Let’s face it—baseball players love food. They spend 162 games a year stuffing their faces with clubhouse spreads, postgame steaks, and enough sunflower seeds to fill the Grand Canyon. So, it’s no surprise that some of them decided to take their love of eating and turn it into a business.
For a few Mets legends, the restaurant world seemed like a natural next step. After all, if you can handle New York sports fans, running a restaurant should be a piece of cake (or a hot dog, or a steak, or whatever was on the menu that day). Some of these ventures were smashing successes. Others... well, let’s just say they had a shorter shelf life than a Shea Stadium hot dog in July.
Here’s a look at some of the Mets who went from swinging bats to serving burgers, and in some cases, right back to swinging bats again.
Jerry Koosman was known for painting the corners with his fastball, but his foray into the restaurant world was more of a wild pitch. In the early 1970s, he launched Big Bite Hot Dogs, a place that specialized in—you guessed it—hot dogs.
Per KinersKorner.com staff writer A.J. Carter, the place was very real. "I remember going to Koosman’s Big Bite, in the Elwood Shopping Center. Hot dogs steamed in beer. My brother Randy remembers me taking him to the grand opening. Koosman was there, and we even got him to sign a dollar bill." That’s right—beer-steamed hot dogs. You could have a meal and a buzz at the same time, which, if we’re being honest, might have made watching the mid-'70s Mets a little more tolerable.
Koosman had a plan. In 1970, at age 26, he signed a $50,000 contract with the Mets—double his 1969 salary and $40,000 more than his first two-year contract combined. When asked what he planned to do with all that newfound cash, Koosman didn’t talk about fancy cars or beachfront property. Nope, he had wiener-related dreams. "I plan to invest it in my restaurant business, Jerry Koosman’s Big Bite," he said. He added that he hoped to play another 10 years and, in that time, make himself financially solvent. You have to respect a guy who understands that a baseball career can be as short as a poorly cooked hot dog.
And speaking of the menu, it wasn’t just about franks. If you wanted to mix it up, you could grab a Meatball Big Bite Hero for 99 cents (not bad even by 1970s inflation standards), or if you were feeling fancy, a Filet of Flounder with fries for $1.29. If seafood was more your speed, shrimp or clams in a basket ranged from $1.35 to $1.49.
And if you had $5,000-$10,000 burning a hole in your pocket, you could even own a franchise.
For a moment, it looked like Koosman was about to turn his pitching prowess into a food empire. But as history tells us, Big Bite fizzled out faster than the 1977 Mets. Turns out, while a nasty slider can take you far in baseball, but it takes on a whole new meaning when talking about fast food.
And here I thought Tom Seaver was "The Franchise"—turns out, Koosman was just trying to sell them.
Some baseball duos are etched in Cooperstown lore: Ruth and Gehrig, a symphony of slugging. Mantle and Maris, a summer of '61 fireworks. And then… Swoboda and Kranepool? Look, they might not have been the M and M boys between the lines, but off the field, they swung for the fences with The Dugout, a restaurant that snagged its name straight from the baseball rulebook.
Nestled at 1000 Broadway in North Amityville, this wasn't just another burger joint. This was a shrine to the '69 Miracle Mets, a place where you could grab a steak, swig a cold one, and maybe, just maybe, catch Ron "The Catch" Swoboda spinning yarns about that diving grab in the World Series. And let me tell you, Swoboda could spin a yarn like a Nolan Ryan fastball—fast, with a little extra something on it.
Now, according to my notes (scrawled on a cocktail napkin, naturally), this wasn’t some dingy, sawdust-on-the-floor sports bar. No, The Dugout had class. Think wrought iron, mood lighting, and a hint of Moroccan flair. As one review from the time put it, "It's certainly not just a 'man's man' place, a la Jack Dempsey's." They even had live entertainment, with a singer crooning ballads and upbeat tunes, creating an atmosphere that was, dare I say, almost… civilized.
