You can know anything. It's all there. You just have to find it.

-Neil Gaiman


Thursday, August 21, 2008

Bacon on a Stick

The Minnesota State Fair started today. I received the little fair calendar in the mail last week and wasn't too impressed. The music lineup was poop. And I've been to the fair several times, including last year so I was thinking, "Naah, I'll skip it this year."

And then I saw something that caught my eye.

Every year the suits got to come up with a new food "thing on a stick" to sell. It is a big deal, especially for people who've been to the fair year in and year out, and maybe need to new reason to return. The requirements are simple: It's got to be deep fried and served on a stick.

Some ideas are good: Walleye on a stick, cheese curds on a stick.
Some are weird, but good: Deep fried pickle on a stick, alligator on a stick.
Some are overkill but intriguing: Deep fried Twinkie on a stick.
Some are so disgusting I want to eat them and then have my cholesterol immediately measured afterwards: Deep fried Snickers bar on a stick.

Some ideas are pure genius, like this year. I don't know why it took someone this long to think of it, but whoever did should be given a humongous raise, stock options, and use of the company's Gulfstream.

It even has a great name.... BIG FAT BACON.

It's 1/3 lb. of bacon fried and caramelized with maple syrup served on a stick with dipping sauce.

I think I may have to go. I told Matt that they were having bacon on a stick this year and he got a faraway romantic look in his eye. "Mmmmm... bacon," he sighed. I sighed too, thinking that many, many moons ago he used to think about me that way.

Last year we went with Becca and Jack and our trip consisted of a regimented walk to hit all our favorite food. We plotted the places on the map so that the various stands we hit alternated salty and sweet. It was like an episode from the A-Team or Macgyver. I'm surprised we didn't synchronize our watches.

First was mini-donuts, then pronto-pups, then ICE-Es, then corn, then the little chocolate chip cookies, then cheese curds, then pickle, then Funnel cake, etc. etc. Then we would stop for lunch.

We walked out of there the way we always do: hot, tired, with a sugar/grease headache, and five lbs. heavier. Someone inevitably holding their stomach with both hands saying, "Oh my God, we better get home soon. My bowels are churning."

Then we all sing something called The Diarrhea Song.

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