for $9.50; small crabcakes for $12.50, soft drinks for $5.50; beers for $7.50.

When I was walking to the stadium from the Metro stop, knowing I was there before Ian had left his Capitol Hill office, I found this comely young blonde woman at a street vendor's cart outside the stadium selling, interestingly enough, Mexican/Hispanic food, including several types of empanadas. Once I heard the description of the various meat pies, I asked if they were from Julia's Empanadas; she didn't know, but another man in her group did and confirmed the source. I don't know where the rest of the food came from. So, I got a turkey and green onion empanada, which you can see in the picture.

Once Ian arrived and we were inside the stadium, he waned dinner. We walked all over the place, both as a means of seeing the new stadium and to check out the food possibilities. On the main ground level, there are a number of big, "name" restaurants. The second level is mostly private clubs and suites. On the upper two levels, they have a finite number of restaurant counters and carts that are repeated over and over not only on each level but multiple times on each level. And, as is traditional in baseball stadiums, there were a number of vendors walking through the seating areas making sales, but the only ones I saw had just cotton candy or beers—no hot dogs or peanuts.

Ian found a counter selling a chicken tenders basket. The chicken actually looked pretty good, seeming much more appetizing than the fried-to-death, heavily breaded things often seen in such settings.


I went to a cart and got a Philadelphia cheesesteak sandwich (with no secret political message or team favoritism whatsoever). It was quite big and filling, with ample meat mixed with grilled bell peppers and onions and the whole thing drenched in Cheese Whiz; my only complaint was that as I finally unburied and found the bun, it was quite soaked with cooking oils from the meat and vegetables. It tasted good, though.


On our ways home, we walked by a Wendy's about a block or so north of the stadium. Ian wanted a Frosty. The Wendy's, though, was closed! They close their dining room—even on baseball performance nights—at 10 p.m., and they were losing business from dozens of potential customers. A little farther north, though, was an open McDonald's where people were having to go, and they were doing a booming business with people standing in lines. Alas, the service left a lot to be desired and the men's room smelled of stale urinal, but Ian was able to get his milkshake.