In the Pink

So we went to a pop/rock concert last Saturday night in one of those gargantuan sports palaces where thousands of citizens pay hundreds of dollars to rabidly root for teams whose players are not even from their own home town.  On non-sports nights such arenas schedule concerts, circuses and tractor pulls to maximize return on the investment required to build these vaulted shrines to sweat and steroids.  There are about three huge conglomerates which operate concessions in the majority of these venues and they all sell questionable foodstuffs for immorally high prices.

Knowing this, we would normally make plans to dine in an actual restaurant in the vicinity but a prior engagement had us sprinting from the parking lot to the AAC to catch an 8 o'clock start. (We needn't have bothered, the opening act was fronted by a poor man's Jagger whose few moves consisted of cheer leading type high kicks and the quiet desperation of a lead singer who knows everyone would rather he just stop shrieking for a moment and be quiet.)

We only had a few minutes until showtime so we scanned the brightly lit food stalls looking for something of sufficient nutritional value to assuage the growling beasts within.  Big Texas Hot Dawgs.  Um, no.  Gigantic Pretzels with Two Unidentifiable Dipping Sauces.  I think not. Burgers grilled hours beforehand now soaking comfortably in hot water awaiting their turn in a stale bun saddled with germ ridden condiments dispensed from convenient community kiosks.  Ugh.  As the least of all evils we settled on a hybrid:  Italian food with a Mexican name, Pizza Patron.  (This makes no sense to me whatsoever; it's like French Wiener Schnitzel or Chinese Pot Roast.)

High Degree of Radioactivity

There were no nearby tables so we huddled over a trash container whose flat top made a convenient resting place for our individual pan pizzas and frozen margaritas served in green plastic vessels shaped like beakers. (I thought it kind of rude that while we were eating, people kept coming up and tossing their refuse into our dining room, but in all fairness, I think they were equally irritated that we were bogarting the trash can.) The "pizzas" were round, room temperature spongy disks about an inch thick with what looked like processed cheese food and three limp slivers of nitrate-laden, cured organ meat congealing on top.  The pizzas tasted like something between communion wafers and feet. (BTW, aside from being a food preservative, sodium nitrate is also used to make fertilizers, smoke bombs and solid rocket propellant.) The "margaritas" were composed  of bilious green, frozen sugar molecules that had once been stored on a shelf next to a tequila bottle for half an hour or so.  Total bill for this fine dining experience?  $56.00

Si Si Senor

No wonder the French think we are barbarians.  You can walk down any small street in Le Marais in Paris and find a food vendor who will sell you a baguette avec jambon et fromage for a couple of euros and it will be the finest ham and cheese sandwich you have ever had the pleasure of masticating.  I believe that same street vendor would have gagged before swallowing one bite of the ill-prepared, overly processed junque we had for dinner that night.

How can we be the greatest country in the world with a globally envied standard of living and yet willingly accept such inferior provisions?  Are we so numbed by Chicken McNuggets and Canned Easy Cheese that we don't think twice about swallowing empty, greasy calories and paying through the nose for it?  Why don't we draw the line and refuse to accept month-old popcorn shoveled into grease-spattered boxes from 2 gallon garbage can liners? (And while I'm at it, when will those annoying Kardashians return to the inglorious anonymity they, and we, so richly deserve?)

Ironically, after the hideous first act, P!nk staged an incredible, athletic, imaginative, mind-boggling performance.  She was the essence of rosy-cheeked, American fitness with ripped abs and serious stamina as she danced and twirled and Cirque de Soleiled from bungee cords strung from high up in the heavenward rafters of the arena.  For two-and-a-half hours she fantastically  displayed the results of ingesting healthy food and exercising every day inside the sold out, 20,000 seat arena.

I'm fairly certain she didn't eat there before the show.