BY ART BUKOWSKI
abukowski@record-eagle.com
---- — My feet felt heavy as I trudged back to the newsroom. Sweat beaded and poured down my head and I clutched a grease-stained notebook.
I was halfway through my mission: Eat as much carnival food from the National Cherry Festival as possible in one day. But I needed a break from the heat and some time for my stomach to process.
My editor, ever-demanding, wanted to know if I'd devoured an elephant ear, his sole requirement for my ambitious project. I hadn't yet, but I'd already consumed a corn dog, a lemonade, a snow cone, french fries and a turkey leg large enough to spark a hearty debate on genetic engineering.
I went back out and closed with an Italian sausage and the obligatory elephant ear. I had to bring the ear — a hubcap-sized slab of dough, grease and sugar-cinnamon mix — back and force it down as I wrote this column, and my editor set a strict deadline for its completion. I had to sneak bits to my co-workers in an effort to spare my aching stomach.
The total cost was $32, and probably a good two years off my life. It occurred to me at the end of the ordeal that this "assignment" may have been a thinly veiled assassination attempt. I'd have felt better if I ate a cup of broken glass soaked in lemon juice.
My day began with the almost impossibly large turkey leg. The proprietor of that stand sounded like a wine expert as he explained the pros and cons of various sauces I could put on the Herculean hunk of meat.
I stopped next at Gibby's and sought advice from Betty, a nice woman there, as to what order I should eat the various foodstuffs. "You're on your own," she replied, perhaps wanting to avoid legal liability should I slip into a grease-induced coma and expire.
The fries were good, but my corn dog was better. Corn dogs are the best, and by no means are they all created equal. I did some scouting earlier in the week and found the best corn-dog proprietor, a green and yellow corn dog/lemonade combo trailer in the heart of the midway.
The batter — homemade! — was perfect, the dog plump, and best of all, staffer Linda and I bonded over our mutual hatred of people who befoul these heavenly treats with ketchup. It's mustard, people. No exceptions.
The snow cone was so-so, and the "lemonade" — three scoops of sugar with a twist of lemon — made me twitch. But the Italian sausage, offered by Traverse City's own Fasel Concessions, was superb. I got all the fixings, of course. Why wouldn't I?
People were supportive of my quest, I guess. Many smiled at me like you might smile at a 5-foot tall high school senior who proudly tells you of his NBA dreams. Good luck, God bless.
Twice I had to wander out to the rock pier near the marina and cool off. I swear I could hear the blood pumping through my temples, though I'm not sure if it was the sodium or the heat. Maybe both.
I'm going to go home and sleep now, and I'll probably eat nothing but Cheerios and carrots for the rest of the week. My arteries are as clogged as the traffic on Front Street.
Or maybe I'll go out and get a corn dog for dinner. After all, Cherry Fest comes but once a year.
