The Rake Magazine

Tag: state fair

  • A Sventabulous Time!

    What is it about Sven Sundgaard?

    All the other news anchors are just news anchors; chipper, vaguely good looking, with the ability to pull off a solid color pantsuit. But Sven, there’s just something about him. Is it his frighteningly tan skin, regardless of season? His petite faux-hawk, nice pec muscles, and suspicious gayness? What is it that makes a bizarre number of men and women in the Twin Cities extremely excited by this Kare 11 weatherman? Lured by him, drawn to him. There are innumerable blogs devoted to him…his likeness to an Oompa Loompa…questions about his sexuality. One person said he wished he could put Sven in his pocket and carry him around.

    Yesterday in the Kare 11 building at the State Fair, I got my picture taken with Sven. Hoards of excited people, myself included, had shown up to gawk at the pint sized weatherman while he predicted the forecast, live at five. He kissed babies, chatted on his cell phone, waved to the crowd. A burly, middle age man in the audience shouted, "Sven you’re hot!" The woman behind me turned excitedly to her husband and said, "He’s almost as tall as me!"

    In person, Sven comes in at maybe 5’4", and he looks startling like a troll doll. He’s a good-looking guy, don’t get me wrong. An orange, short, stubby, chipper, good looking guy. And I don’t know why, but I loves me some Sven Sundgaard. I wasn’t expecting to have my photo taken with Sven; I also wasn’t expecting to win the lottery, or hear an experimental classical music troupe perform on the U of M stage outside the food building. A band that sounded, honestly, like the worst time anyone could have tripping on mushrooms. But so it goes at the Fair!

    Yesterday, I was too tired to care. I knew it would be my last day at the Fair; I knew I wanted a malt at some point, but it was really hot and crowded. I was also playing third-wheel, and was kind of hungover. My husband has been out of town, and when he goes away, I don’t sleep well. I watch too much TV, drink too much alone, and google late, late into the night. That’s how I found this gem.

    It was my friend and her boyfriend’s first day at the Fair, and when we walked through the gates and looked out on the sea of sweaty Minnesotans, my friend turned to me and said, "I’m lost already." I am an expert at finding my way around at this point, so I became their unofficial Fair compass. Fried Green Tomatoes? Right this way. Modern Living building? Follow me.

    We had a good time puttering the afternoon away, munching on cheese curds, chocolate malts, stopping at the MPR building, the Faces of Meth booth. "I think that chick got hotter after the meth." "Meth made that guy look a lot like Daniel Day-Lewis." And then we hit the Midway.

    I’ve been intrigued by the Magnum, the sexy-shake ‘em ride at the Midway, since day one. The backsplash is a mural of Hawaiian Tropics looking girls in bikinis and it just doesn’t seem Fair appropriate. My friends wanted to ride it, so we went. The woman who tore my ticket said, "You’re going to want to tie your hair back." I didn’t, and my hair looked like spun, cotton candy afterwards.

    Sweet lord, that ride doesn’t fuck around. It spins you around, while it pulls and pushes you on a twirling circular track. It’s basically like being dizzy from every possible angle. And it is not fun. It would be fun, if it lasted for thirty-seconds. But it lasts for three minutes. I sort of had to burp at one point, while being flipped upside down, and sucked backwards, which is a sensation I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

    Then we rode the Tilt-A-Whirl because evidently, my friends like being extraordinarily dizzy. I think there are people who like roller coasters, and people who like spin-me-around rides. Yesterday, I learned I’m a coaster girl.

    I have this memory of going to the State Fair and getting a ton of free food. I’m not just talking water handouts at WCCO, and eating the rest of someone’s cheese curds. I mean: I asked the vendor – I received – no money changed hands. Pickles, cookies, pork chops. That’s my memory. Sounds too good to be true, I know. And the thing is, no one else remembers this. I’ve asked dozens of people: "Nope." "I wasn’t there." "Must have been someone else." "That sounds like you made it up."

