Friday, August 7, 2009

The Art of Fair Food

Disclaimer: I DID NOT eat all of this food. I had help from some co-workers. So there.

That being said, isn't fair time the best? The family and I went on Wednesday night, but pulled out the camera and forgot my CF card. Go figure. So yesterday I was able to redeem my need for fair photography, albeit not so much the actual fair, but the FOOD. Oh yum. It's the one time of the year that I indulge in too much deep-fried goodness, and sticky sweets. (Except for Christmas, Halloween, and Easter, but that's just a lot of sugar, nothing deep-fried.)

Anyway, the list of items we ate too much of were: JalapeƱo Cheese Curds (highly recommend!), Very Large Bratwurst with Fried Onions, Giant Cup of Limeade, Buffalo Burger, Deep-Fried Oreos (I didn't have one... mixed reviews from the tasters), the traditional Corn Dog, and finally the Ginormous Cinnamon Sugar Sprinkled Monster Ear. Whew.

So again, why is this art you may be asking. Well, the fair only comes to town once a year. Sure you can get a corn dog at the grocery store, and most everything else on the list too, but there is an ambiance about the fair. It's the place where EVERYBODY is walking around talking and eating. It's a community thing. The art of fair food goes beyond the food itself. It's more about the tradition and sensory overload. I love it.

Monday, August 3, 2009

The Art of Getting Dirty

One of my posts a while back was "The Art of Getting Clean." Well, this should have been the post right before that . . . the prequel. I have boys. Boys love dirt, mud, and all other means by which to get dirty. In this case, the rain we have gotten lately has made our driveway a bit sloppy, especially in one low-lying area. It makes a deliciously tempting area for little boys to piddle, splash, and get generally filthy. And me, sitting back and looking on just had to have a chuckle and let them be boys for a while. No yelling to "Get out of that mud!" or "You're getting you're clothes all dirty!" . . . nope. Not this time. The art of getting dirty was in full swing, and who was I to stop it.