This week, hundreds of beer-avoiding, lettuce-adoring freshmen will descend on campus intent on avoiding the ""Freshman 15."" But while their thin quest may make the SERF a living hell, I will get the last laugh.
What the newbies don't know: It's the summer at home that piles on the pounds. The Chinese buffets on campus have nothing on Mom's fatten-up casserole. Alas, as I prepared to return to Madison this summer, I had not gained a respectable amount of summer fat. Fearing freshman-like slenderness, I resolved to head to the one place where one can literally purchase obesity: The Minnesota State Fair.
I know what you're thinking. Damn Minnesotan bastard. But my Gopher pride can be summed up by this: I, the family lawn-mower this summer, spent the past three months in an epic battle with gophers in our yard—think Caddyshack.
The Minnesota State Fair, on the other hand, is something I take pride in. Topped only by Iowa's celebration (what else do Iowans do for fun?), the ""Great Minnesota Get-Together"" attracts over a million gluttons each year. With everything from classic corn dogs to uber-Minnesotan hot dish on-a-stick, I set out to find the most absurd gut-bomb at the Fair.
I quickly found two of the more ridiculous offerings: deep-fried Oreos and Twinkies. Of course I downed one of each. Yet while Oreos may be filled with the dreaded trans fats, there had to be something more angioplastirific out there.
Against the traditional belief of ""fat equals flavor,"" I found many lard-laden treats that were anything but a delight. Even the chubbiest monkey couldn't appreciate Bananas Foster on-a-stick. Deep-fried alligator sounded exotic, but proved little more than a $6 choking hazard. And for those of you who have never experienced a Scotch egg—a hard-boiled egg wrapped in sausage, breaded and deep-fried—rest assured Braveheart and whiskey are the only good things to ever come out of Scotland.
Even quasi-healthful offerings come with their own defibrillator at the Fair. Wild rice burgers are cooked in Minnesota's 10,001st lake—made entirely of butter. And deep-fried broccoli packs enough artery-clogging punch to bring the Jolly Green Giant to his knees.
After two hours, my stomach felt like a chemical wasteland. But I had yet to find that ultimate, glorious mess of fat and grease. That's when I stumbled upon the most magnificent, disgusting creation in history: the deep-fried Snickers bar.
Let us pause in awe of this beast: We begin with nougat, a mixture of eggs and sugar (both clearly healthy) which was originally a treat on its own. Then we add peanuts (a fat-filled snack) and caramel, one of the original forms of candy.
When first introduced, the candy bar banked on the absurdity of covering these tasty ingredients with the extravagance of thick milk chocolate. But society has advanced since the 1920s, and today we need more. The sugar-laced chunk of fat is battered with the kind of stuff so tasty it can mask the appalling mystery meat in a hot dog (think corn dog). Then we let it soak up some gut-rot oil in a deep fryer.
Nope, not done yet. When the killer blob emerges from the oil, we douse it with powdered sugar, then shower it with chocolate sauce. Of course, that last coating is just to remind you what the hell is lost in there anyway.
If you're not too disgusted, this is something you really must try. As a friend summed up military boot camp, I would say it is ""the best experience I never want to have again."" It is everything you can imagine and nothing you—or anyone who uses your bathroom—will ever forget.
With the help of wonders like my battered-and-fried Snickers, I successfully gained the requisite 15 pounds of summer love. My bowl full of jelly and I look forward to a great fall at the Cardinal, and we will be guiding gluttonous tours at the Taste of Madison this weekend.