    You can imagine my excitement when halfway though the afternoon, my friend turned to me and said, "Hey, remember that year we came to the Fair, and we got drunk off rum and Frutopia, and you got a bunch of free food?"

    "Yes!" I said, overjoyed. I’ve been dying to share this memory with someone since I was sixteen and a bunch of us did in fact, sneak as-awful-tasting-as-it-sounds rum and Frutopia into the Fair, got drunk, hung out, and I scored us a bunch of free food. "How’d you get all that free food, anyway?" She asked me, biting into her gargantuan corn dog. (I stand corrected, corn dogs are not the same as Pronto Pups, they are much, much tastier.) "I don’t know, I think I was just drunk, and annoying, and sixteen. I guess I asked."

    "Hey," we heard a group of teenage boys behind us say, "Want to see if any of the animals have afterbirth hanging out?" referring to the miraculously gross innards that accompany the cute little animals in the Miracle of Birth building. Ah, to be young again.

    "You guys want to ride the gondola?" friend’s boyfriend asks us.
    "I need more cheese curds, first," friend says.
    "Maybe a brat." I chime in.
    "With Kraut?" he asks.
    "Of course," I reply.
    "That’s a good Midwestern girl for ya," he muses, approval ringing in his voice.

    And off we went.

  • Tots, Blood, and a Broken Jaw

    Yesterday, I went to the State Fair with my dad, who is my all-time favorite person to go to the Fair with. Going to the Fair with my dad is like going to Vegas with Paul Rudd’s character in the movie Knocked Up. Except, instead of ingesting hallucinogens and risking pinkeye, we ingest epic quantities of fried food, and beer, and risk death by Midway.

    My love for the Fair goes back to my childhood. Growing up, the State Fair was the one event that could tranquilize my parents’ shit-storm divorce. Every time it rolled around, my folks were inexplicably on speaking terms again; in spite of the failed solar panel hot tub installation company, ensuing bankruptcy, and unpaid bills for my private art school education mom insisted on. For twelve summer days, we allowed ourselves to be one happy family.

    My dad is big. Big hands, big nose, big lips, big gut. He makes loud, dirty jokes and he’s partially deaf in one ear. He likes to eat, a lot. So the first thing we did when we arrived at the fair was hunt for food. Thanks to claims of near-orgasm, I tried Axel’s Tots on-a-stick ($4.00). The potato balls, stuffed with sour cream, chives, cheddar and bacon are worthy of moans. I’ve tried a decent chunk of stick-food at this point, and hot damn, those tots are good! If it were me calling the shots, I’d hire a man to stand beside the Axel’s booth and sing their praises all day long.

    My dad opted for the Walleye-on-a-stick ($3.50), which was predictably okay. Next, due to pure curiosity, (mine; my dad is a Bud man) we tried the wine ice cream ($3.00). At first, it tasted like eating ice cream on a hangover, but before you’ve brushed your teeth. Then, it tasted like nothing at all. Just a good dose of vanilla ice cream. No hint of wine, cardamon or plum, the other flavors it made claim to.

    Because of the whole deaf-in-one-ear thing, when my dad says, "So, what do you want to do?" Everyone turns their heads. When we passed the radio show where the Governor was being interviewed, and he shouted, "Hey, Pawlenty! What’s up brother?" Governor Pawlenty’s security guards turned their heads. Getting my dad to the Midway was purely a selfish choice–drown his voice in the ruckus, and get him to buy the ticket value pack ($20.00), and indulge whatever plush toy winning game captured my fancy.