And the food? Well, let's just say it could satisfy a Boog Powell-sized appetite. They had a "Double Header" special: filet mignon and lobster tail for $8.25. In 1970's money, that was a steal. The menu was a lineup of classics: lamb chops, prime ribs, seafood platters. And the portions? Let's just say you wouldn't leave hungry.
But the real draw wasn't the food or the ambiance. It was the chance to rub elbows with Mets royalty. Swoboda and Kranepool were regulars, mingling with fans, signing autographs, and reliving the glory days. One review recounted how, after Ed Kranepool hit a home run, the phone "started ringing off the wall with dinner reservations." You couldn't buy that kind of publicity.
Of course, like most athlete-run restaurants, The Dugout eventually struck out. It closed its doors, leaving behind a legacy of good food, great stories, and, as I suspect, a few unpaid bar tabs from Mets fans who swore they’d get the next round. But for those who were lucky enough to experience it, The Dugout was more than just a restaurant. It was a slice of Mets history, a place where baseball and dining collided in a glorious, 1970s-infused spectacle. And isn't that what legends are made of?
After helping bring the first World Series title to Queens, Tommie Agee and Cleon Jones figured it was time to bring the party off the field and into their own establishment: The Outfielder’s Lounge. Located in Queens, the bar-restaurant combo became a home base for Mets fans who wanted to relive the glory of 1969 over wings, beers, and the occasional tall tale. The lounge had an easygoing, clubhouse feel—probably because Agee and Jones were both often there. Fans could walk in, see a Mets legend, and maybe even hear a story or two about how they took down the mighty Baltimore Orioles.
Of course, if you’re going to open a bar, you need a good slogan. Enter Tug McGraw, the Mets' resident philosopher and prankster, who suggested, "Come on in and play the field." It was a perfect fit—part invitation, part inside joke, and fully appropriate for a place run by two outfielders.
But, as Mets history has taught us, even the best stories take unexpected turns. In 1975, The Outfielder’s Lounge made headlines for something a little less celebratory. Cleon Jones, known for his smooth swing, found himself in a late-night incident that involved a smashed car, a flying chair, and a guy from Freeport who probably regretted his choice of parking spots. The Freeport man, Theron Tucker, claimed Cleon and company ran him out of the bar and proceeded to turn his car into a batting practice target with what witnesses described as a “Meat cleaver”, though some versions of the story suggest Cleon might’ve had better aim with a baseball than a bar glass. Tommie Agee was reportedly on the scene as well, along with former Giants draft pick Ben Crenshaw, making it an unexpected gathering of sports figures and, unfortunately, the NYPD.
Despite the drama, The Outfielder’s Lounge remained a beloved spot for Mets diehards—until, like many great things in Mets history, it didn’t last as long as it should have. But here’s the plot twist: while the bar is long gone, the location where it once stood now houses something even more meaningful—The Tommie L. Agee Educational Campus.
In 2022, a ribbon-cutting ceremony was held for the new 98,000-square-foot middle school in Flushing, NY, named in honor of the late Mets outfielder. The state-of-the-art facility accommodates 646 students in grades 6–8 and features everything from science labs and music rooms to a fully equipped gymatorium (which, I assume, is where kids either play basketball or deliver Shakespearean monologues). One of the school’s standout programs is its District 75 initiative, which provides specialized classrooms for students with disabilities, continuing Agee’s legacy of giving back to the community.
Fittingly, at the school’s dedication, August 22 was declared "Tommie Lee Agee Day". On that day each year, students and teachers remember a man who wasn’t just a World Series hero but also a pillar of the community. From outfield catches to after-hours establishments to an institution that educates the next generation—Tommie Agee’s impact on Queens has come full circle.
If there was one thing Rusty Staub knew how to do—besides smacking doubles and charming the Mets’ fan base—it was cook. And if there was one thing he figured out early on, it was that if you’re going to cook, make sure someone else is willing to do the dishes.
