How the Durham Designated Eater drama of ‘24 went down

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My 2024 ballpark travels (and travails) are over, but today I return to Durham Bulls Athletic Park to share a portion of my evening there that I omitted from the initial coverage of my visit. It’s a tale of confusion, injury, betrayal and a really good hamburger.

Many of you know, but for those that don’t: At every ballpark I visit, I recruit a Designated Eater, an individual tasked with eating the concession fare that my gluten-free diet prohibits. I’ve been showcasing Designated Eaters for over a decade and, as I often tell people, I hope that I would have eventually come up with the idea even if I hadn’t been diagnosed with celiac disease. It’s a fun way to meet fans across the country, all of them united in their love of ballpark food.

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Recruiting and then coordinating with Designated Eaters can sometimes be a logistical headache, but rarely is drama involved. How could there be? They show up, eat a bunch of free food, walk away happy. But on July 27 at Durham Bulls Athletic Park, the process went awry and this is how I felt once everything was said and done:

In Durham, my Designated Eater was a man named Ralph. I recruited him for the job before the trip began, and he was excited to do it. In the weeks leading up to July 27, he emailed me multiple times expressing his enthusiasm while sharing various bits of knowledge regarding the Durham Bulls ballpark experience.

My plan, following standard operating procedure, was to meet with Ralph shortly after the game began. However, I had forgotten to pass along my number and hadn’t run into him during my pregame wanderings. Shortly after the first pitch I sent him an email, along with my number, asking him to get in touch as soon as possible.

Ten minutes passed, then 20, then 30. I stayed busy doing other things, as I had to maximize my sole night with the Bulls, but in the back of my mind the question remained: Where is Ralph?

He wasn’t buying a hat…

… or getting his hair cut…

… or scouting the food options at the various concourse concession stands.

In the top of the fifth inning, I encountered Bulls president Mike Birling and GM Tyler Parsons standing on the concourse behind home plate. “I don’t know where my Designated Eater is,” I told them, as if this is a common problem. “Any recommendations for a new one?”

Mike and Tyler began scouring the stands for a loyal Bulls fan up to the job. Meanwhile, food and beverage manager Dave Levey began laying out a spread on a table situated behind home plate. It included a pair of “Homestand Specials” that were then available at the first- and third-base hot dog stands:

Chili Mac Bite Burger, a 1/3rd pound cheeseburger topped with fried mac and cheese bites and chili sauce.

Chili and Cheese Fries, served in a souvenir Bulls helmet.

There was also the piece de resistance: Crackling Pig Nachos, fresh-fried “Southern recipe” pork rinds topped with North Carolina pork barbecue and nacho cheese. Levey explained that they were added to the menu once his team found a way to reliably fry up pork rinds. (They are obtained in dehydrated pellet form and expand to crispy, airy perfection in the deep fryer.)

As Dave filled me in on his culinary creations, Mike and Tyler emerged with a substitute Designated Eater in tow. His name was Kevin, a Hawaiian shirt-wearing Bulls half-season ticket holder who struck me, erroneously or not, as a guy who had been to a Jimmy Buffett concert or three in his lifetime. A laid-back lifelong baseball fan who grew up going to games at Candlestick Park in San Francisco and later supported Minor League clubs while living in Nashua, N.H., and Phoenix.

Kevin and I sat down at the table to begin this delayed Designated Eater session, but before he took a bite, or I took a photo, his wife tripped and fell while walking along the aisle behind us. Almost instantaneously, a concerned phalanx of front office workers and medical personnel surrounded her. Fortunately, she was OK, but it was a hard fall. It didn’t seem right for Kevin to begin a culinary journey under such circumstances. He reluctantly left the table, the Designated Eater who never was, like a “phantom” player who gets promoted to the Majors and never appears in a game. Mike and Tyler scrambled again, and soon they brought another Designated Eater into this increasingly chaotic scene.

Third time’s the charm! Meet Larry Cohen.

Larry’s a Brooklyn native, the kind of guy who could drop “Fuhgeddaboudit” in conversation without it seeming like a hopeless cliché. He went on to a far-flung career in the media business, living in locales such as Jacksonville and Atlanta before landing in Durham six years ago. He’s been a regular at the ballpark ever since, as his succinct summation of the Bulls was “I love ‘em.”

Larry was moderately enthusiastic about the Crackling Pork Nachos, saying that he’s “not a big pork eater, but these are good. I would get them again.”

He was over the moon for the Chili Mac Bite Burger, however. Before he even took a bite, he declared that “This is better than your average burger, no doubt.” After that first bite, he dreamily asked “Can I take this home with me?”

Yes, Larry, you can.

As for Larry’s opinion of the Chili-Cheese Fries, I have nothing in my notes regarding that. For it was then that I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a gentleman hovering over me, a deep and foreboding scowl across his face.

“Ben,” the man said, in an accusing tone. “I’m Ralph.”

I felt like I had just gotten caught cheating. Ralph was clearly angry. He had been looking forward to this game for weeks, then he couldn’t find me, and now when he finally does? I’m watching another man eat a hamburger.

“Ralph, I’m sorry! I can explain!” I said, immediately feeling a level of guilt and culpability beyond what the circumstance called for. And try to explain I did, apologizing for not giving him my number beforehand but letting him know that I’d sent an email hours ago. Ralph said he hadn’t received it, so I did feel some level of vindication when he pulled out his phone and, voila, that email appeared.

This was not enough to pacify Ralph, who angrily dismissed my flustered attempts at appeasement and stalked away as Larry sat by with a bemused expression on his face, probably still thinking about how much he loved that burger.

So, uh, Larry? Want some dessert? It’s a specialty flavor called Wool E. Bull Tracks, made by burgeoning local company Two Roosters.

Whatever Larry told me about this ice cream, a vanilla-based concoction enhanced with peanut butter cups and fudge swirl, I have no record of it. I had been riding an emotional roller coaster and now, having finally come to a complete stop, found myself in a state of mental paralysis. Sometimes, on the road, things don’t go according to plan. Sometimes you take the bull by the horns, and sometimes the bull takes you.