I love the fair. Much like Christmas, it only happens once a year, includes a glorious display of twinkling lights and provides a valid excuse for binge eating.
]Seriously, when else can you walk around in public with a massive hunk of meat in your hands, shamelessly tearing off the smoked flesh without the formality of a napkin? Typically, this is only acceptable if you are a member of the Flintstone family. Not at the fair though. At the fair, carnivores of all shapes and sizes are welcome.
And since we are on the topic of food, can we discuss the trend of frying everything that can be deemed edible? I have seen this phenomenon on the Food Network, but never in person. Fascinating.
“Bonjour madaam, what would you like?” asked the apron clad waiter. “Well, hello kind sir. For the first course I will have the fried avocado. The fried spam is excellent you say? Lovely. Please bring that when I am done wiping the grease off of my chin. Oh, and no need to bring the dessert tray. I have been waiting all week for a fried Pop Tart. Does it come in cherry?” answered the bearded lady.
Our fried vice was the funnel cake with powdered sugar and strawberries. It did not last long enough to document. I have not yet decided if I will include it in my boot camp food journal (yes, there is a food journal, which I will definitely be blogging about at a later date).
The other thing I love/hate about the fair is the incorporation of innocent barnyard animals (this is a little different than Christmas, unless you count reindeer as a barnyard species). We saw Hercules the Giant Horse. He is 20 hands high. Not knowing what a hand is, I felt fortunate that one of my best friends is a vet (hi Noel!). She promptly texted me back with this reply, “It is 4 inches to a hand at the withers!” Very helpful indeed. It should make perfect sense to you now.
We also saw White Mountain, a very famous….
We then proceeded to watch a milk producing goat contest, which included a delightful discussion about mammary glands, and finished off with a visit to the petting zoo area where I made friends with a couple feisty camels.
I always feel bad for the inhabitants of a petting zoo. All day long people are poking them, kids are yelling and everyone is shoving cheap grain down their throats as to not waste the two dollars it cost to purchase that little white cup of gruel. My instinct is to stage a riot and lead them to freedom in a blaze of glory, or at the very least buy a ranch in Montana (think Little House on the Prairie) where I could set them free.
But, I guess when it comes down to it, there are worse fates for these furry friends. Lulu the Lamb could be stuck in a pen alone without any companionship, she could come face to face with a wild cheetah - or even worst - she could be the main course at tomorrow’s gyro dinner.
I love the fair.
