Well, the State Fair is in boxes for another 50 weeks. I’m a little bummed we only got to go once, but relieved that the rusted-down old Monorail wasn’t running, because that thing scares the bejeebus out of me, just like the rides do. Still, I got to do my usual minor culinary excursion around the Fairgrounds. Some people plan entire weeks’ worth of calories and Weight Watcher points around a trip to the Fair. They have the Indian Taco, Steak Sandwich, and everything on a stick they can possibly find. The grand finale, of course, is usually a funnel cake:

Those don’t excite me so much anymore. Perhaps it was my gateway drug – like marijuana or whippits, funnel cakes were only the first few skips down a Yellow Brick Road of fatty and fried goodness. And I do love them – I mean, you could tell me right now that a funnel cake is nothing more than the deep-fried and heavily-sugared intestine of a New York City sewer rat, and I’d probably still order one at the next country fair I visit. They’re delicious. But like with any gateway drug, eventually the high you get from them is not enough. Hence my graduation, in the middle of this decade, to the Fried Snicker:

I would say that the breakdown of human beings – or at least middle-American, fairgoing human beings – breaks down something like this: people who have tried a Fried Snicker, and people who, when you try to describe one to them, look at you like you’re describing sex with a rosebush. Here’s the deal – there’s not much to it, okay? It’s a Snicker. Deep-fried. On a stick. All melty chocolate and nougat and peanuts inside something like the shell of a corn dog, only sweeter. And liberally rolled in powdered sugar and topped with chocolate syrup. OKAY WHAT IS NOT TO LOVE HERE?

This same stand sells Fried Twinkies and Fried Oreos. This year Brian tried the Oreos, and let me sample a bite. It was good, but not Snicker good. Usually somewhere in the vicinity of this Mecca Of Fat and Happiness is the stand that also sells the miniature milk jugs full of root beer. This libation is especially helpful in eating a Fried Snicker, because not only does the extra sweetness ensure that your dentist’s kids will get to go to a great college (the root beer is made with a whole lot less carbonated water and a whole lot more syrup than the 2-liter jugs of A&W available at your local grocery store), but also because the Snicker will dry out your mouth and leave you crawling for any oasis. And we can’t have a repeat of the time we were caught drinking from the fountain, can we?

Like any good, responsible adult I started with dessert. But before you can try any of this sweet stuff, you’ve got to go get some Wisconsin Fried Cheese. We are healthy, well-maintained people, after all, adults who have done well, paid most of their bills on time, and built careers. Therefore we can have appetizer, then dessert, or vice versa if you’re kinky.

Wisconsin Fried Cheese happens here:

Brian really enjoys their fried vegetables (usually broccoli, mushrooms and cauliflower) with spicy German mustard. It’s delicious, but I can never resist the deep-fried (again) Jalapeno cheese with jalapeno ranch:

You’re going to need a beer with this. Go buy a beer from The Boob Lady and plop yourself down somewhere to enjoy.

Now, look. If you think you can handle all this fatty goodness and still ride rides, then by all means power to you and be prepared to get on the evening news for horking all over a crowd of teenaged bystanders. (Also, be prepared for me to take you to the fair next year and pay for EVERYTHING because I’d love to see a repeat of that). Some of the food defies even my explanation; for example, the Curly Fry Loaf:

…which I thought was the name of an early 20th-century Blues musician. A friend tells me that the Curly Fry Loaf is exactly what it sounds like – phonetically. It’s basically a bunch of curly fries so big and smashed together so tightly that it resembles something like a loaf of bread. Sounds like a lot of carbs. Me, I’m-a stick with my EXTREMELY HEALTHY fried cheese, fried Snicker and root beer.

But no rides. I’m fine if I only have to taste this *particular* meal once a year, to say nothing of tasting it once a night.

Why didn’t I do this post while the fair was still going on, you may ask. Here’s the thing – I have a YEAR, every year, to prepare my body to ingest this delicious-yet-slowly-killing-me-from-the-inside goodness. I figured it was only fair I give you just as much time. Just bookmark the post, and I’ll see you out with the other freaks in just 350 short days. In the meantime may I suggest you get a good colonic or two.