Vail Daily column: Deep (fried) in the heart of Texas
While some of you are once again promoting your man crush on Putin and the American infatuation with guns for all (regardless of mental stability or lack thereof), I spent last week reminiscing about my childhood while attending the 129th annual State Fair of Texas in Dallas with 15 beautiful women.
So why, you’re probably asking yourself, is Richard bothering to share this fascinating news with us?
Because my valuable insight can help other Happy Valleyites understand a little bit more about the Texas mystique, that obscure bit of Southwest nuance there plays such a pivotal role in dealing with said Texans and their financial abilities to bless our little valley with tourist dollars and real estate sales.
Either way though, I guarantee I can now explain, without debate, why the average Texan outweighs the average Coloradoan.
Deep fat frying.
I had forgotten so much of this in the last 30 years (since I’ went to the fair last), but these people (my people, those people, whatever …) will fry anything, and I mean anything. If it is capable of being dropped into a deep fat fryer without violent explosion, drop they will do.
And it doesn’t have to be fried “deep.” If there is enough depth for at least one side of a food to be fried, it will be, and they’ll just flip it over when an appropriate amount of grease has been absorbed.
Fried chicken and pickles most of us know, but have you ever heard of (or even allowed yourself to consider) fried Oreos?
How about fried cake balls, fried cookies and cream ice cream, fried sticks of butter, or my personal nightmarish delectable — fried chicken skin.
Yep, no meat or anything remotely nutritious like that, just skin. Peeled fowl skin, ripped away from the meat, rolled in a buttery batter and then deep fried in what I can only assume is cholesterol-infused lard.
But enough fried fat puns, as we were in Dallas for my wife’s reunion, where a group of ladies from Stephens College in Missouri (an all-girl school, by the way) meet annually to reminisce and collectively bitch about their spouses.
They meet in a different location each year, and since they picked the State Fair in Dallas I whined and moaned like a little girl until I was invited to invite myself (which I obviously did), as long as I promised to take group photos and keep my mouth shut (which I tried to do but found increasingly difficult with each beer).
And speaking of booze, the award-winning drink at the fair was the — I kid you not — Smoky Bacon Margarita, a frozen green concoction covered in deep fried fresh bacon bits.
After the third one I concluded they were not too bad, although I could never recall needing a toothpick after a drink.
So the next time you’re dealing with a Texan, be sure and toss a “deep fried” reference somewhere in the conversation. They love it, trust me.
But I suppose if you really want to make the sale or increase the tip size, a simple “Yes’m” or Yessir” would probably be more appropriate.
Richard Carnes, of Edwards, writes weekly. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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