The Village Idiot: My county fair lady
Our city friends, the Fergusons, are visiting the farm for a week or so. Today we are going to the county fair. The Fergusons go upstairs to change. Beverly comes downstairs wearing black Spandex leggings, a huge printed blouse and a baby blue, silk turban and gigantic Liz Taylor sunglasses. Sue takes one look at her and wonders aloud, “How will we ever find you if we get separated?”
Bob, a corporate lawyer, is wearing what he thinks are “country” clothes — ostrich skin cowboy boots with silver tips, brand new, ironed-with-a-crease blue jeans, a skin-tight embroidered cowboy shirt with silver collar tips, a string tie and a large white brand new Stetson. He looks like Miss Kitty’s pimp.
Bresson, their 13-year-old boy, has a ring through his eyebrow with a chain on it that connects to his left ear. His hair is dyed black and shaved bald on one side. He is wearing an over-sized T-shirt that comes down to his knees and a pair of black denim shorts that come to midcalf. Each pant leg is the size of a hoop skirt. The T-shirt advertises a band named “E-coli” in large letters of what appears to be raw ground beef.
Cartier, Bresson’s preteen sister, is dressed like most girls her age, as a Charo-in-training. She is wearing skin-tight hip-huggers with the words “Buh-bye” written across her rear. I feel a headache coming on. I pray we don’t run into anyone we know.
Our first stop is the 4-H hall. Kids from all over the county have brought in their projects — canned pickles, jams, jellies, corn that they’ve grown, chickens they’ve raised, the ag projects they’ve worked on like “How to Raise Aqua Poultry.” The judging took place three days ago so the vegetables are looking pretty sorry. The carrot greens have wilted, you can’t tell the bok choy from the corn.
Cartier and Bresson have no trouble disguising their boredom. At the dairy barn the kids start to show a little interest. It has kind of a tailgate party atmosphere and the 4-Hers are about the same age as Cartier and Bresson. The farm kids loved the way Bresson looked.
“I wish our parents would let us dress that way,” said one kid. We left Cartier and Bresson to wander around on their own.
“Is there anywhere we can get some good hummus?” Beverly the vegetarian wants to know. We’ve been passing booth after booth selling ice cream, funnel cakes, blooming onions, Italian ices, fried dough, curly fries, deep fat fried Twinkies, corn dogs, sausage and onions, cotton candy; all the food that makes the fair a fair. The smell is making everyone hungry.
I steer them to the Big Pig’s BBQ booth.
“Are you sure they have hummus?” Beverly questions.
“Most definitely. The best hummus you ever tasted,” I lied. I was starving. I wonder if the Big Pig’s cook has even heard of hummus. Up close we can see and smell the food. The pork chops are two and a half inches thick. With a side of corn on the cob and a glob of yellow mashed potatoes. Finally the line inched up to where we can read the menu — the Double Pounder with Cheese, BBQ Pork with a side of Pork Chops. The Surf and Turf, a 36-ounce ribeye steak with a dash of sea salt. The smell of cooking food is so powerful it blocks out all other thoughts.
“That’s funny,” I say, “They must be out of hummus.”
“What’s hummus?” asks Beverly. “Do you think one plate of chops is enough, or should I get two?”
Jim Mullen is the author of “It Takes a Village Idiot: Complicating the Simple Life” and “Baby’s First Tattoo.” You can reach him at [email protected]