The Perils of Free Grub at the U.S. Open Food Village

Asylum offers dispatches from the farthest reaches of Planet Earth. In this installment, tennis novice and self-appointed fast food ace Ryan McKee smashes through stands at the U.S. Open.

The U.S. Open likes to think of itself as a stately event, with class flowing out of every pompous crack. Nowhere is that more evident than at their food village. In fact, when I visited and referred to it as the "food court," I was promptly corrected by Kate McLennan, Director of Communications for Levy Restaurants, the company that runs food and drink at the Open.

Upon accepting its village-ry, I couldn't help but think Levy Restaurants believes their food is so complex that it forms a society with local government, communities and agriculture. (Food growing food?) Perhaps it even has a defense budget and will invade a nearby Food Hamlet.

With these thoughts in mind, I completely ignored the fact that world-class tennis was all around me, planted myself in a seat, and presented my palate ...

As expected, McLennan assured me that Levy Restaurants is the original in fine food at sporting events. When I asked her what food was best, she replied that she was new to the company and I should ask the head chef.

"Can I talk to the chef?" I asked.

"No, sorry, he's busy ... I'll have to have him call you later."

"Can I record you talking about the food village?"

"No, I'm not the spokesperson."

I wrote down in my notebook that she'd get in trouble if she speaks out. I suspected there must be a seedy underbelly to this Village.

To keep reporters like me from getting too inquisitive, Levy Restaurants plied us with free gourmet food. I sat down at a table surrounded by tennis fanatics wearing white polo shirts and stuffing their face with sushi, crepes, Heineken and Evian. No one seemed to notice that I wasn't one of them. The last tennis match I watched featured Andre Agassi in neon with long hair. Before long, McLennan started bringing over food. At first, it was small -- chicken tikka masala ($10.50) and naan bread ($2.50) from a stand called Curry & Curry. The repetitive name must have come from Indians who don't know English or by white people who don't know Indians. Judging by the dish's mediocre spices, I'd say the latter.

Next, McLennan brought over a pastrami on rye sandwich from the Carnegie Deli stand ($13), a marinated chicken and spinach crepe ($10.50), a Nutella and banana crepe ($8.50), waffle fries drowned in cheese sauce ($6.50), and a bottle of Evian water ($5). Upon setting down the food, she read my open notebook and insisted, "I won't get in trouble for speaking out. I'm just not good on camera." There's a long awkward silence. She let the matter drop. Just as I suspected -- something shady was going on in the Village.

Soon even more food came out: a char-broiled 1/2-lb. steak cheeseburger ($8.50); cold Maine lobster roll ($17.00); grilled chicken Caesar pizzeta ($11); and a Honey Deuce ($13) -- the signature U.S. Open cocktail with Grey Goose, lemonade, raspberry liqueur and melon balls. I sat alone at the table surrounded by food and people are staring. I got really self-conscious, but I didn't stop eating because the pastrami sandwich was amazing.

No one who follows tennis would gorge himself like this. Equally good were the crepes and lobster roll with huge chunks of meat. The Honey Deuce was so sweet and refreshing that I couldn't even taste the alcohol. That's how the Village tricks you into spending all your money by downing five of them. The "steak cheeseburger," however, was really just a cheeseburger, and a burnt one at that. The chicken Caesar pizzeta (pictured left) came on crispy flat bread that tastes like cardboard. It's no family member to the pizza, which is what the Village implies.

Bloated and sitting at a table with over $100 worth of free food, I saw a fit woman in a short white skirt staring. Her son pointed at me. Two Asian teens walked by and one stopped to snap a photo. (That sounds like a bad stereotype, but I swear it happened.) I tried to give the other half of my lobster roll to an older woman, but she seemed spooked by the offer.

When I was nearly in a comatose state from all the calories, McLennan reappeared and told me she needed to get back to work. I nodded, completely forgetting that I was supposed to be investigating this Food Village further and making fun of it. Her trick with all the free food worked.