    At the Midway, we played lots of games to no avail, then rode a ride called the Crazy Mouse. The carnies seemed extra drunk today, were missing more teeth, and the rides looked very unsafe in the gray-glow of yesterday’s stormy weather. One man in particular, working the pool table area, told my dad, "Aw, your daughter’s good looking, sir." Slurring his words, he then pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "I’m drunk, because I had surgery yesterday." I said, "Damn dude, sorry. Shouldn’t you be home?" He shook his head as if this were the most ridiculous question. "Someone punched my jaw out," he said. "See this?" He pointed to his jaw. "All swollen." He gave my dad an extra turn on the house, so he could finish his story.

    The Crazy Mouse is a yellow roller coaster, where little circular cars loop around the track, spinning around while flying up and down the coaster. My dad and I shared our four-person ride-car with a brother and sister, ages six and nine. My nearly-300-pound dad, making his scary-face, leaned over and said to the little boy, "Hey son, you know why that car ahead of us is red? Because someone died on this ride, and that’s where his blood splattered!" The little kid shot back, "I’m not scared. I went on this ride last night. In the dark." This kid’s my new favorite person.

    Impossible to ignore were the people at the Fair. I saw a girl of eighteen, in full goth regalia, wearing a murdered-out baby-tee that read on the front: "Abortion is Homicide," and on the back, "No one can quiet my God."

    I saw a petite, elderly couple making their way around the Fair on matching Segway Personal Transporters. And I saw a number of god-awful tattoos. Among the bad tattoos of the day were a tiny rose, a tiny butterfly, lots of tribal, a tiny leprechaun, and a big portrait of a tiger that looked like a yellow lab with stripes. What specifically made most of these tattoos so bad was their blatant disregard for the laws that govern negative space.

    When an obese man has a tattoo of a leprechaun raising his top hat on his right bicep, and the leprechaun is the size of my pinky, it makes the man look bigger. Now, I’m not knocking tattoos or making fun of fat people. But I am knocking the popularity of the tiny tattoo. Mother of four from Wayzata, that rose on your ankle looks like skin cancer. I know you got it to celebrate the big 4-0, and good for you, honey. But just because it is tiny, doesn’t make it "safe." It makes it stupid. Your PTA friends will still notice it, and judge you, and call you a whore behind your back, even if your tattoo is tiny. Someone tell everyone that small, oddly proportioned tattoos look awful.

    Highlight of the day? Buying my pit bull a kelly green bandana that says, "Don’t Taze Me Bro!" And getting to spend the whole afternoon at the Fair with my dad.

  • The Mighty Midway and Other State Fair Classics

    Day two at the Fair had me excited because I brought my husband, Jason, along. For years, he’s been listening to me say things like:

    "If we were at the State Fair, you could get that Snickers deep-fried."
    "I own a collapsable rake."
    "I mean think about it. Nearly ninety-pounds of butter shaped like our daughter’s head. I know we don’t have kids yet, but it’s never too soon to just look at a hobby farm. At least give her the option to one day be crowned a princess."

    I’ve been talking up the State Fair so much, that finally introducing The Glory to my California born-and-bred husband had me equal parts excited and panicked. Would we cover enough ground? Would he get it? Would he love it? Or, as an outsider, would the combined charm of humid air, animal feces, and mini-donut batter be lost on him? Since it would be his first time, I decided to devote our attention to classic state fairing. The best of the best. This is how we did.

    By noon, we’d contemplated if "Pet Surgery, 1 p.m." posted on today’s activities in front of Chuck and Don’s Pet Food Building, really meant what it implied. We downed a Gizmo, sampled Teriyaki Ostrich on-a-stick, (chewy, good, until you get a bite of cartilage), and drank a beer.

    The Gizmo ($7.00), is good. Worth the hype. And boy, is there hype. The stand, located near machinery hill, is adorned with newspaper clippings. The vendors have hired a man to loudly proclaim the Gizmo’s unbridled wonder to the masses who pass by. "Get your Gizmo!" "Sausage and sauce, fab-u-lous!" If you’re a fan of doughy, saucy, cheesy, meaty things, check out the Gizmo. The meat is delicately seasoned, the thick bun is fresh, and there’s just enough, but not too much, sauce.