That’s exactly how his culinary career started, way back in the Instructional League in Scottsdale, Arizona. Young Rusty struck a deal with his roommates: he’d cook if they cleaned. A fair trade, considering Staub’s talent in the kitchen would later rival his skills in the batter’s box. This wasn’t some quick, college-kid ramen operation, either—Rusty had a knack for whipping up dishes that would make a New Orleans grandma nod in approval.
Over the years, his reputation as a ballplayer-chef grew. One fateful Christmas, he hosted a holiday party where he handled all the cooking. The reviews were raving, and for once, it wasn’t just about his batting average. By the time he landed in Montreal in 1969, Rusty’s food fascination turned into something more serious. He started dating the manager of a restaurant in the Old City, and while most guys would be content just getting a good table, Rusty got into the kitchen and learned the tricks of the trade from the chefs. Then came New York in 1972, and suddenly, he wasn’t just an athlete who liked to cook—he was a sought-after student in some of the city’s top kitchens. While rehabbing a hand injury that season, Rusty logged 1,500 hours in professional kitchens. That’s not a typo. Fifteen hundred. The man put in more hours behind a stove than most minor leaguers spend on a team bus.
Fast-forward to 1977, and Staub opened Rusty’s on 73rd and Third. A pub-style joint known for its rib-eating contests, the place quickly became a go-to for athletes, fans, and anyone who enjoyed seeing grown men battle over a plate of BBQ. But Rusty wasn’t done.
Enter Rusty Staub’s on Fifth, the more refined, big-city cousin of his original spot. Located on Fifth Avenue and 47th Street—inside the building that once housed Korvette’s—this wasn’t just another sports bar with framed jerseys and a couple of TVs stuck on the wall. No, this was Staub’s step into upscale dining, and if you wanted to relive the Mets’ glory days, you’d do it over Creole Seafood Gumbo and Shrimp "Le Grande Orange" (named for the nickname Montreal fans gave him, thanks to that unmistakable orange mane of his).
The idea for Rusty’s on Fifth actually came from Fred Wilpon—Mets co-owner and, conveniently, chairman of the board for the company managing the building. Wilpon pitched the idea to Staub in late summer of 1987, and by September 13, 1989, the doors were open. During the grand opening, Rusty happily took a group of writers on a tour, showing off his new establishment with the same pride he had when he hit a key RBI double. But when it came to the kitchen? That was off-limits. The chef was busy preparing lunch, and Staub—ever the pro—knew better than to get between a cook and his food.
So, while Rusty’s on Fifth offered an elegant take on dining, complete with Staub’s signature Cajun and Creole touches, Rusty’s on 73rd and Third remained the spot for rib-stained shirts and cold beers. Two different vibes, but both unmistakably Rusty.
Because whether he was belting out hits at Shea or stirring gumbo in a Manhattan kitchen, Rusty Staub always made sure he left people wanting more. And for Mets fans, Rusty was more than just a great ballplayer or a restaurateur—he was family. He gave them unforgettable moments on the field, warm meals at his table, and a presence that made New York feel a little more like home.
Rusty Staub passed away on March 29, 2018, but his legacy lives on—in the memories of those who cheered for him, dined with him, and, of course, in the lingering craving for just one more plate of his famous ribs.
Located just steps from the Douglaston Long Island Railroad Station, Strawberry's Sports Grill opened in the summer of 2010. Owned by Mets legend Darryl Strawberry, the sports bar and restaurant quickly became a popular destination for sports fans, food lovers, and anyone who appreciated a good meal served with a side of baseball nostalgia. The establishment featured a standard-size bar area and three dining rooms, each equipped with high-definition televisions ensuring that patrons could catch a game from any seat in the house—because nothing pairs better with a burger than watching your team break your heart in real-time.
