There is one thing on my mind this week.
Sure my mind could be on Drew Allar finally leading Penn State’s offense, how the 2023 class is going to fit into this puzzle and whether or not Tony Rojas is the real deal.
And I’m almost positive later in this week, I’ll be able to think about those things.
But right now, I can only think about one thing and one thing only. The greatest culinary delight in the state of Pennsylvania: the Beaver Stadium chicken basket.
Consider this my love letter to the greatest poultry and potato 1-2 punch you can find in the Keystone State.
I’ve been fortunate enough to have fine food in Paris. I’ve eaten incredible meals in New York City at Michelin-starred restaurants. I’ve had fish straight out of the Aegean Sea in Greece and lobster off the boat in Boston that was so good it nearly made me cry. I’ve dined at high-end restaurants in Vegas, experiencing the latest innovation in food.
But my word there is nothing more comforting than a Beaver Stadium chicken basket.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why. But it just tastes better. It is more than 95 percent of the reason why I’ll head into the stadium this Saturday.
Look, I’m almost certain that this is likely the same chicken that I was served in gross school lunches I ate in high school. I know there is more effort put into a Chick-Fil-A sandwich or one of the various chicken salads at many fine restaurants (read: bars) in Altoona. I can even cook some great wings.
But the chicken baskets at Beaver Stadium just taste like perfection on a Saturday in State College. The breading is flawless. The chicken is juicy. The fries remain the perfect complement. It’s the blue-white god’s gift to Penn State kind.
And on a deeper level, it’s a part of the charm of the erector set that has been the home of Penn State football since 1960 at its current location. If 95 percent of the reason I’ll head into the stadium this Saturday is the chicken basket, then the remaining 5 percent is to spend time inside of Beaver Stadium.
It may be run down. It may be time for a renovation but there is something beautiful about the second-largest stadium in the western hemisphere and all of its ugliness. It’s big. It’s hulking. It, until relatively recently, showed no obvious signs of use or who its occupants were from the outside, except from the vantage point of an airplane.
So sure, other Big Ten stadiums are nicer. Sure other Big Ten stadiums have better and more food options. But there’s nothing quite like a Saturday inside Beaver Stadium.
That coziness of being home that soaks over you as you walk up one of the tunnels into the arena. That blanket of warmth of home washes over you. And if the stadium is home, the chicken basket is the home-cooked meal that you long for, drool over, write blog posts about.
I don’t remember my first chicken basket but I do remember each and every time it’s provided quite literal warmth to me on a frigid day in Happy Valley. Clinging to that cardboard tray as a lifeline of heat, pumping in heat in your hands. The way the steam rolls off into the air after you rip apart that first piece. The spicy sweetness of the barbeque adds the perfect extra punch. The fullness you feel after scrafing each of those three or four tenders down completes your day as Penn State battles it out on the gridiron.
There’s nothing like it.
As Penn State moves forward with its plans to renovate Beaver Stadium, we’re going to lose some of those quirks that make it great. Likely the troughs in the men’s rooms will go away. Hopefully, the leakiness of rainwater underneath the stadium subsides. And who knows? Maybe there will be actual seats to sit in when the future comes.
But for right now, I’ll enjoy each and every opportunity I get to experience those intricacies that make Beaver Stadium what it is, and the chicken basket is an essential piece of fabric in the Penn State gameday experience. It is in the same category as the drum major doing a flip, the answer of “Penn State” to a “We Are” and the unity of a White Out.
It is what makes the time we get inside the colosseum at the corner of Curtin and Porter so great.
Here’s to you, chicken basket. I’ll see you Saturday, chicken finger friend.
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