Eating one’s way through the fair.
I am conflicted about all the amazed look-at-the-fried-food travelogues that come out of the state fairs, and the one-upmanship of the carts themselves (fried butter! they have that!) for reasons both of both culinary interest and public health. I do love fairs, and I do love junk food, and I do love quite a number of fried things. But
Do they have a booth at the state fair that says, “Chain smoke five cigarettes!” next to one that says, “Chain smoke six unfiltered cigarettes!” next to one that says, “Chain smoke seven unfiltered cigarettes and then huff three spray paint cans!”? Because that’s basically what these food carts are.
The preachiness of Michael Pollan and Alice Waters and the like tends to grate on me, and I am generally no stick in the mud when it comes to a good fair or a good bout of junk food, but this summer’s fair dispatches have started to appall me. Is that what happens when a gal gets old?