Last weekend was the 985th annual(?) Ohio State Fair, sponsored by Bisquik and diabetes. Pierre and I were curious to see what would make it into the deep fat fryer, so we piled into Jill's car and made our way to the fairgrounds, where we were greeted upon entry by a 15-foot cardinal and a wide array of even wider people.
I don't think Ohio's state cardinal has a name, so I'm gonna call him Bucky. Bucky Bird.
Naturally, our first stop was the pig races, which were hosted by two beoveralled former I-bankers who introduced us to their flock-- gaggle? school? of wee piggies. I bet two dollars on Hamlet, and Pierre rooted for Notorious P.I.G.
As you can see, Kevin Bacon is in the lead here. He went on to win the Golden Slop Bucket award.
Things slowed down a little during the potbelly division.
Pork and Mindy get sabotaged by a mid-course feed bowl. China Doll took the gold with a gun time of 15 minutes.
After the races, Jill inexplicably suggested we locate a purveyor of greasy delights, and nobody argued. But what to fry....what to try....?
Gisella says, "In Italy, where I am from, we have an expression for this: "acquistare adesso e paghi" or "buy now, pay later."
Gisella opted for the jambe de dinde, or "leg of stegosaurus," which, despite its obvious violations of the tenets of portion control, was by far the healthiest choice made by the group.
To wit:
Gail's corn dog looks good enough to hang on a clothesline as a festive ornament!
Gail ordered a corn dog, which is classic, and probably as safe a choice as any. Gail, by the way, went to grad school at UVA (or "U.Va.," as the style manual requires), so we are sisters in C-ville.
This is just a preview of the debauchery to come...
Now I might take some flack for saying so, but I swear I could feel Paula Deen's buttery, slightly racist spirit as we waited for our mouths to open and our arteries to close.
And while the rest of us were squinting up at the signage muttering things like, "fried spray cheese? Is that even legal?" and "doesn't the Fluffernutter catch on fire?" Jill knew exactly what she wanted: Six Oreos, un-boxed, battered and deep fried golden brown. Because there's no sense steaming those puppies.
Viewers of this photo will be forced to make kind of a Sophie's Choice. Which to ogle first: fried cookies or Gail's breast? Just pick one, people.
We dainty ladies pretended not to want to eat all of Jill's Oreos, but Matt held up his side of the gender norm bargain. Lest we think he wasn't gender-normal.
Matt doesn't quite know what to do with himself now that pure evil's touched his lips. I am referring, of course, to the fried Twinkie.
And Pierre's eyes bugged out of his head when he saw what I ordered for us to share.
Why not take a childhood classic and deep fry it, just to throw off those new declining youth obesity stats from the CDC?
That there is fried peanut butter and jelly. (But please note the use of whole wheat bread). And did it appeal to Pierre's Franco-Prussian culinary sensibilities?
Yes.
And what goes best with a pb & j?
Old Bessie here just about had it by the time I got to her. She felt like she needed to be reconstituted. Maybe in a milk bath? Is that kosher?
A glass of milk. Fresh squeezed!
Hello, World!