    Even though it was still early, and we were getting a lot of ground covered, we also weren’t doing enough classic state fairing. Teriyaki Ostrich on-a-stick ain’t no cows.

    "Let’s hit up the Midway," I suggested, and that’s when things got interesting. World of Wonders – Palace of Illusions, is a five stage circus tent at the end of the Midway filled with illusion acts, and well, circus freaks. For the price of five tickets, (at 75 cents a ticket), I saw the 27 inch small woman, two fire eaters, a sward swallower, and a contortionist in a box. I paid extra to look behind the box, and see that this lady was no fake.

    I highly recommend World of Wonders. Even though gawking at "freaks" seems wrong, and horrible, and like it shouldn’t be allowed, it’s also awesome. Compared to Coney Island, World of Wonders – Palace of Illusions, is very clunky-dunk and hometown, which is part of it’s charm. You could even call it family friendly, complete with silly demos like "snake girl" featuring a 20-something’s head stuck in a slot above a felt snake. And then there’s "spider woman." Same 20-something, same trick, except this time, her head is affixed to the body of a felt spider.

    When we left the freak show, I paid to rig a game in my favor. I really wanted the poster of a pit bull that was the prize at a certain dart-board-balloon-game, (puncture a balloon with a dart, you win). The lady working the booth said for one ticket, (75 cents), I could get three darts, but for 5 tickets, I could play until I won. There are few things I’m worse at then darts, so I paid for the unlimited pass. After about five minutes, and fifty-darts, I popped a balloon. "Any prize, any size," she said. "I want that pit bull poster, please," I said.

    We couldn’t leave the Midway until we went through the Arabian Daze Fun House (5 tickets or $3.75). Honestly, it wasn’t as challenging as I remembered it being, but the last time I attempted to tackle a fun house I was probably five.

    The most surprising thing about the Mighty Midway is how hussied-out it’s become. Just look at the images painted behind the rides. Sexy, exotic women in bikinis eye you lustily from an evil looking ride called the Magnum. Rihanna blasts from the speakers that surround Techno Power. It’s kind of intense, might possibly not be kid-appropriate. We needed cookies.

    "Isn’t there a smaller size?" Jason asked, watching people turn away from Sweet Martha’s Cookies cradling overflowing buckets of chocolate chip, ($14.00 for a bucket). "It’s not the same unless you get the bucket," I said. Armed with our bucket, we then made our way to the dairy booth for an unlimited glass of milk, ($1.00). Gentleman that he is, Jason stood in line, and I moved aside with the cookies.

    "You really shouldn’t be standing there with those." A man said. I looked at him and his ten-year-old son, lustily eyeing my cookies.

    "You want one?" I asked. "Go ahead, have a cookie."

    "Oh, no. Oh, no. I can’t." The man said sheepishly, looking away in shame, then looking back at the cookies. I’ve always felt that if asked, you have an obligation to share your Sweet Martha’s. This man was asking, and I wasn’t letting him leave without one.

    "Come on, take a cookie, you know you want it." His son’s eyes just kept getting wider, and wider. He looked at the boy, the cookies, and me.

    "Oh, thank you," he said. Then: "Son, go!" They grabbed a couple cookies quick, as if I’d change my mind, and yank away the tub. Then they ran off as quickly as they had appeared. I felt smug and charitable.

    When Jason came back with a glass of milk, I told him about my noble deed and we downed some cookies — warm, delicious, you can’t go wrong with Sweet Martha’s. But the day was wearing on us, the beer had worn off, and the crowds were giving us Manhattan flashbacks. It was time for something relaxing.

