As a child, I always knew when fair week arrived. The summer heat would finally break, the first cold front of the year would push through, and misty evenings would settle over the streets. That shift meant more to me than the calendar flipping to September. It meant my entire family would soon spend a day walking the exhibit halls, admiring blue-ribbon zucchini, and eating our way down the Midway. My mom used to tuck a roll of foil into her purse so she could wrap up a corn dog for later. A cold corn dog beats no corn dog at all.
There is a specific hunger we all experience come fair time. Somewhere between the livestock barns and the midway lights, we get famished. We could eat a full meal an hour before we walked through the gates and still find ourselves standing in line for a corn dog. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I have absolutely no judgment here. I think that’s what I loved about the Tri-State Fair as a kid, before I understood a single thing about flavor or technique. Seven-year-old Ruthie wasn’t asking whether the funnel cake was balanced or whether the fried cheese on a stick was made from the best melting cheese. I was just interested in having a good time.
Working in catering can sometimes make you forget that eating can be quite simple. Every dish I plan gets weighed against a dozen questions: Does it photograph well? Does it hold at room temperature for three hours? Does it say something about the client or the event? Fair food asks none of that. It just wants you to have a good time enjoying it, probably with mustard collected at the corners of your mouth as you people-watch.
Every year growing up, our group at the Fair got a little smaller, one sibling at a time, until it was down to just me and a handful of friends. The older we got, the less time we wanted to spend together. Now I’m the one bringing my own kids through those gates, hoping the funnel cake and all the twinkly lights do for them what they did for me.
Fair food has definitely changed a lot since then. Vendors have gotten more inventive with their offerings, and local food trucks have the opportunity to make some serious cash during fair week. I’m here for it all! Put something good on a stick, fry it, hand it to me, and I’ll have the best day of my week.
So this year, I’ve been playing a game with myself: What would it look like if Black Fig had a booth at the fair? Not a booth that tries to elevate fair food into something it isn’t, but one that takes the spirit of it seriously and brings a little bit of technique along for the ride. A few things I keep landing on are a brisket corn dog, because if you’re going to batter-dip meat on a stick in cattle country, it would be neat to involve actual barbecue. Or perhaps a matcha funnel cake finished with local honey. Frito pie risotto balls with marinara sauce, anyone?
By no means am I trying to suggest fair food needs improving. I’m not trying to muscle in on it. Those vendors under the twinkly lights have spent years earning their spot on that Midway, and I’d never actually want to set up next to them. I like being on the other side of the counter too much, letting someone else do the cooking. So the game shall stay a game, a little daydream I run through my head while I’m standing in line. If you go this month, get the corn dog first. Everything else can wait.
