Building Baseball Tradition with Conch Fritters and Air Conditioning

Marlins Park
501 NW 16th Ave.
Miami, FL



I’m a baseball traditionalist.

To me, the best ballpark in America is Wrigley Field in Chicago, with its 100 year old history, manual scoreboards, ivy covered outfield walls and shirtless drunks in the sun-splashed bleachers.

Wrigley blends perfectly into the quaint urban neighborhood that surrounds it. For generations, Cubs fans across the street watched the games from their rooftops.

Newer ballparks like PNC Park in Pittsburgh and Camden Yards in Baltimore successfully incorporated traditional elements of what made old parks like Wrigley so special into modern design.

But when Marlins Park opened last year in Miami, it marked the official demise of the “retro” ballpark era.

There is not a shred of the traditional or quaint in the design of this monstrous spaceship-shaped dome accented in neon green.

So I have to own up to a bit of anti-Marlins Park prejudice before I even set out from my Springhill Suites hotel room to walk over to the new ballpark.

But I promised myself I’d try to keep an open mind about the Marlin’s 21st Century take on America’s Favorite Pastime.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure I was even going to make it to the game alive.

The neighborhood surrounding my hotel was…

…umm…

…NOT quaint.

Let’s just put it that way.

According to Google Maps, Marlin’s Park was less than a mile away from my brand new sparkling Marriott property.

Cool. No parking hassles or expense. I’ll just walk it.

Well, there are some things Google Maps can’t tell you.

Like, “Yo, dude, don’t walk through that neighborhood unarmed.”

Mental note to self: Find a different route back to the hotel at midnight after the game.

It turns out I picked a good night to be in Miami.

The Marlins were playing the Los Angeles Dodgers, a team sporting one of the hottest winning streaks in the history of baseball. 42-8 over the previous 50 games.

Yasiel Puig was a big reason why.

The Dodgers were toiling at the bottom of the standings before they called up the Cuban defector. They’ve run away with the National League West since then.

Puig is the hottest hitter in baseball -- and a cult hero in the Cuban-American community which just happens to be centered in the Little Havana section of Miami, surrounding Marlin’s Park.

That explains why the first two games of the Marlins – Dodgers series attracted the largest crowds of the season to Marlin’s Park.

So you can only imagine the outrage when the Dodgers announced the starting lineup for the evening -- and Yasiel Puig wasn’t in it.

What??

Clearly, Dodgers’ Manager Don Mattingly isn’t planning to run for mayor of Miami any time soon.

If Cubans weren’t so good natured, you might see the reenactment of the LA riots in Miami on this Tuesday night.

Of course, the thousands of Cuban baseball fans filing into the ballpark weren’t the only ones disappointed.

I was pissed too!

Seeing the Cuban phenom in the flesh was going to be one of the highlights of the baseball season for me.

At least I didn’t have to pay a scalper more than ten bucks for my ticket -- who sold it to me with the added marketing pitch, “It’s in Right Field, right above Puig!”

Oh well. There’s always beer, right?

Unfortunately, Marlin’s Park doesn’t offer up much beer variety.

Miller Light, Coors Light, Corona Light and Heineken.

That’s like choosing between electrocution, hanging, firing squad and lethal injection.

Eventually I found the one token microbrew stand behind home plate with four tap handles.

One of the tap handles simply said “Florida Avenue”, which is the name of a brewery in Tampa.

That should tell you all you need to know about the state of the craft beer industry in South Florida.

There isn’t one.

Miami has to borrow a microbrew from the other side of the state.

I asked the guy manning the taps which Florida Avenue beer he was serving.

“Um. It’s kind of like a pale ale.”

That didn’t inspire much confidence.

But for ten bucks, I tried it anyway.

Much to my surprise, it was darn good, coppery colored with a strong bite of hops.

A little research on my smart phone and I concluded that this “kind of like a pale ale” is actually Florida Avenue’s version of an IPA.

It would have been nice to have that tidbit of detail printed on the generic tap handle.

Unfortunately, when I went back for seconds, I immediately caught on to the conspiracy of disinformation.

“That Florida Avenue was really good! I’ll take another,” I told the beer man as I handed him another ten spot.

As soon as he slid me my second beer I knew something was terribly wrong.

It wasn’t the same color.

I took a sip.

Pale, water flavor followed by a nasty blueberryish aftertaste.

Same tap handle. Same ten dollars. Entirely different beer.

What the hell???

A check of the smart phone again and much to my horror I discovered I just spent ten bucks on Florida Avenue Blueberry -- entirely under false pretenses.

