The Help/Contact Us portion of Dodgers.com has a form to fill out that allows people to ask questions about baseball. Or something like that. Who knows, really, because an email sent in the early portion of May asking for help with information regarding vegan options at Chavez Ravine was never returned. Thankfully, when baseball teams don't respond to emails, there's the Internet.
A Google search of “Dodger Stadium vegan” brings up a site called VeggieHappy.com that details the herbivore options at major league ballparks. According to the Los Angeles Dodgers listing – updated in 2013 – vegan sloppy Joes, called Sloppy Janes, and veggie burgers are available “at Field Level Aisle 22.”
However, VeggieHappy.com needs updating because Sloppy Janes and veggie burgers are no longer available at Field Level Aisle 22. At least that's what the cashier explained during the May 10 day game against the San Francisco Giants. This sucks because if you aren't sitting in Field Level Aisle 22 but you think there are vegan sloppy Janes waiting for you at Field Level Aisle 22, you'll make the trek from wherever your lame seats are to Field Level Aisle 22 only to discover you walked down a bunch of stairs and sideways through a sea of drunkards, children and slowpokes only to purchase a veggie dog that you could have got 20 yards away from your section.]
At least the cashier asked her supervisor if/where sloppy Janes could be found. Unfortunately, niceties don't make up for not gorging yourself on vegan sloppy Joes.
So, basically, if you're vegan and at Dodger Stadium, you get a veggie dog for about six bucks, which is more expensive than a package of veggie dogs costs at a grocery store. And seeing as how the veggie dog is literally a bun and elongated faux meat, you'll want to add jalapeños, which is an additional fifty cents. The good news, if there is any good news to be found in a bun and tofu, is you get a great deal of jalapeños. The bad news is, unless your taste buds have been on vacation since the Reagan administration, you'll never eat all the jalapeños because they give you way too many for the average person.
In order to make the veggie dog more than something a six-year-old could microwave, you'll have to add condiments, which include onions, mustard and ketchup. All of these are free, but the aggravation of finding a sturdy place where you won't spill your $11 beer while waiting for the dad with three kids to finish mustarding his family's lunch costs at least one missed at-bat (two if first-ball swinger Yasiel Puig is up).
Assuming you're patient enough to wait to get condiments, you then have to deal with the pressure of having unruly fans behind you waiting their turn to get condiments, which forces you to spazz. Suddenly, you have a master's degree and can't figure out how to work the onion dispenser.
That said, what the veggie dog lacks in taste (and originality and affordability), it makes up for with a sense of belonging, because at least you get to eat a hot dog like the thousands of other hot dog eaters at Chavez Ravine. And if high school taught us anything, it's that fitting in is job No. 1.
On the off chance a veggie dog isn't your thing and you're in the mood to walk some more, something called a Veg Out Cup is available at certain aisles. However, you spent what little money you had on a veggie dog and parking, so no Veg Out Cup it is. Besides, if you're at a baseball game and order anything remotely healthful, you should have your sports-watching privileges revoked and instead be forced to watch soccer for the next two years.