Trolls scare the crap out of me. Don't tell me they're not real, I came face-to-face with one this weekend—and that was the most normal part of the day.
The strangeness began when I biked into the quaint town of Mount Horeb, about 20 miles southwest of Madison. The ""Troll Capital of the World"" greets visitors with vicious wooden sculptures along Main Street.
Burying my childhood fears, I continued to ""troll"" along on my bike. Just as I let my guard down, something jumped out at me. A bright yellow sign screamed ""Mount Horeb Mustard Museum."" A museum... of mustard? This sounded more fictitious than the trolls. I had to investigate.
Greeting me as I walked through the door was a woman in a shirt proclaiming, ""Mustard Happens."" I still can't figure out how that's funny, but she quickly redeemed herself by pointing out a table of mustard samples. This is the gift shop of the museum, where more than 800 varieties of mustard are available for sale.
Every kind can also be sampled before purchase, though various signs warn of harsh penalties for double-dipping the pretzel sticks. After sampling more than a dozen mustards, including such unpleasantries as chocolate-raspberry mustard, I decided to move on.
It only gets more bizarre when you enter the museum, a one-room shrine featuring more than 4,400 varieties of mustard from the last century. The collection features mustards from all 50 states and 60 countries, as well as scrapbooks filled with French's ads. Struggling to take it all in, I had only one thought: What nut job collected all this?
Barry Levenson, the founder of the Mustard Museum, began his collection in 1986. While I can't comment on his sanity, I can say that his museum, which opened in 1992, is a success, bringing hundreds of tourists to the tiny town each year.
After making the trek back to Madison, I found myself still disturbed at the oddity of Levenson's passion. It turns out Levenson is not alone in his peculiar culinary compulsion. In fact, the country is littered with monuments to every food under the sun.
Levenson should join forces with the folks in Lititz, Penn., home of the Sturgis Pretzel Museum. The pretzel bakery, which opened in 1861, could supply the Mustard Museum with an equally historic sampling medium.
Wisconsin itself is home to many other food museums. Of course there is the Historic Cheesemaking Center in Monroe, Wis., claimed as the only cheese museum in the world. And no surprise that Fort Atkinson hosts the National Dairy Shrine.
But Wisconsin hosts some shrines you wouldn't expect. The Chocolate Experience Museum can be had in Burlington, Wis., home to a Nestle factory, while Seymour proclaims itself the birthplace of the hamburger and home to the Hamburger Hall of Fame.
Other museums throughout the United States are even more unusual. Take the Kentucky Fried Chicken Museum. One might assume this would be found in Kentucky. Idiots, it's clearly located in Utah—Mormons love soul food.
The International Banana Museum in Hesperia, Cal., has been featured on the Jay Leno Show. Leno even obtained an official ""degree in bananistry."" I hope this didn't include using the banana-flavored toothpaste which graces its website.
Little better than rotten bananas is Spam, which nevertheless produced its 6 billionth can in 2002. Austin, Minn., is home to the Spam Museum. Maybe some fancy mustard could save this stuff?
Most of these museums and shrines arose from the passion of one individual, like Levenson's Mustard Museum. Before passing further negative judgment on the mental wellness of such people, I must acknowledge my own freakish obsession with food. I leave you with the hope that I don't suffer the fate of our final museum curator. In Old Lyme, Conn., after a lifetime as curator of the Nut House, the woman referred to as the ""Nut Lady"" finds herself afflicted with a mental illness. Tragic irony.
