Among the numerous and overstuffed bookcases in my office is one that is filled with books on the Mets. There you will find a slim orange volume in a binder that dates to the 1980s. The book? GourMets.
Published by Doubleday, sponsored by the Lady Met Fan Club, Ltd., and edited by Randye Ringler (currently assisting former Mets catcher Ed Hearn publicize the safety of live kidney donation), GourMets is a Mets cookbook as well as a time capsule. Proceeds went to the March of Dimes. (This is not to be confused with a 2007 Mets cookbook of the same name.)
I assume I bought this at Shea at some point in the 1980s for someone and, like many well-intentioned gifts, it ended up back in my lap in time. So here we stand 41 years later and I find myself in the rotation to cook at least once per week in a strange new world where kids are mostly out of the house, I am mostly home, and the Mrs. has an office job. So I leafed through the old Mets cookbook and found many recipes for hypertension and heart disease.
Despite contributions from every player and many employees (PR guy/funnyman Jay Horwitz gave directions to Ponce’s Pizzeria in Clifton, NJ), a lot of the recipes left me flat. Or they were way too complicated—ballplayers apparently have a lot of time on their hands when the season is over. Then I came across the Dave Kingman entry: Lasagna. I’d never made lasagna, but if Kong could do it…
Kingman and I went back, “way back,” in the words of Bob Murphy (Mini Cherry Cheese Cakes). Kong landed with the Mets about a month before I did in 1975. At 6-foot-6 he was as massive as almost any ballplayer of the day. A half century later, there are not many players—at least those without steroidal help—who could hit the ball as high or as far as Kong. Dave did it on lasagna power.
As a first-year fan in ’75, I was mesmerized by his longball prowess as much as I was by Tom Seaver’s overall excellence. You didn’t need to know much about baseball as a kid to know that these guys were good at it. If Kingman struck out constantly or couldn’t field, it was forgotten with his next moon shot. And Kong played four different positions in 1975 despite not being good at any of them. That he manned third base at the second Mets game I ever attended (three whiffs but five assists and no errors!) remains a thrill that might only be surpassed by the ball he launched into the parking lot that I witnessed at Shea during the Year of the Kong in 1976.
But since this cookbook dates to 1982, I will put this in the context of the second Kingman regime. Like pretty much all Mets subsequent acts, his second tenure was more complicated; though he did win the home run crown I was ready to die for in ’76, when his dive for a flyball turned into a broken thumb and he lost the HR title to Mike Schmidt, 38-37.
Fast forward through the Midnight Massacre, Kong’s tour of every division in 1977, his 48 bombs as a Cub in 1979, and his eventual return in a trade with Chicago for Steve Henderson exactly seven years after Kingman came from San Francisco. The 1982 Kong was a retread, but he led the NL with 37 homers and 156 K’s. We’re talking the last-place ’82 Mets here, so let us not get caught up in rhetoric. Kingman was the first Met to win a home run crown and despite hitting just .204, he still led the team in RBI (99), walks (59), and slugging (.432), plus he stole four bases without getting caught and somehow got down three sacrifice bunts.
Kong also knew his way around a kitchen. His lasagna recipe sounded good, not too complicated, and something I could whip up. On the other hand, Rusty Staub’s Veal Zingara sounded great if he made it for you at Rusty’s Restaurant; Le Grande Orange lost me when his first ingredient in this cookbook entry was white leg of veal. Check, please!
Rather than tire you with too many stovetop details, it’s probably more helpful to explain what happened in the kitchen in the context of a 1982 game—from the early part of the season, when the Mets had a little something cooking. In May the Mets went 17-11 and were in contention! Then they won nine games in June. July and August were excruciating. The Mets went just 14-41 in those two months and lost 15 straight games, highlighted by three straight walkoff, extra-inning losses in as many nights on a winless nine-game road trip. Even I had stopped watching by then. At 17, I had finally found something better—let’s at least say more interesting—to do than watch godawful Mets baseball. The Mets rallied enough in September to avoid triple-digit defeats—losing a mere 97.
In May of ’82, though, there was hope. I was keeping track of each game on my Mets souvenir from Calendar Day. A Mets game that sums up my preparation of Kongsagna 41 years later is represented by the game at the Astrodome on May 22, 1982. At the end of that night, the Mets were just 2 ½ games behind the eventual world champion Cardinals. I included the starting Mets lineup from that night and their corresponding recipes from the cookbook:
CF Mookie Wilson (Candy Yams)
3B Bob Bailor (Chicken Biscuit Pie)
LF George Foster (Broccoli Casserole, Lemon Cake)
1B Dave Kingman (Lasagna)
RF Gary Rasijch (Cheesecake)
C John Stearns (Creamy Butter Squares)
2B Wally Backman (Super Spicy Beef Enchiladas)
SS Ron Gardenhire (Stuffed Tomatoes, Cobbler)
P Pete Falcone (Rock Cornish Hen Gravy & Stuffing)
Like procuring and chopping up all the ingredients, the Mets took the lead thanks to Kingman. With two on and two outs against Nolan Ryan in the seventh, Kong singled in Bob Bailor with the go-ahead run, putting Pete Falcone in line for the win. Former ace Craig Swan (Frosted Salad) had by now been injured enough times that he served as a reliever. He set the ‘stros down in the seventh and eighth and the Mets added enough runs to take a 5-1 lead into the ninth.
Seemed like an easy win—just like Kong’s lasagna seemed like an easy dish. Then I botched a simple play when I misread the instructions and did not realize that the meat, the vegetables, the spices, and the tomato sauce needed to be on the stovetop for 90 minutes. That threw off my planning, prep, and timing. Likewise, Kong mishandled a grounder in the ninth that loaded the bases with none out and chased Swan for Neil Allen (Spaghetti with Shrimp). The big Saturday night crowd at the dome finally had something to cheer about. Allen promptly allowed a game-tying grand slam to Terry Puhl, who hit all of eight home runs in 1982.
We all make mistakes. And Allen atoned for his on that night in ’82. He held the Astros scoreless for four innings. Batting with two on and two outs in the 12th—manager George Bamberger (Meat Loaf and Vegetables) had gone through his bench by then—Allen’s topper in front of the plate resulted in an error by Astros catcher Alan Ashby that brought home John Stearns with the go-ahead run. Allen then retired the dangerous Jose Cruz with a man on for the 6-5 victory.
The game, like the meal, was unnecessarily nerve-racking and required a lot of relief (from my wife). Yet in the end it was delicious and goes down in the books as a win. And Kong’s meal goes in the recipe folder for the next time I need a little drama with my lasagna.