karma trumps taste

Last night, at what could be my final game at Fenway this year, I decided it was time for my annual hot dog at the Park. I was at a concession where the options for dogs were “Kosher,” “Boston,” and “New York.” Reading the fine print, I discovered that “Boston” meant chili and nacho cheese on a Kosher Dog, and “New York” called for sauerkraut. Tempting as the latter was to me, I would not, could not order it. If the Sox were to fall from first place, it wasn’t going to be because of my epicureal choice.

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