Can I hire a lawyer and sue?

Instead I’ll just take to the blogosphere to excoriate the Miami Marlins and all of Florida for horrendously bad taste in beer.

Florida is to beer drinkers what Long John Silvers is to seafood lovers.

Hell, in other words.

I mean, what is the deal?

The Marlins have one stand in the entire ballpark selling craft beer with just four tap handles and the one guy whose only job it is to serve that beer has no idea what he’s serving -- at ten bucks a pop?

Maybe Marlins Park should just stick to selling Bud.

In fact, that’s exactly where I headed after I choked down my blueberry abomination -- the Budweiser Bow Tie bar out in Left Field which seemed popular with the cool under 40 crowd.

Because Anheiser-Busch bought up Chicago microbrewery Goose Island, the Goose Island Honkers Ale was on tap at the Bud bar.

And get this -- it was selling for a buck less in a 25% bigger cup than the microbrews.

Bargain!

Honkers Ale isn’t that exciting of a brew, but it beats the heck out of Budweiser -- and Florida Avenue Blueberry.

That’s for sure.

The view from Left Field gave me a nice panoramic view of Marlins Park -- the retractable roof, the glass wall overlooking downtown and the weird neon rainbow colored kaleidoscope wheel thingy that twirls after rare Marlins’ home runs.

How’s that for baseball tradition?

While an improvement over the dungeon-like atmosphere of the Astrodome and Tropicana Field, there is still something wrong about watching baseball indoors with the air conditioning blowing on the back of my neck for nine innings.

I’d much rather watch the game out doors on a hot summer night under the stars with a cold beer in hand.

Unfortunately, the Marlins only open their retractable roof for less than 10% of their home games.

I mean, I know it gets hot in Miami, but this is a night game for cripe’s sakes. If you can’t handle a humid 80 degree evening, why are you living in Miami anyway?

So why gouge the taxpayers for the extra $200 million for a retractable roof that hardly ever gets opened on game day?

Because grass can’t grow indoors.

So you and I just spent an extra $200 million to grow grass at Marlins’ Park?

Yep. That’s about right.

Spare no expense when the taxpayers are picking up the tab.

By the Seventh Inning Stretch I was getting a bit hungry so I walked over toward the sign that read “Taste of Miami.”

Down a hallway, completely out of view of the playing field is a high school cafeteria-like row of food booths serving up South Florida delicacies like Cuban sandwiches, roast pork, raw oysters and sushi.

Raw fish at a baseball game?

The raping of baseball tradition continues, I mumbled to myself.

The conch fritters on the other hand looked pretty good.

If there was any doubt about the effort to make fresh top notch cuisine in this gourmet corner of the ball park, it was dispelled when I ordered my fritters.

“It will be about ten minutes”, the lady said. “We’re just dicing up some fresh conch right now.”

Wow. Did they just run out to Key Largo and scoop up the conch off the beach during the 7th Inning Stretch?

Meanwhile I decided to tide myself over with a ten dollar “Nacho Dog”.

Yes, I paid ten dollars for a hot dog.

And you know what? It was worth every penny.

Just like it sounds, this was a big hot dog buried under a plate of nachos.

Colorful as the Marlin’s rainbow uniforms, the chili and cheese laid down a nice base for the spicy jalapeños and crunchy tortilla strips piled on top.

People in Miami like their food spicy. Marlins Park is the only ballpark I’ve seen that sports a jalapeño toppings bar.

By the time I polished off my nacho dog, I was ready to retrieve my conch fritters.

The friendly conch fritter girl was happy to see I had returned and warned me that they just came fresh out of the fryer.

Ten bucks again. But again, worth every penny!

Eight decent sized fritters with a dill dipping sauce and a slice of lime, this was an appetizer fit for a table of four.

Soft, warm, seasoned fried dough spiked with real chewy chunks of seafood, these fritters were better than any I’ve ever had at Florida’s famous seaside fish camps.

Definitely can’t complain about the dining options at Marlins Park.

As I was munching my fritters from my perch above Left Field in the Bud Bar, suddenly a roar arose from the crowd.

There he was in the on-deck circle -- the Cuban hero the Miami crowd came to see -- Yasiel Puig.

Tension filled the air conditioned air as he strode to the plate in a tie game in the Eighth Inning.

The crowd and I settled in for the high stakes at bat.

This was going to be good.

Marlins Park buzzed with excitement as Miami reliever Dan Jennings faced down Puig wiggling his bat in the box.

