What do you do when your husband goes off to hang out with his college buddies in California and you’re left all alone?
You go to the state fair to eat a bunch of fried crap, of course!
My friend Mooks and I battled through surprisingly bad traffic and a few wrong turns and finally arrived in West Alles, Wisconsin, home of the state fair grounds, and center of all things fried.
We wandered through the livestock tents:
We looked at prizewinning homemade foodstuffs:
And saw winners in categories I never imagined existed:
Let’s look a little more closely at that tag:
But the real draw of the Wisconsin state fair is the world-famous cream puffs. Truth be told, my memories of these cream puffs are not fond. Whenever we went to the fair when I was a kid, I just remember waiting for what seemed like forever for a messy, not-that-delicious wad of cream. Of course, when I was a kid, I didn’t like fresh whipped cream, preferring instead the chemical, stable-textured Cool Whip. I have since come to my senses, and decided it was time to give cream puffs another shot.
They sell something like one bajillion cream puffs during the fair, and it’s quite a high efficiency operation. First, slice open puff:
I totally didn’t notice this at the time, but the glove/knife arrangement in the lower right corner there is a little creepy, isn’t it? It’s like someone left it that way on purpose to freak people out- “oh, that’s just the ghost employee- he’s really fast, and doesn’t take up hardly any space!”
Then, you fill the cream puffs:
And then, finally, most importantly, you EAT the cream puff:
Public service announcement: if you are eating a cream puff, and you get powdered sugar from the top all over your shirt (this will happen,) please look at your hands BEFORE you absently try to dust off your shirt, as your hands are likely to be even more coated with powdered sugar, and you will only make the problem worse.
On the whole, it was a tremendously successful afternoon. I think, in fact, that I probably had a better time than John had with his 5 best friends, camping in Sonoma and then going wine tasting. Oh, wait, that’s false. Why does everyone, including my husband, insist on taunting me with their vacations?