My (State) Fair Lady

Before I start, I’d like to thank Dave and Jessi for bringing me along on their trip to the Fair, and to Mary Ann and Dennis (Jessi’s parents) for hosting us for a night. I’ll probably write a quick article later about how much I loved visting them at their retirement community with all of its amenities.

This wasn’t my first visit to the Wisconsin State Fair. I know my way around, I like to think. I know where to get fried vegetables, butterflied pork chop sandwiches, and roast corn dripping with butter.

What was new this year was taking rideshare from Jessi’s parents condo, a mere eight minute ride which dropped us right off at the entrance to SpinCity (the park that consists of independently owned carnival rides). This was a considerable time savings over years past where we’d drive and park on the lawns of one of the many modest houses in the neighborhood then walking to the fair, or paying through the nose for on-site parking.

The fair gates opened at 10:00 am, which was when we arrived to find a line of about 50 people that was already moving steadily through the security area that preceded the ticket booths and the ticket takers. One of the ladies standing in front of me wore this extraordinary jacket:

The headliners for the evening’s Grand Stand concert were Wynonna Judd and Melissa Etheridge. I didn’t see anyone else wearing Wynonna or Melissa merch but even if I did I don’t think they would have had anywhere near the swag of this lady’s jean jacket.

The titanium of my prosthetic leg did not set off the metal detectors, which I have to admit I found disappointing.

Dave took care of our tickets (thank you, sir) and before I knew it, we were inside. Cash was acquired from nearby ATM’s, bathrooms were visited, and then we were off. It wasn’t yet 11:00 am, so the rides of SpinCity didn’t have passengers. Operators were testing them, so it was cool to walk by as they spun, wiggled, jiggled, and whirled.

We’d already had coffee at the condo, so we were ready for our first meal of the day to be something appropriately junky and indulgent. Jessi opted for fried mushrooms, Dave got a pretzel stuffed with spinach and feta, and I got a corn dog and a regular Coke. Dennis, having had a protein bar at home, declined to enjoy anything at that moment. But we knew it was only a matter of time, as his expressed food goals of the day were ice cream and a cream puff, not necessarily in that order.

The Fair may have only been open for twenty minutes at this point, but the grounds were already packed with families in matching t-shirts, teenagers looking for other teenagers to flirt with, booth employees serving food, grounds keepers maintaining the waste and recycling bins, and security staff in neon vests and walkie talkies. It had rained very lightly, and the only barn that appeared to be open to visitors was the one that housed the dairy cows.

Alas, I did not take pictures of the many cows, who I could only see from their backsides. They were all munching on hay, napping, or curled up like puppies in piles. The teenagers tasked with showing them sat in nearby camping chairs, scrolling on their phones. The fair had only opened the previous Thursday but I could imagine being over it all by Sunday and wanting to head home almost as soon as their competitions were over.

The cows were gorgeous. The kids who care for them looked tough but also impossibly young. Their tans were impeccable.

(The kids’ tans, not the cows.)

I think not having kids with us made it easy to resist the urge to buy souvenirs like balloons and noisemakers and flashing wands. But then there are always garden spinners and leather wallets, airbrushed t-shirts and hot tubs for adults who may or may not have $18,000 to spend on a blue fiberglass spa that seats eight adults with cup holders and party lights.

But having limited resources, and different priorities, I know I’m there to see baby animals, racing pigs, dogs that go diving, and the food. All of the food.

A big deal seems to be made of the Sporkies, the annual contest that seeks out the best single food item at the Fair. This year’s first prize winner was a sort of round empanada stuffed with birria style pulled pork. I was momentarily taken with the idea of consuming the second prize winner, a spiral pretzel cone stuffed with sausage (or was it gyro meat?) and topped with a fried cheese curd.

I spotted the roast corn stand but it was too early for that, my tummy said, so we made our slowly towards the shed with the flying, diving dogs. On the way, we saw that it was just about time for the 11:00am pig races. However, the stands were empty and two state fair park officers were telling folks that the races would off on account of the weather.

Did I mention it had rained a little when we arrived? The skies in the west were getting darker. The wind was up, just in time for the four of to duck into the Flying Solo Bar & Grill. From there, we had a perfect view of the dog barn across the way. We could see that it was closed. We hoped the dogs were crated and sheltered properly, then grabbed a table and ordered drinks.

If you have to sit out a rain delay that is actually a thunderstorm delay, you cannot do better than to do so at the Flying Solo. It’s a full service bar that also serves burgers and fries. They boasted a menu of mixed drinks and more critically, some really really good mocktails.