Crack!

Very first pitch.

Puig smacked the ball on a line deep into Left-Center.

It was coming right towards me!

Plunk.

The ball bounced on the top of the outfield wall right below me for the game winning home run.

How cool was that?!?

A few of the Marlins die-hards were dejected, but most of the fans were excited to be witness to a great moment and a hell of a game.

And that’s how I felt about it.

Despite the raping of baseball tradition, the hum of the industrial air conditioners and the pathetic attempt at serving craft beer, the top notch food and dramatic action on the field added up to a hell of an entertaining Tuesday night.

Tradition is great.

But it is games like this upon which the tradition of America’s favorite pastime was built.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Boats, Bikinis and Beer!

Down the Hatch
4884 Front St.
Ponce Inlet, FL


“No shoes, no shirt, no problem.”

It’s the classic laid back beach bar cliché.

But come on. How many places would you really roll up to in nothing but your board shorts?

Well, I’m here to tell you, feel free at Down the Hatch in Ponce Inlet, Florida.

From heavily tattooed long-hairs to blondes in bikini tops to boaters pulling right up to the dock, you’ll feel right at home at this quintessential Florida fish camp, no matter what you are wearing.

Unless you’re wearing a suit, that is. Fortunately, Suit757 left the suit at home on this hot sunny beach day.

Ponce Inlet, named after Spanish explorer Ponce de Leon, who first sailed into this notch on the east-central Florida coast 498 years ago, has been home to pirates, smugglers and rebels ever since. And hungry sun-lovers savvy enough to know that the best conch fritters, onion rings and fish sandwiches are always tucked away in the mangroves far from the tourist throngs.

For decades now, folks have driven to the end of the two lane blacktop, under the centuries-old canopy of live oaks and palmettos to enjoy the coldest beer and freshest seafood at Down the Hatch.

There are two types of people who move to Florida.

Those who sit inside in the air conditioning with the blinds drawn from Presidents’ Day to Halloween. And those who know that hot summer days in Florida are the reason God invented cold pitchers of beer and water-front sea breezes.

Guess which type is more fun to hang out with?

The outdoor deck at Down the Hatch was full of fun-loving folks wiling away this lazy summer afternoon, listening to the band and drinking beer and frozen margaritas while the shrimp boats motored by on the Intercoastal.

But what sets Down the Hatch apart from the scattering of other rustic fish camps dotting the Florida coast is the quality of the food.

My conch fritters were fried to perfection. Crisp on the outside, doughy soft on the inside with tender bits of conch, onion and pepper, they were made even better with a quick dip in the tangy accompanying remoulade sauce.

But if you are only going to experience a bare-foot laid-back Florida fish camp meal once in your life, make it a fish sandwich.

At Down the Hatch. You don’t even have to ask if it is fresh.

And that makes all the difference.

My blackened mahi sandwich came drizzled in butter and Old Bay, cooked to a perfect flakiness on a big squooshy fresh bun with lettuce and tomato. A little slather of tarter sauce on the toasted bun and I was in fish sandwich heaven.

As good as my classic Florida fish sandwich was, it couldn’t compare to the highlight of the meal.

No. Not the pitcher of Miller Lite.

Although, I like the way you think!

I’m talking onion rings of the Gods.

Of course, for nearly ten bucks, these rings BETTTER be spectacular.

I wasn’t disappointed.

Thick and juicy with an exquisite textured crunchy, seasoned batter and honey mustard dipping sauce, these onion rings belong in the fish camp side dish Hall of Fame.

But come on. Nearly ten big ones for a side item?

And that’s really the only knock on Down the Hatch. Everything on the menu, from the beer to the onion rings to the conch fritters to the sandwiches is at least a few dollars more than at any of the other gravel-parking-lot fish camps scattered up and down the two lane road into Ponce Inlet.

Of course the folks at Down the Hatch would argue that there is a very good reason for their fish camp premium. Down the Hatch is better than the competition.

And you know what?

As I catch the afternoon breeze off the Intercoastal, top off my plastic cup of ice cold beer and watch a boat full of bikini-clad happy customers clamor up the dock for a prime waterfront table, I can’t help but agree.

No shirt. No shoes. And definitely, no problem.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

Florida Dreamin’ On Such A Winter’s Day

Our Deck Down Under
78 Dunlawton Ave.
Port Orange, FL


Nothing says “Welcome to Florida” like a big old fish sandwich served in a plastic basket on a sundrenched picnic table right over the water.

