Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Deep Fried Coke


We went road-tripping last night up Springfield way to attend ‘The Fair’. I’m a sucker for the fair. Those of you who thought I was much too worldly and sophisticated for such an event are sadly mistaken. If you want to be indoctrinated in redneck America, begin at the fair.

Big and Little went off on their own with their buddies. This left just me and Big Daddy…kinda felt like we were courting. Didn’t everyone go to the fair with a date at least once growing up? I still have a pink buffalo a suitor won for me. I was 12 at the time and had decided to give my heart to this chicken farmer. He broke said heart not soon after and I was forced to get on with my life. Sigh…

After a trip through the exhibit hall where I check out the prize winning hams and the special photo exhibit of this past winter’s ice storm, I had to buy a foot-long corndog smothered in mustard and a little jug of root beer both procured from the A&W stand. A home equity loan was needed because the dog is $3.50 and so is the root beer. Big Daddy and I get a dog a piece and split the jug. It’s tradition.

We walk passed:
Deep fried Snickers
Fried Twinkies
Sushi (Would you eat sushi from the fair?)
The pork chop shack
Fried Green tomatoes
Funnel cakes
If there’s one thing that doesn’t go begging at the fair, it’s the food.

The parade goes by at one point …antique tractors, the shrine temple band, and a fireman at the back hosing down the street as they pass by-a little steam rising off the black top.

We stop to check out the live stock. Cattle, chickens and sheep are fine, but I go for the swine. How ‘bout a hand for hog, Folks? They have so much personality! Even sleeping, pigs are still busy grunting, snorting, and raising cane. I grew up in rural America, but not on a farm. This means I’m familiar with the terms ‘barrows and guilts’, I just don’t know what they mean.

There is nothing cuter than a baby pig. Period.

Meanwhile, back in the hall of justice, oops I mean arena, the miniature donkeys get pulled kicking and screaming through the obstacle course. Then fine-looking horse folk hook those little beggars up to buggies and perform figure eights. The chuck wagon won the blue ribbon and its team best of show!

Big Daddy and I got stopped outside the bingo/square dance tent and was handed a flyer by a feisty little old gal in a silver lame’ dancing skirt. Her shoes had sequins to match. She thanked us sweetly for actually taking a flyer. I doubt we darken the door of the community center anytime soon, but I wouldn’t hurt her feelings by letting her know that. Actually, square dancing is a lot of fun. (I just can’t abide the outfits. My loss.) It’s a throwback to my college days when I had to have an activities credit. The class was a square dance/folk dance combo. I got an ‘A’ on the final and the practical, thank you very much.

Finally, under cover of darkness, we hit the midway in search of the offspring. If you’re going to ride, do it at night when the lights are flashing and the noise level reaches a frenzy. When did we stop riding rides? When we spent the money on tickets so the kids could ride, instead. Now we just seem out of practice, but we still love to watch and always cap the evening on top of the giant Ferris wheel.

As we wait on Big and Little outside the E-plex, listening to the concert crowd screaming in the grandstand, a question lingers.

How in the cat-hair do they deep fry Coke?

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