Labor Day is just a bean bag toss away–Summer’s end. Sigh. Three-day-weekends in late August/early September can mean only one thing–the state fair is coming.
My salivary glands start producing at this time of year because the pronto pups are everywhere, and they don’t go unaccompanied. They generally require a side of fried cheese curds and bacon-wrapped-things-on-a-stick, a strawberry shake or funnel cake with whipped cream and some kind of bicarbonate. It’s not for wimps.
After taking serious inventory I’ve decided I’m gonna have to pass on the fair this year. I got back on ye olde yoga mat today after a long hiatus. It was hot yoga so there was profuse sweating–the kind where I’m sure I smelled Riesling and schnitzel leaching out of my pores and my schwarzwaldkirschtorte-filled center was more than slightly a-jiggle.
Portions of this summer were spent at an undisclosed beach where a few of the men bathers were sporting the tiniest of speedos, slingshots really. And the women bathers all wore bikinis, regardless of their size and shape. And there I was, in what could only be considered a swim-burqa, relatively speaking. The other bathers probably wondered what freakish abnormality I was hiding. I love that there are places in the world where the general attitude is: Who cares? Nobody. Places where mere scraps of fabric are accepted on any body type–not just the American Beach Volleyball Team.
Summer may be coming to an end, but the farmer’s markets are just at their peak. The ones around here are giving up tomatoes to die for, especially when sliced and paired with basil and fresh mozz, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and a crank of pepper. Give me a caprese salad, a cob of sweet corn with a chaser of sun tea and I’m a happy woman. Add to that a little sweet melon wrapped with a paper thin slice of prosciutto and a sip of sangria garnished with raspberries that were just picked.
If we decide to throw caution to the wind and join the mass of humanity at the state fair, I promise to enjoy the fried Twinkie and pork chop-on-a-stick responsibly by opting for the Def Leppard concert t-shirt and leaving my swimsuit at home.