2008 Spring Training Trip - Part 3

I better wrap up the story of our trip to Tucson, before it's just another hazy memory. I left off at St Patrick's Day. That night I stayed in the hotel, while Bart and Wes went to the area around U of A for some St. Patty's fun. Part of the reason I didn't go was that last year we kind of got an early start to the first day of baseball, and late end, and I was next to worthless the second day of baseball. I didn't want a repeat of that performance, so I took the great day we had already had and called good.

Tuesday morning we needed to get breakfast and coffee before our second game a Tucson Electric Park, and decided to check out the Mexican food place our pizza waitress recommended. We had no idea what to expect, other than it was highly recommended by a cool waitress, and it was going to be "real folks'' food, not a tourist spot. Wes was getting pretty good at finding his way around Tucson, and we were at Birriería Gualajara in about 15 minutes.

Being San Diegans, Mexican food is part of life. Ever since I had my first carne asada burrito at Roberto's on Broadway in Chula Vista I was in love. San Diego's Mexican food is heavily influenced by Baja California, and largely by the cities along the border with California. Tucson's Mexican food is not. I wanted to see how different the food influenced by other Mexican states was.

Birriería Gualajara was similar to a lot of the taco shops in San Diego but also pretty different. The universal paint scheme of the taco shop was intact: red, white and yellow. Birriería Gualajara was also more run-down than the typical taco shop in San Diego, and that's saying something. It was almost like being in a Tijuana taco shop in its shabbiness. But just going down the menu, it was obvious there was a difference in the items offered. I guess a birriería is something that, though no longer unique to, is at least indigenous to Gualajara.

Why am I on the third paragraph about the taco shop we went to for breakfast one day? I don't know. Well, it was delicious for one: in the down-to-earth, hearty and satisfying way good Mexican tends to be. It was the kind of place you leave happier than when you got there, and you probably want to bring an extra taco with you to relive the experience later. I guess I could have just said that...

After breakfast we got coffee near the campus, looked through a consignment art store for souvenirs, then headed back to the hotel for sunscreen, ball caps, and tickets for the game. The weather Tuesday was considerably better than Monday, being sunny and staying around 70 degrees. We didn't get to the ballpark as early as the previous day, but I did need to scour the souvenir shop for a knick knack to take back to one of the salesmen at work who's a White Sox fan. I didn't find anything. It's the thought that counts. Right?

We found the same sassy beer lady serving the same delicious Nimbus Ale we drank Monday and got our first round of baseball beers then found our seats. They wouldn't serve a person more than one beer, of this type and size, at a time so we all three had to get up and go get beer together. This was called the beer train. It was kind of dumb, but there wasn't too much in the way of decent beer at this little park. Nowhere near the exotic array of fine brews offered up at Petco Park.

The Padres beat up on the Sox 5-0 with pretty much the same lineup as Monday, maybe a few new faces and Tony Clark as DH. The game went too fast, leaving us sitting there on a beautiful day just bit over 2 hours after the game started. A young woman had to ask to leave after we sat enjoying the sun, and watching the players sign hats and bats ands balls for kids. Spring Training ball is a great warm-up for baseball season. I'm not even sure you can get into Petco for the $15 we payed for seat 10 rows behind the dugouts in Tucson.

Here're some pics from the baseball park... Wes in front of Tucson Electric Park...


The Border Patrol Color Guard, with bagpiper...



Seven Dollars buys a lot more nachos in Tucson than Petco...


After begrudgingly leaving our seats, we decided to get some grub somewhere, and heard Lindy's made a good burger, so we headed back towards U of A for grub. Lindy's...



But, Lindy's was closed on Sunday. In fact a lot of places were closed on Sunday in Tucson. I don't know if it was just because it was Spring Break or what, but how does a burger joint at a university close on Sunday? Anyway, we found a promising Brooklyn Pizza place. When we walked in there, I think even Wes had 20 years on every other customer in the place. I don't often feel like an oldster, but in that place, at that time, I felt really old. Not only did Brooklyn Pizza have beer, but they made a serious pizza. Eventually more baseball fans trickled in, and we were no longer even close to the oldest people there.

After pizza we checked out a few bars, galleries, and pubs in the area. The first has a terrible sports bar, claiming to be a pub, and to boot it was out of most of the good beer from St. Patty's festivities the previous night. I can't remember its name, but that's as good as that shit hole deserves.

Wes was recommended a place called the Shanty, by a local, San Diego bartender. From the name I expected a shabby, rustic place, but the Shanty was neither. The Shanty was dark and cool, and had the best pool tables I've ever seen in a bar. The Shanty was old-school cool, and unfortunately for me, played a Rat Pack soundtrack most of the time we were there. We played a few rounds of pool, stole every pack of box matches we could get our hands on.

On the way back to the car, which was quite a ways by now, we ran into an interesting character. A local gent who almost immediately launched into a meandering endless story of his life, and misadventures, as a cowboy, drunk, lady's man, valet... did I mention drunk? He claimed to be Irish, Mexican, and Navajo and I'm sure he'd still be talking had we not excused ourselves after about 20 minutes.

At one point during the rambling story, a woman came out of the art studio we were standing in front of, and asked for a favor. I assumed she was going to ask us to take it elsewhere, but she asked if any of us had any matches. At any other time in the last 5 years had someone asked the three of us for a book of matches we would have to have said "no." But this woman caught us at the best possible moment, because between the three of we must have had 20 boxes of matches in our pockets. Bart chuckled at the coincidence until his face was red. Our new friend, the raconteur, barely even paused in his monologue to notice.

Birriería Gualajara had a sign up in the morning advertising hot dogs. In Tijuana they sell small bacon-wrapped hot dogs with hot salsa, so we assumed that's what these were. We wanted something more before we headed back to the hotel, so we stopped by. Unfortunately they were out of hot dogs, so we all got tacos. Delicious tacos. They came in threes so we ordered different ones and swapped. Damn. They make a good taco at Birriería Gualajara. I know it seems like Birriería Gualajara was the highlight of the trip, but I think it's just because sitting here, three weeks later, it's what I remember best. Or maybe it was the highlight, at least the meal highlight.

Bart woke up at 6 am sharp on Wednesday, which means we pretty much all got up at 6 am sharp on Wednesday, but that's not too bad a thing, as it gave us plenty of time for a good breakfast and coffee. We tried out a place called the Epic Cafe. It was the kind of bohemian coffee shop that's familiar if you've spent time in San Francisco, Seattle or Portland, or anywhere really; shabby inside, covered with band fliers, and lefty news weeklies. There were small tables in front and threadbare couches and easy chairs in back. The food was real good, and the coffees were big.

Wes pretty much hauled ass straight home. We got back to San Diego an hour and half quicker than the trip to Tucson. Which was good because I had to get home and prepare to make my sister and her friend Kirsten some dinner. Another good trip to Arizona for Spring Training.