This is the mocktail that Dave ordered while we waited out the storm at Flying Solo Bar & Grill. I want to say that this is the I’m Your Huckleberry but I’m not sure. It does have bourbon syrup in it, so make sure it has that if you happen to go to the Fair and order it yourself. I hope you do that because it was very tasty.

We each of us ordered a different mocktail, trading sips and exclaiming over the deliciousness, the flavor profiles and the clever names.

This is the Pink Unicorn I ordered at the Flying Solo Bar & Grill. Sprite, blue raspberry syrup, maybe passion fruit?, and coconut.

We all watched the storm roll in and then over us. Strong winds knocked over piles of cups at the bar, so the staff rolled down some of the doors. The televisions played music videos featuring girl country singers I had never heard of. We all cheered the donkey in a Budweister commercial, which so charmed one lady that she recorded the TV playing the ad on her phone.

I could have sat there forever, cozy with fun mocktails and chatting away, but no storm lasts forever and besides there was the matter of a humungous Ferris wheel to be investigated.

The America 250 Wheel was, in person, actually incredible. It’s tall, it lights up, and it has 45 carriages. One for each of the presidents. Each carriage seats six people. A ten minute ride costs $7. This is, to me, a bargain. Or it would have been had we been able to ride. The storms may have past but lightning can still find a way miles away from the center. So getting into a incredibly large structure MADE OF METAL was probably not a swell idea.

A quick bathroom break in the Exposition Hall which, if you know, is full of the temptation of things that you used to be able to buy only on television. Think the Slap Chop or the Flowbee. Knowing Dave, Jessi, and I wanted to leave early in the afternoon, and having already lost premium eating and drinking time to the storm, we went straight for the cream puffs.

I believe in Heaven. I believe that Heaven exists in many forms, in many places scattered throughout the world. My personal Heavens include, but are not limited to, the following:

• the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pool (Chicago, Illinois)

• Sole del Chianti (Florence, Italy)

• The Wallace Collection (London, England)

• the inside of a parked car during a rainstorm

My latest Heaven is the Dairy Building. This is where the cream puffs are born.

I know you think a cream puff is a delicate, fragile thing that might consist of little more than choux pastry and a whisper of cream to be nibbled with a cup of tea.

You would be wrong.

It’s a baseball of fresh whipped cream shoved into a pastry shell that has been split by the young people who every year gather in the Dairy Building to make cream puffs (but really they are dream puffs) that go straight into my mouth.

You can get them with original and chocolate cream. This year, in honor of the Fair’s 175th birthday, there is a cherry flavor that I enjoyed immensely.

Never too wet for cream puffs.

Dave came back from his cheese curd excursion (excurdsion?) to find the three of us outside, standing around a wet picnic table and happily eating our cream puffs. Eating delicious food with charming people you adore is a heaven unto itself, and can happen anywhere you happen to be. Some of my happiest food memories have happened at the Wisconsin State Fair, most often with Jessi. This is something for which I am grateful.

I know there is music to be heard, because I can hear bands playing from every corner of the fairgrounds. I know there are booths to be shopped, because I can see other fairgoers hauling their purchases. But my Fair priorities are always and ever food and cute animals. As the rain had ended my dream of maybe, just maybe, kidnapping a micro pig or a clever border collie or even a calf from the cow barn, I had to lock in and eat as much as I could stand.

After cream puffs we meandered through the Grand Champion Hall. Jessi took this photograph of me — it is perfect.

Jasmine poses with a giant cream puff in front of an American flag, in the presence of potted flowers and a large purple “175”. Just award it the Pulitzer already.

Handmade, prizewinning quilts hung from the rafters. There were bonsai trees and a refrigerator full of meatloafs (meatloaves?), and the heaviest squash at the fair. I could tell you about it but instead I will show you — please enjoy these terrible pictures taken by my iPhone.

Jill Sauld, you are a quilt genius.

Look at the tiny Nike swooshes on his socks!

I’m gonna leave you with this picture of the corn on the cob that was my second to last item consumed at the fair. This cost me $5, and was sold to me by a member of the New Berlin Lions Club. His name was, I shit you not, Cornelius.

My corn with Dennis, David, and Jessi.

So go to the State Fair. Eat a cream puff. Say hi to Cornelius for me. And if you end up riding the America 250 Wheel, please do not get on here and tell me how incredible it was because then I’ll just be sad I didn’t get to do. Just kidding — I will be delighted and demand to know which president you got.