The sandwich was perfectly executed: an overgenerous helping of fresh Dungeness crabmeat dressed in mayonnaise and piled between two warm slices of sourdough bread.

The drinks were excellent, too: a split of Laurent-Perrier Champagne for my girlfriend; a tall, ice-cold glass of Anchor Steam Beer for me. And the view at our walk-up, alfresco table was impossible to beat: The Bay Bridge stretched out across San Francisco Bay.

ANDREW TESTA/The New York Times

Fans eat at the Hit It Here cafe at Safeco Field in Seattle.

View larger More photos Photo store

The service was unobtrusive, except for one thing: We were encouraged to put our sandwiches down and stand up when the national anthem came over the public address system. We were, after all, dining in the company of about 40,000 other people at AT&T Park in San Francisco.

I spent a few weekends after opening day this year bopping around to 10 American cities, where I ate my way through 12 major-league ballparks. My mission: to eat a shameful number of hot dogs and sample the increasingly ambitious and occasionally delicious world of ballpark cuisine.

Hot dogs and peanuts still rule the food court, but I spotted signs of progress almost everywhere on my road trip. There was enough good food – cedar-planked salmon in Seattle, a thick pastrami hero at Dodger Stadium, the classic Primanti Bros. sandwich in Pittsburgh – that I never suffered from indigestion or hot-dog fatigue.

There were two commendable forces at play at the best parks I visited: the upscaling of concession stands and the embrace of local, vernacular cooking.

The leader in upscale food may be AT&T Park in San Francisco. Opened in 2000, the stadium has wide concourses with great sightlines to the field. If you hear the crack of a bat and the crowd roar, you can pivot in the beer line and follow the ball as it flies over the outfield wall. And, instead of ferrying food to your seat, the airy concourse is dotted with counter-height tables that overlook the field.

ANDREW TESTA/The New York Times

Fans line up for Philly cheese steaks at Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia, which has stands for two of the city's leading purveyors: Rick's Steaks and Tony Luke's.

View larger More photos Photo store

But some of the best food is behind the scoreboard, where the Scoreboard Plaza terrace overlooking the bay has an array of ambitious vendors. By the seventh-inning stretch, I had sampled a peppery clam chowder served in a bread bowl dotted with tender bits of clam; a fried catfish sandwich in a crisp, Cajun-accented crust; and a bowl of jerk chicken over rice with a dash of jalapeño sauce.

The plaza also was home to that crab-salad sandwich, probably the best dish I tasted at any of the ballparks I visited. And consider that it was served at a stand called Crazy Crab'z.

You'll find a similarly zealous approach to ballpark dining at Seattle's Safeco Field, a retro-modern stadium opened in 1999 with a retractable roof and views of the Space Needle beyond center field. The variety of food choices goes far beyond traditional hot dogs, peanuts and beer. Try pad Thai, chicken teriyaki and strawberries on a stick.

I ate constantly for nine innings and still ended up sampling only half of the ballpark's menu.

Among the first and best things I tried was the Ichiroll, a spicy tuna roll named after the Mariners' celebrity outfielder, Ichiro Suzuki. It was fresh and meaty and seasoned with wasabi.

Another winner was the Sea-Fare, a lonely looking stand near the center field terrace that's popular with young beer drinkers. It served cedar-planked salmon and something called a Sea Dog; I ordered both. The woman working the stand warned me that the salmon could take 15 minutes to prepare.

We returned at the end of the inning and picked up our order. The salmon didn't look like much, but it was moist, nicely seasoned and perfumed with the scent of alder.

The Sea Dog was a 10-inch-long baton of cod, battered, fried and served in a hot-dog bun. Dressed with tartar sauce and a squeeze of fresh lemon, the crisp batter was stuffed with creamy- tender flakes of real fish. It was a clever and delicious twist on the hot dog.

Of course, baseball food isn't all about cod, crab and sushi. Some parks excel at using more modest ingredients. Case in point: Miller Park in Milwaukee.

Like the city it's in, Miller doesn't bother with cosmopolitan cuisine such as edamame, but prides itself on hearty fare such as grilled bratwursts and beer. The brats, from Klement's, have the Germanic sweet spice accent just right, the casings are snappy, and each of the three I ate had a good char. Another popular dish is cheese curds, which are crisp, not greasy, and have an unmistakable squeak.

Although Miller Brewing Co. owns the stadium's name, the team had the foresight not to muscle out smaller Wisconsin brewers such as Lakefront, New Glarus, Stevens Point and Sprecher.

But the prize for vernacular food probably goes to Citizens Bank Park, the 4-year-old home of the Philadelphia Phillies. Most of the action takes place in Ashburn Alley (named for Hall of Famer Richie Ashburn), a brick promenade behind center field where fans can practically hang over the visitors' bullpen or dine under the giant Liberty Bell sign that lights up and rocks when the Phillies hit a homer.

Ashburn Alley is home to hoagies, Chickie & Pete's crab fries (french fries dusted with Old Bay seasoning) and two of the city's respected cheese steak purveyors, Rick's Steaks and Tony Luke's. Tony Luke's has the better cheese steak. Even better is Tony Luke's juicy roasted-pork and provolone sandwich, dressed with tender broccoli rabe.

Also not to be missed is the Schmitter sandwich from McNally's, an outpost of an 87-year-old Germantown tavern at the end of Ashburn Alley. The Schmitter packs, from top to bottom: melted cheese, a generous squirt of a "special sauce," griddled salami, more cheese, sliced tomato, fried onions, griddled steak and another slice of cheese, just to help keep the beef in place. It was the most unhealthful thing I encountered. It also was impossible to stop eating after the first bite.

Not all my food adventures were so lucky.

The Dodgers recently spruced up the field-level concourse at Dodger Stadium, adding two worthy vendors: Ruby's Diner, where I sampled excellent sliders with beef jus and horseradish, and Canter's Deli, one of the nation's best Jewish delicatessens.

But those spots are available only to holders of field-level tickets; the concession stands in the upper seats are dreary at best. The trademark Dodger Dogs were bad (salty, greasy and tepid), and a large cup of Miller Lite was overpriced at $12.25.

The food at the parks in New York City wasn't much better, but because both Yankee and Shea stadiums have dates with the wrecking ball at the end of this season, they were the lame ducks of the trip. Chicago, on the other hand, was a major disappointment.

For starters, Wrigley Field and U.S. Cellular Field serve Best Kosher hot dogs, vastly inferior to the meatier Vienna Beef brand that the city's best vendors serve. But even worse was the Mexican-style corn sold at U.S. Cellular. The corn, scraped from the cob, was mushy, overcooked and seasoned with chili, mayonnaise and imitation lime juice that made the dish taste like furniture polish.

Still, that dish didn't compare to the horror in Baltimore at Oriole Park at Camden Yards. Between innings, I happened upon a stand called Charm City Seafood, whose crab-cake sandwich had been touted for its "artful seasoning." So, I ordered one.

The cook slapped a cold crab cake on a nonstick pan, and after a few minutes it was handed to me in a paper basket with a packet of tartar sauce. The bready puck was tepid, soggy and fishy. I couldn't manage a second bite: It was, without question, the worst dish I sampled at a ballpark.

A few rules of engagement for ballpark eating:

•Meatless hot-dog substitutes and most foods labeled "veggie" are not good eating.

•Nachos, Chinese food, pizza and pretzels taste about the same everywhere, except at Dodger Stadium, where the pretzels are particularly greasy.

•Say no to burgers: The uniformly desiccated patties served at baseball games taste as though they were grilled some time ago.

•Forget cocktails: Margaritas poured from a beer tap are a travesty.

Peter Meehan