This is the stuff you dream about while you’re shoveling your driveway for the third time in a week.

That perfect Florida seafood shack of your dreams?


It’s right here in Port Orange tucked “under” the Dunlawton Bridge.

Our Deck Down Under is the quintessential Sunshine State hangout where you drink cheap pitchers of beer in shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops and listen to the waves lap against the pylons holding up the deck under your feet.

No “suits” allowed. Strictly enforced.

This is the kind of place you don’t even have to bother to ask if the seafood is fresh and local, as evidenced by the neighboring shrimp boats tied up to the pilings next door.

The laid back vibe is enhanced by the open air layout. A handful of old people, sunphobes and Obama supporters can sit inside. Normal people head for one of the coveted tables outside in the bright Florida sunshine next to the water.

But there really is no “inside”. The sliding doors are always open allowing the entire restaurant to appreciate the cool breezes coming off the Intercoastal and negating the need for air conditioning.

At Our Deck Down Under, you not only don’t get any air conditioning, you don’t get a full service waitress either.

Nope. You have to stand in line to place your order.

A really, really long line.

Efficient? Heck no.

If you want efficient, save your airfare money, stay in Buffalo and go buy a snow blower.

Florida – and the Deck Down Under, in particular – are not about efficiency.

When the line stretches out the door – like it did today – the wait can be up to a half an hour just to get your order placed.

But it’s worth it. Trust me.

By the time I told the girl what I wanted, paid my tab, grabbed a pitcher and found a seat by the water, I had nearly reached nirvana.

Nearly.

Actually, I was starving.

Just then, a girl miraculously appeared tableside with a tray full of good food. How did she find me, as big as this place is?

No idea.

But I’m glad she did.

First up were my cherished conch fritters, crispy fried on the outside and soft and succulent in the conch and batter-filled inside. Accompanied by a perfect remoulade dipping sauce, my only regret came when I polished off my last one.

These babies are addictive – kind of like hush puppies, but with a seafood prize inside.

But no trip to Florida is complete without at least one fish sandwich.

Such a simple concept, yet so hard to find north of I-10.

Fish, a leaf of lettuce and two pieces of bread.

The beauty of a good fish sandwich lies in its simplicity. It personifies the perfect fish-camp-bare-foot-lazy-afternoon-no-frills lunch.

But simplicity can be deceiving.

A truly great fish sandwich, like the one served at Deck Down Under, requires those simple ingredients to be done right.

Only fresh caught fish. Crisp lettuce. And good quality buns lovingly toasted and buttered.

That’s how they do a fish sandwich at Our Deck Down Under.

Of course there is one major dilemma all connoisseurs of Florida fish sandwiches face.

Fried, grilled or blackened?

Hmmm. Decisions, decisions.

Seasoned right, grilled is hard to beat. And as a flavor addict, blackened is always a good choice.

Grilled or blackened, you are getting a moist, tender piece of fish that will pack a delicious flavor punch in every bite.

Fried, on the other hand, can be dry and devoid of seasoning, by contrast.

But we’re talking about fried, here.

Have you been paying attention to this blog?

My Suit757 mantra is that anything good becomes great after being dragged through beer batter and a bubbling cauldron of grease.

And if there really was any doubt to begin with, Our Deck Down Under puts it to rest when you consider two important facts about their fried fish sandwich.

Quantity. And “Island Grove Caribbean Green Hot Sauce”.

Unlike the grilled or blackened sandwiches that come with one generous sized fillet of fish, the fried version comes with a whole mess of fillets all piled on top of each other.

Can you say carb and protein overload?

Oh, yeah.

I could barely wrap my hands around the thing, let alone my mouth. Now THAT’S a fish sandwich worth dreaming about.

And the Deck solves the whole “fried doesn’t have as much flavor as blackened” dilemma by providing little bottles of tropical green hot sauce to spread onto my toasted bun.

You get a whole school of fresh fried fish on a sandwich – with a nice flavor kick.

As if single-handedly causing a world-wide fish depletion crisis wasn’t enough, my sandwich mistakenly came as “a basket”, which means hush puppies and onion rings to boot.

I didn’t order it that way. I figured the conch fritters would suffice. But the girl who brought them out said they were on the house.

Deal!

Both the rings and the pups were perfectly fried. And, yes, I ate every last bite.

Florida sunshine. Cool breezes off the water. Cold beer. And lots of good fried food.

Stop dreaming and put that damn snow shovel away. Come on down to Our Deck Down Under. I’ll save a table for you by the water.

Rating: Bought the shirt!