The Pigs Are Always the Best Attraction
We spent yesterday with Dick and Frew ogling the circle of life from birth to deep-fried midway bliss at the California State Fair in Sacramento. Not only did we get to see a bug-eyed and somewhat embarrassed Holstein strain to have her calf right there in front of a live audience, but we also sampled chitterlings (that’s pork intestines with loads of hot sauce for the uninitiated) as well as several corndogs, a Krispy Kreme doughnut chicken sandwich, ice cream, lemonade, venison jerky, divinity, french fries, coleslaw, barbecue (in nearly all its varieties), deep-fried avocados and tomatoes, a mocharita (which we learned was neither boozy nor citrusy), and one beer (a Hefeweizen to be exact).
And of course there were many, many baby pigs (for petting, not eating--at least not yet) and a gazillion more goats than cows, which I’m sure my friend Melody the Goat Farmer will be happy to hear. We saw something called a “Turkey Stampede” that involved Butterballs-on-the-hoof chasing a remote-control pickup around an arena (oh, the spectacle). Then I made everyone go gaze at the Humboldt display in the county exhibition hall. I didn’t think it was as good as last year’s, but it did have this fake sea-farin’ man, which redeemed it slightly, at least in my eyes. Poor Pat was shamed again as Orange County failed to show up with any sort of exhibit. It’s so sad to see him wandering the halls, hoping this year might be the one.... Hey, OC! What’s up?
Frew spent the first few hours at the fair not-so-casually trying to size up who among us was dumb enough to go on vomit-inducing carnival rides with him (he has very fond memories of the year my childhood friend Stacy Ripple paid for him to accompany his wife Jenny on all the rides she wanted at the Fortuna Rodeo--good times!). Frew was able to talk Pat into one “spinny” ride, but neither Dick nor I were game for anything that spun or went upside down. I did, however, suck it up and go along with everyone on the ski lift despite nearly having a panic attack on it last year. As a final hurrah, we all climbed the “EuroSlide” and sped down on gunny sacks (I won the race, but I cheated). Since Dick is from Sweden, I figured he’d know what about the slide made it “Euro,” but he couldn’t tell me. That was disappointing because I’ve been wondering about that for a couple years now.
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