If it's fried, it must be at the Big E

Today we made the pilgrimage to The Big E, the multi-state state fair in Western Mass, to do two things:

1) Eat disgusting fried food
2) Check out the farm animals

Let's take them in reverse order.

Cows!



Sheep!



Woolly and naked sheep!



Mexican wrestler sheep!



Just-back-from-jazzercise sheep!



Real Sheep of Beverly Hills!



Okay, enough of that. Now to the food.

One of my goals was to find a place selling deep-fried butter, which debuted at the Texas State Fair in 2009, hit Iowa earlier this year and finally (finally!) showed up on the East Coast.

Butter? Meh! How about this?



It was a tough decision, but we opted for the butter and the Kool-Aid.



The latter, it turned out, would be easy to replicate at home: the secret ingredient is Kool-Aid powder in the batter, with a generous amount shaken like sugar over the dough while it's still hot. Inside, they're a stunning color not found in nature.



And they were pretty good; the slightly tart flavor of the drink powder gave a nice contrast to the sweet dough.

And then to the other. The secret is to freeze the pats of butter so that they don't immediately soak into the dough. There's a pool of hot, cinnamon-sugary butter inside each ball, which means you have to eat them very carefully.



I liked the butter better; The Boy had expected a more salty, savory taste, so preferred the hot pink variety. Neither of us felt the need to eat anything else for a while.

After a couple of hours of sheep/cow/piglet/chicken/goat-gazing, however, we were ready for more. In particular, I had my eye on something I'd seen advertised in previous years but never tried: the Craz-E Burger.

All I knew was that you could buy t-shirts that said something like, "I finished the Craz-E burger!" which led me to assume it was either so huge, or so rich, or so labor-intensive to devour that the few who did so were hailed as champions.

Now I realize that it's because the Craz-E burger is crap.

Thing is, when I think "bacon-cheeseburger inside a doughnut," I imagine a hot, fragrant Krispy Kreme, fresh out of the oven, glistening with melted sugar, enveloping a patty of sirloin, cooked medium. The cheese is melting onto the meat; the bacon is crisp. The flavors dance together, varying levels of sweetness and saltiness playing off each other, creating a perfectly balanced whole.

This is what we got.





The doughnut was cold, the meat was gray, the cheese probably didn't even possess the capacity to melt. And yes, maybe I shouldn't have expected more from something served up at a state fair, but still. It was sad.

Thank goodness happiness was close by.





Hot, salty, with a crisp batter and perfectly soft cheese.

Then, as we have on previous visits, we headed to the houses of the individual New England states for dessert: rich, eggy Finnish pancakes with blueberry sauce;



and fresh raspberries.



And then, just because: a piece of bacon covered in dark chocolate. That's how you do the sweet-salty thing.



All in all, a fun trip, though not one we need to make again for another couple of years. The attractions were pretty much the same as on our previous visit (we later realized we'd taken photos of the exact same food stalls in 2009 as we did in 2011), and state-fair-food trends move so gradually that we're not likely to miss out on the next deep-fried delicacy if we skip a season.

Though I can't say the same about the spring line of sheep fashion ...

Things we ate at the 2011 Cambridge Carnival

Saturday was the Cambridge Carnival, an annual celebration with live music, a parade down Main Street, and Caribbean food.

Which of the three did we care about most? Hmmm ...

The food booths were in Kendall Square, so that's where we started. First, the booth for La Auténtica, which we assumed was a local restaurant, though I can find no trace of it in the Internets; not a review, not a location, nada.

I'm pretty sure we didn't make up the just-enough-filling, not-too-fried, hand-sized empanadas:



Or the amarillo with a mainline of cheese:



Or the golf-ball relleno de papa, where the fried sphere of mashed potato had a core of chorizo:



And we certainly didn't make up that those three items cost $15. Fifteen! Bucks!

Mind you, they were pretty filling. We couldn't manage anything else right then, so we headed down to the Central Square end of Main. And just as we were about to turn back, we realized the parade was starting right in front of us.











Yes, for some reason, that is Predator. In a thong.

And then we started back toward the food.

Every summer, we try to get to at least one of the handful of local multicultural festivals, with the basic aim of finding two items: the empanada (or Jamaican beef patty) and the fishcake. We'd already checked the first one off the list, and we'd seen a likely candidate for the other.

Aha — fishcake!



However, there were three problems:

1) There was much more cake than fish, and the batter was thick and heavy;

2) The cakes had been fried some hours back and then stored in an aluminum tray covered in foil, where the steam made them even more stodgy and dense;

3) There was a special secret inside, in the shape of fiendishly spicy peppers. My still-baby tastebuds did not do well with this; The Boy (who is no wimp) bit into a generous slice of pepper and had to spit it gracefully into a napkin.

Our tongues ablaze, we headed for the best antidote: a mozzarella-stuffed arepa, bursting with sweet corn flavor. It put out the fire and served as a reasonable solution to dessert.



That evening, the air carried a definite hint of fall. If summer is really over, at least it went out on a lively note.

Things we ate at the Big E

We went to the Big E in Springfield, partly so I could get my annual fix of sheep and goats, partly so we could check out the terrifying midway rides, and partly because it was a beautiful day.

But mostly, we went to eat.

First, the things we did not eat:













Look! Fresh (deep-fried) vegetables!









Because when I think martinis and sushi, I think state fair.



The "Craz-E Burger" appeared to be the culinary apogee of this year's Big E; there were regular PA announcements reminding people of its existence, and souvenir t-shirts (doubtless only available in sizes L, XL, XXL) proclaiming that the wearer had survived the experience of consuming one.

I admit that I was tempted; I could hear it calling me out ("C'mon, what's the matter? Afraid you can't do it?"). But sanity won out.

And now to the things we did eat.

Corn dog, with a satisfyingly sweet coating and a perfectly done dog:



Mac and cheese, made with Massachusetts's own Granville Cheddar (could have done with more sauce and less pasta, but the cheese was great):



Completely delicious deep-fried cheese curds, with a slight crunch to the batter and a gooey interior:



This made The Boy very happy.



Then we switched to the sweet stuff, beginning with 28 donuts.



Okay, they were only small. But they still filled a bag:



Next, the very necessary flan-like Finnish pancakes, served with blueberry sauce:



Followed by fresh Massachusetts raspberries (see, that's two items with fruit!):



A small helping of lovely creamy rice pudding, courtesy of Down Home Rice Pudding (they also do chocolate and tapioca):



And then — oh, and then — the best thing of all. The food item we'd neglected to try on our previous Big E visit, and subsequently thought about for the next two years.



The deep-fried Oreo.



How to describe? It was like an Oreo with the bass turned up. Soft, warm, sweet; like a hug topped with powdered sugar. Highly recommended.

So the Big E was a resounding success as far as our desire to eat copious amounts of fried loveliness was concerned. We drove home with the smell of cooking grease clinging to our clothes, feeling disgusted with ourselves, and vowing to eat salad the rest of the week.

And debating whether to buy some Oreos. And a deep-fat fryer.