    Ye Old Mill ($3.00), is the "original tunnel of love," and my favorite ride at the fair. Sitting on the red boat, channeling through the dark tunnel, I’m always surprised by how epic this ride feels. Like I’m on a midnight journey down the Nile. Then the little window-light display appears, and I’m looking at wooden trolls, Babe the Blue Ox, or a bunch of Mr. Potato Head looking things, arranged in a bizarre line around some small, pastel trees. No matter how old I get, this ride is pure magic for me. "This is not what I was expecting." Jason said. "Isn’t it awesome?" I ignored his confusion, and probable boredom. I pulled him close, and turned on some "original tunnel of love" charm.

    After Ye Old Mill, we tried to find an entrance to the Skyride gondola, but being a Saturday, the Skyride was crazy crowded. I’m honestly glad we missed it. Like our earlier discovery of the Gizmo, the fair is proof that good things happen when you relax, and stop trying so damn hard.

    Stumbling across Ray Romano crop art is basically as awesome as it sounds. In search of more beer, we happened upon tons of crop art, which I highly recommend. Where else can you see Bo Diddley and Einstein captured in kernels?

    But the best thing that happened at the fair thus far was seeing my god in the flesh. Leaving the crop art building, we saw Princess Kay on a parade float, cruising by, accompanied by a marching band and Princess Kay runner-ups. There they were, just waving and smiling, looking lovely.

    We finished up our afternoon with a Texas size sausage ($7.75). This half-pound, grilled sausage link, comes smothered in grilled onions and peppers. If not a fair classic, and not on-a-stick, it certainly was delicious.

    I’ve always believed that crawling through a forty-foot colon in the parking lot of the Mall of America, weekends spent at various cabins on lakes, and my genuine love for the State Fair, contribute, in part, to my Minnesotan identity. I’ve been waiting to share the State Fair with my husband for years, and even though we didn’t see and do everything, he had a good time. "I certainly
    don’t see how anyone could hate the fair," he said, while we walked back to our car. Indeed.

  • Italiani's Family Restaurant Grill & Bar

    I got a hot tip recently – a sighting of a pasta making
    machine at Italiani’s Family Restaurant Grill & Bar, 3508 E. Lake Street.
    That’s pretty rare these days – making pasta by hand is very labor intensive.

    Back when I lived in the neighborhood, the place was known as the Lake Street
    Garage, and served up malts, burgers, pasta and pizza. I hadn’t set foot inside in years, but when I visited
    the other night, it looked pretty much the way I remembered it, except that
    some pictures of Ecuador have been added to the basic malt shop décor. (It
    turns out that the new owner is a native of Ecuador, who worked at Gianni’s
    Steakhouse in Wayzata and Lord Fletcher’s on Lake Minnetonka before opening his
    own place.)

    Italiani interior

    The menu still offers burgers, malts, shakes, pizza and
    pasta, but the new owners have added a few more ambitious daily specials, like
    a seafood pasta and a walleye entree. There are no Ecuadorian dishes on the menu,
    but the owner told me that they occasionally feature Chaulafan (Ecuadorian-Chinese
    fried rice) and Churrasco (steak with fried egg, avocado and plantains) as evening specials. The appetizer
    list is mostly State Fair stuff – onion rings, corn dogs, mozzarella sticks. We
    opted for the buffalo chicken wings (about a dozen for $6.95) -which were quite
    good – crisp skin, moist meat, and just the right level of spice.

    fettucine with sausageI didn’t see any pasta machines, but I was assured that the
    fettucine really is made from scratch. It’s offered on the menu as fettucine
    Alfredo, available with chicken, shrimp or broccoli, but the owner said I could have
    it with any pasta I chose. I opted for the pasta with Italian sausage and
    Bolognese sauce, ($9.75) which was served with feta, in a meaty tomato sauce, accented
    with feta. A very tasty dish, and much more satisfying than the usual Italian-American red sauce fare.

    The nightly seafood pasta special ($15.50) didn’t quite live up to its
    billing – the menu promised linguine shrimp, scallops and calamari, but we got
    shrimp, bay scallops and imitation crab instead – but there were no complaints about the flavor. There are other dishes I would like to sample on a return
    visit – the ribeye with home-cut fries ($13.65) and maybe one of the pizzas,
    like the spinaci speciale, topped with spinach, parmesan, bacon, sun-dried
    tomatoes, smoked cheddar and mozzarella ($14.50/ $17.50).

