My apologies, I have been terribly negligent in my blogging of late. I’ve been very busy, what with packing, planning itineraries, fishing, traveling back inland to the ranch from the coast, cooking, going to the fair, and more packing. I actually just finished my preliminary pack, and feel much lighter and happier. Man, I was literally slogging through clothing. But now my room is nice and clean, with a suitcase ready to be weighed right next to me. I’ll reconsider what I’ve packed in a couple of days.
In the last few days I’ve eaten some delicious things, and some very American things that are also delicious in their own ways. Last night I made an incredibly rich, complex and tasty gumbo that I am looking forward to writing about, but I’ll get to that later. The very American items I was referring to was the dishes consumed while at the county fair; the Siskiyou Golden Fair to be exact. A group of us went last Thursday, and while my brothers rode the rides, we wandered around amongst the teenagers in their cowboy boots, wranglers, lowlights, braces, thick black eyeliner, baseball caps pushed lazily to the side, low slung pants and spiked belts, all pulsing with a hormonal frenzy. Then there were the average families, all grouped tightly together, the old men sitting on benches, the sweating carnies, the women and girls with their French braids, and all the baby carriages. So many babies, and such young mothers. The rides were all brightly colored with their showy flashing lights, the food booths all loudly proclaiming their wares in big bright letters, the carnies with their incessant attempts to lure you over to their game.
We would make our way into some building, be it labeled “Fine Arts” or “Rabbits and Poultry”, and it would feel like a momentary escape while I looked at the fluffy white bunnies or the strange ostentatious chicken with feathers all down its legs, covering its feet. But the frenzy was even there, even amongst the fluffy bunnies with their too red eyes. It followed us out, surrounding us wherever we went, down the rows of cows, the pig pens, and the tree lined lanes littered with people. It filled my nostrils with scents of fried food, cow dung, sweat, animal, green, roasted meats, dust, and heat. It filled my ears with screams, talk, laughter, treading feet, baby cries, exclamations, cajoling, country music, the beeping music of fair rides and games, and whooshing roller coasters. Ah fair time. Unmistakable.
While watching my brothers bounce on air cushions while attached to ropes, we satisfied our grumbling bellies and yearning appetites with philly cheese steak sandwiches after watching the girl fry up chopped onions and thin slices of meat until they were brown and juicy before placing them on long squishy white buns.
We also indulged in the fair favorite curly fries, those messes of potato curls that are mouthwateringly crunchy when medium brown, and slightly soggy with oil when merely golden, dipping them into little pots of ketchup before placing them in our mouths.
Afterwards we walked around a bit more before settling on benches ourselves to watch the passerby. It was almost entrancing, watching everyone walk by in their various outfits and attitudes under the leafy green roof, through which the late afternoon sun still shone through in golden spots. When we got hungry enough again, we got a funnel cake, that puzzle of dough pieces fried to a deep caramel on the outside, and creamy and fluffy on the inside, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and still hot. I chose to get a root beer, but I drank and ate it all up before I even thought of taking a picture of it.