Strawberry's Sports Grill wasn't just a place to eat; it was an experience. The menu featured classic American fare, cold drinks, and a lively atmosphere that made it a go-to spot for locals and baseball diehards alike. One of its standout menu items was the Strawberry shake, a nod to the restaurant's owner and a sweet, frosty tribute to the man who could crush home runs and, apparently, a mean milkshake recipe.
Kinerskorner.com staff writer John Coppinger recalls his own personal experience at Strawberry's, tied to a special milestone in his life. In 2010, during a particularly eventful week celebrating his 40th birthday—one that included a Rangers game and a Jets game on the same day, as well as another Rangers game later in the week—his wife planned a surprise birthday party at Strawberry's. The event, orchestrated by a close friend through Darryl's brother Michael, took place in the restaurant's back room, which was decorated with the flags of all the local sports teams. About 15-20 friends and family gathered to celebrate, enjoying a great selection of food before indulging in the signature Strawberry shakes for dessert. The shakes were so good they almost made him forget he was now officially in his 40s and that the Mets were, well, still the Mets.
Michael Strawberry, who managed the restaurant, played a key role in making guests feel welcome and ensuring the establishment ran smoothly. His personable nature and dedication to hospitality contributed to the warm and inviting atmosphere that patrons fondly remember. If you needed something—more napkins, a drink refill, someone to talk about one of Darryl's many moonshots —Michael had you covered.
Though Strawberry's Sports Grill is no longer in operation (a moment of silence, please), it remains a cherished memory for those who dined there. It was the kind of place where sports, good food, and great company came together—just like a perfect 6-4-3 double play. And while you can’t go there anymore, you can always raise a glass (or a shake) in its honor and remember the days when Darryl was still hitting home runs, even if they were off a menu instead of a pitcher.
But while one Mets legend’s eatery may be gone, another remains alive and grilling. Keith’s Grill at Citi Field remains one of it's most popular food destinations , proving once and for all that Mets fans may have commitment issues with their team, but not with their food. Located in the Promenade section at 410, Keith’s Grill is the brainchild of Mets icon and first baseman-turned-broadcaster Keith Hernandez, known for his sharp baseball mind, impeccable mustache, and ability to make Seinfeld fans swoon.
The menu features two burgers that sound so good you might briefly forget the Mets bullpen exists. First, there’s The Mex Burger, a 6-ounce LaFrieda burger on a toasted sesame bun with cheddar and jack cheese, topped with bacon, guacamole, chipotle aioli, and jalapeños. Served with chips and, because Keith is a man of refined tastes, his favorite candy—a Tootsie Roll Pop. A burger and a lollipop? Somewhere, a nutritionist is crying.
Then there’s The 108 Burger, which raises the stakes by throwing hand-carved hot pastrami on top of a LaFrieda burger, all nestled inside a fresh-baked pretzel bun with Havarti cheese and deli mustard. Again, served with chips and the obligatory Tootsie Roll Pop, because Keith believes in consistency (except when it comes to explaining what’s in his scorebook on the SNY broadcast).
So while the culinary legacies of Rusty Staub’s and Darryl Strawberry’s eateries are now just a part of Mets history, you can still get your fix of 80s Mets icons in restaurant form at Keith’s Grill. It’s a must-visit for Mets fans looking to indulge in something delicious while watching their team win or lose on the field. And if you find yourself enjoying a Mex Burger while staring off into the Citi Field skyline, pondering the fleeting nature of baseball success, just remember: at least you’ve got a Tootsie Roll Pop to get you through it.
And so, we raise a glass (or a beer-steamed hot dog, or a lobster tail, or maybe a meatball hero) to these Mets and their culinary side hustles. From Koosman’s beer-infused frankfurters to Swoboda and Kranepool’s Moroccan-inspired steakhouse, from Agee and Jones’ lounge antics to Staub’s fine-dining generosity, from Strawberry’s shake to Mex’s burger, these ventures may not have all stood the test of time, but they sure made for some great stories. And really, isn’t that what baseball—and a good meal—is all about?