Wednesday, October 5, 2011

When a fried pickle is NOT a fried pickle

Hey, kids, it's fair season! Despite crumb bum weather, the fam rallied and hit the Deerfield, NH, fair last Thursday. Roll the tape, Gladys.

Every year, I gush over paintings done by the mysterious Ted Nichols (stalking has produced no legit evidence of his existence). He typically does a New England house scene. This year, he added ice fishing to his repertoire.

 And then there are the photos.

My, what a lovely photo of an old graveyard. Blue ribbon? Absolutely! And look at this picture next to it...

Gladys, can you zoom in?
Why, for the love of god, did someone 1) take a photo of an accident, 2) frame it, 3) consider it submittable, and 4) take home a blue ribbon? Maybe I should print out the side-by-side pic, frame it, and submit it next year. I'll title it "Injustice."
Does this umbrella make me look fat?
I now regret cutting my hair.
Bear with me here. This is where I high-five all the cows and sheep and take pictures as though they're grandchildren. I promise we'll get back to the snark in a moment.

So cute I just wanna pinch ya. *pinch* *pinch*
 Then, amidst all the adorableness, is this fucker.
This is a guinea hen. Pros: eats mosquitoes and acts as a guard dog. Cons: These miserable prick birds have a loud scream that sounds like "buckWHEAT buckWHEAT buck-fucking-WHEAT." And if you are, say, a teenager regularly woken by them in the morning and freak out and yell at them, they yell back. Louder. So you can imagine how this next photo traumatized me.
Aww, the sheepies. 

 What the...

Good for you, celebrating the end of DADT.

And one more cute one to bring us back on track.
 And an ox to humble us...

"I want you to go in that bag, and find my wallet.
It's the one that says 'Bad Motherfucker.' "

I've blogged before about the vital substance that is fair food. And the importance of going to the fair with many people in order to sample all the goodies. My brother and I were ill by the end of the day. Here is some of the damage.
Mmmm, funnel cake. I have traded in fried dough for this delicious, sweet, cakey goodness. I know, I can hear the tsks now, but it's fried cake and I don't feel I need to justify it further.

Chicken and corn dogs. 

And this is where it all comes to a screeching halt. So, fried pickles are simply awesome. Eating them for the first time goes something like this:

Pickle 1: Eww, it's a pickle. And it's fried.
Pickle 2: Huh. The salty goodness is overwhelming the repellent nature of this food combination.

But this year, our regular pickle chick wasn't in her usual spot. Little brother and I kept our spirits up and wandered a while, looking for another pickle vendor. 

Then we started to panic. 

Then we saw this.
Um, no. Fried pickles do NOT take second billing. And, little food stand, why aren't you open? Sadness.

And then--in the distance--a sign: fried pickles. I eagerly ordered them and watched the back of the man making them. And then he put them in my hand. And I made a face like someone had kicked my puppy. I turned to my brother and presented him with this:
Spears?! Fried pickle fucking spears?! Unacceptable! Gladys, call the mayor!

Sigh... the pickles are supposed to be cross cut. The pickle-to-fried coating ratio is supposed to be more even. This is just lazy. I bit in and all the coating fell off the spear. I had a mouth full of hot pickle [no snarky remarks, people]. And when I went in to dip, the pickle was too wet to hold any sauce.
See, they're supposed to look like this:
2009 Deerfield Fair--a kinder, gentler time in fried pickle history

General WTFery
And the Least Appetizing Food Enticement Award goes to:

This next one is the stuff of nightmares. Why was no one else concerned about this? Farmers, women, children--all walking by and thinking nothing of the fact that this cow is being eaten from within by an alien (writes the woman who held the camera and said, "Ewww").
This little trolley of death is an institution at the DF. An equally creepy guy dressed in a suit rides it around all day and traumatizes children. *shudder*

Some old bag:

Yeah, you're jealous of my hotness. And I feel for you.

Most Disturbing Ride Award:

Thank God there were super heroes on the scene to help with a serious sheep situation. (Yes, those are capes.)
And little brother wraps it up with a shitty ending:

1 comment:

  1. I like that when googling Ted Nichols + Deerfield, the first three results are...this blog.