    Italiani’s offers a limited, but decent, list of wines and beers. On Sundays, they offer an all-day brunch, served from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m.

    Italiani’s Family Restaurant, Grill & Bar, 3508 E. Lake St., Minneapolis, 612-729-8820

  • Stick-It!

    *Read about Day Two here.

    *Then read about Day Three here. 

    To me, the State Fair rivals sex, strong drinks, and Law and Order: SVU reruns. And I love fornicating almost as much as I love watching TV.

    Walking into the State Fair, the guy who took my ticket told me to "enjoy something on a stick!" I told him I would. Oh, yes I would. Because everyone knows, the fair is proof you can never go wrong deep-frying anything and putting it on-a-stick. I’d eat Jerry Orbach‘s eye if you battered it, and served it in stick-form.

    Thanks to reader request, (and my own desire to eat as much at the fair as possible), I’ve compiled a list of day-one, stick-samplings. Sad to say, I made some disappointing choices. Keep reading to spare yourself the same fate.

    Deep Fried Twinkie (on-a-stick, with powdered sugar and chocolate sauce, $3.00)

    Sweet lord this is good. I honestly expected it to suck. I hate Twinkies. I don’t like cheap, chocolate syrup. This dish relied heavily on both. But this is going-back-for-seconds good. The crust is crispy, but it doesn’t taste overly deep-fried. The insides are light, and moist. This is one of those easy to miss fair foods, that definitely shouldn’t be.

    Hotdish on-a-stick ($4.00)

    I can almost smell the Lutherans, church basement coffee, and silent rage informing each bite. I wanted it to included noodles and sauce somehow, but overall, hotdish on-a-stick delivers. I suppose you can never go wrong kabobing Hormel meatballs and tater-tots, deep-frying, and serving with a hefty side of white, gelatinous, mushroom gravy.

    Alligator on-a-stick ($3.50)

     

    Don’t bother. It tastes like the bottom of a shoe, and it looks like a skinny, crooked penis. Also, it isn’t fried. I just assume that if it’s on a stick, it’s fried. Rookie mistake. If you’re going to eat alligator, get the nibbles. They fry those, I think.

    The best thing about the alligator on-a-stick is it’s proximity to the Big Yellow Slide, ($2.00). This slide is pure childhood nostalgia for me. Speaking of kids, some vendor is responsible for doing small girls’ hair in a style I can only describe as a cotton candy explosion on top of the head. I saw all these little girls running around with mushroom-cloud-shaped pink and blue, and yellow do’s. Their hair is sparkly, and bright, and kind of amazing looking.

    Pig Lickers (chocolate covered bacon, not on-a-stick, $5.00)

    These blew. I’m sorry, I mean, I wanted to like the pig lickers, I really did, if for no reason other than they’re called pig lickers.

    Besides, I love it when there’s a new food at the fair. It’s exciting. I remember the year everyone was abuzz over fried green tomatoes. Then alligator was the ‘it’ food. Everyone’s running around like, "Did you try alligator?" "I tried alligator."

    But I can’t fake the love, and the pig lickers were not cool. Was it my fault for picturing bubbling vats of rich, dark, chocolate and tall, handsome, blonde men wearing little vests, dipping hefty hunks of bacon in chocolate, before my very eyes? Because this was my idea of how I’d be served my pig licker.

    I’m willing to entertain that I’m to blame for my disappointment. But here’s what went down: five dollars later, I get four waif-like pieces of (cold) bacon, half-dipped in chocolate, and bejeweled with big hunks of sea salt. I’m still thinking, well, maybe they taste awesome. Quality over quantity, like saffron. Nope. They tasted gross. The bacon was greasy. The chocolate was dry and chipped. Then there’s the matter of the sea salt. Why add sea salt to bacon? To look fancy? I think they added that salt to look fancy. Because think about it, it’s bacon.

    Final thoughts: Tasted like someone put a piece of cold, bacon in the remains of a ice cream sundae, and they formed a union in the sun, next to the sink.

    Macaroni and Cheese on-a-stick ($3.00)

    Good, but a bit overcooked. For three bucks, I got five little macaroni and cheese balls. Sort of looked like chicken nuggets. They were hard to eat on the stick, too. You had to pick them off and use your hands. Then your fingers got greasy. I’m a big believer that if you’re going to put something on a stick, it should be easy to eat while still on the stick. Honestly, these little nuggets are a bunch of cheese curd posers. You’re better off sticking to the original.

    Pronto Pup ($3.50)

    I hate corn dogs. I honestly do. I think they’re boring and stupid. But, they are a state fair classic, so I had to. The Pronto Pups have a delicate, crispy breading that surrounds the perfectly hot, but not scalding dog. Though I’m not a true fan, I’ve got to give it to the Pronto Pup folks, they do know how to make a damn classic corn dog.

    Fun (not-on-a) Stick

    I felt complete Princess Kay of the Milky Way envy. Butter makes hair look luscious and thick. A huddle of teenage farm girls in the pig barn said my outfit was, "really cute." I saw a kid almost hurl in front of the unlimited glass of milk booth, (fitting). Overheard a young boy ask a woman working the Miracle of Life Exhibit (where the animal birthing happens), how bloody giving birth is – awesome question.

    Though not on a stick, I also enjoyed a root beer float, two beers, and cheese curds. Then there was the horse with a boner, the polka band, the very large, middle-aged lady, in some very-small, spandex shorts, spread-eagle on a bench in front of the Baa Barn. Then there were the three tan, twenty-something farm boys walking by, drinking beers, who said, "Damn, son, I want a picture of that for my dorm room." And I wanted her picture, too. But not for my dorm, and not to poke fun. This lady was the single-greatest visual display of: "Oh, fuck it. I’m hot as hell, and I don’t care if my crotch is showing." I admired the sentiment. Day one at the Great Minnesota Get-Together? Worth every pound I’ve undoubtedly gained.

    So, what should I do today? I’m thinking Ye Old Mill, Leprechaun Legs (lightly battered, deep-fried green beans with dipping sauce), and a Pickle Pop (pickle juice frozen in a plastic push-up sleeve), are in order.

    Any suggestions?

  • The Fairest of them All

    The Rake‘s own local Olympian. A true athlete dedicated to her calling. A hometown hero back at it again. Special oh-so-brave correspondent Kathryn Savage will be making her rounds at the Minnesota State Fair. Graciously offering to spend more man-hours in attendance than you’d ever want to, our gal-on-the-scene is primed to try just about anything.

    Hotdish on a stick, whatever. Porcupine wild rice meatballs? We can do better than that. This year’s fair offerings include plum wine ice cream and chocolate covered bacon. Now things are getting interesting.

    Propose your wildest fair desires to Kathryn in the comment section at the bottom of this page. She’ll not only take your suggestions, but she’ll carry them out with a level of enthusiasm never before seen in these here parts. Kathryn is a born and bred Minnesotan who most recently spent an extended spell in New York. That East Coast feistiness has not yet worn off and she’s ready to ruffle some passive-aggressive Midwestern feathers.

    In her own words: "’I’ll happily eat alligator and chug tequila with carnies if it makes readers happy." What more could we ask for?

    Kathryn Savage has been a coat check girl, a teacher, a film critic and
    a ghost writer. She was once Kate Winslet’s lip double in Polyphonic
    Spree music video. She is a freelance writer and a regular contributor
    to Minneapolis Picks. She lives in Minneapolis with her husband and her
    pit bull.