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One of Wade's great qualities is that he can, as the grandparents used to say, make his own fun. One of the wonderful ways Wade makes fun is taking part in the various local events--or in this case the local event of someplace other than where he lives. It's good, clean, American fun, and what could be gooder, cleaner, American-er, or funner than any of Ohio's many Official Festivals, especially given the plethora of food-themed festivals. Sure, Port Clinton may have the Walleye Festival and Greenville the Great OHio Gourd Show, but among Wade's friends and their relations, nothing could be finer than the Bucyrus Bratwurst Festival.
When we first moved to Tiffin--home of the Tiffin-Seneca Heritage Festival--Wade introduced us to this celebration of sausage and all-things deep fried. He began attending with some UT friends who were actually from Bucyrus and who taught him the ropes and with whom he forged some very important rituals and guidelines for festivizing. Before we get to the even, however, let us pause briefly to ponder the Food of Honor at the festival: the Brat. The Brat is first and foremost a "sausage," ground meat and spices packed into a casing traditionally made out of the animal's intestine. It is a German Brat, which explains it's popularity in German-American areas of the country rather than, say, Albequerque. Most important for our trip to Bucyrus, brats do have some crucial regional differences. If you're used to the brats made by Johnsonville Foods of Wisconsin then you may be a tad bit surprised when you eat an authentic Bucyrus Brat--preferably a Carle's Brat--and taste the unique presence of fennel in the meat. Mmm Mmm.
There are essentially three or four things to do at the Bratwurst Festival. That is, in addition to watching the various eating contests and the Ohio State Alumni Marching Band:
Through a bit of misunderstanding we ended up first at City Hall where the festival houses its yearly art show. Varoius artists of widely varying degrees of skill display their work and are judged. There's even a People's Choice award. Before we got into the exhibit though, we were stopped by a very earnest woman--who looked like I shouldn't say "No"--asking for signatures to get some measures placed on the Ohio ballot. One was an increase of worker's compensation, and the other was an ordinance requiring smokers at restaurants to be placed in an entirely separate room with an independent ventilation system. I'm usually never against allowing the people to vote things, so I kindly signed the petitions; don't know that I support the measures, but I support our right to vote on them. By the time we got into the exhibit, we got a call from Wade who was already at...
I must admit to being a bit grumpy about going to the book sale. I mean, I love book sales. Walking out of a building with an armload of books for $2 is perhaps one of the most civilized things I can think of. However, what I wasn't told, was that getting to Bucyrus Library meant walking down all manner of streets that were AWAY from the festivizing. No booths, no hawkers, no purveyors of deep fried comestibles. Given that it was already 2pm and I hadn't eaten since breakfast, the lack of edible treats was a serious setback. However, once we entered the basement of the library, the spell of out-of-date and discarded books came over me. After serious sifting, Todd walked away with two Graham Greene novels:The Human Factor and A Burnt-Out Case). Sherry hit the jackpot with Music For Chameleons by Truman Capote, Christopher Buckley's Thank You For Smoking (which has recently been cinematized), and a blast-from-childhood book for Sherry: The Only Living Witness: A True Account of Homicidal Insanitya biography of Ted Bundy she'd read as a child.
Of course the main reason you go to a Bratwurst Festival is for the food, or at least the Brats. So, following the advised procedure, I ambled up to the Bucyrus High School Marching Band Bratwurst stand and ordered a Carle's Brat with Saurkraut on a Rye Bun. Washed it down with a bottle of water. Delish. Sadly, since I'd been temporarily abandonded by Sherry and Wade, I didn't have a free hand to take a picture. Just trust me that it was fabulous. Go Fennel!
Now, the first year we attended the fest, Sherry and I were astounded at the vast array of deep-fried foodstuffs available. Things I never dreamed could be deep-fried were being frozen, dipped, and fried before my very eyes. Mushrooms and onions and fries are de rigeur. Jalepeno poppers surprise noone. But how about squash? Pickles? Oreos? Candy bars? Twinkies?. Yes, Twinkies! The very symbol of fattening American processed foods. Start with the soft sponge cake concocted of who knows how many weird man-made chemicles, inject it with creamy chemical goo, and that's bad enough. But, now, imagine if you will, freezing it solid, ramming a good thick wooden stick into lengthwise, hand-dipping it into thick, sweet, batter (no doubt comprised of many other unpronouncible artificial ingredients) and dropping it into a sizzling deep-fryer. When the young man pulled mine out, its crust a gleaming golden brown, he then asked if I wanted powdered sugar on top. Powdered sugar? On top of the sweet cakey, goo-filled, sugar-batter encased goodness? Sure! What have I got to lose?
Sherry's stomach had started turning when I merely said the words "Deep Fried Twinkie." Rick looked on in train-wreck induced horror. Wade just smiled. I belive that one of the true marks of a foodie is not only the ability to appreciate and enjoy red wine reductions and fois gras but also to acknowledge the raw, primitive pleasure that can be had from deep-fried things on sticks. I grew up a child of the 70's, a child of Chef Boyardee and Kraft orange cheese powder. Yes, I love a great Dubliner served with a properly chilled Sauvignon Blanc. But, oh, the wonder of piping hot cruncy batter giving way to golden spongy cakey nothingness only to be met with a still chilled fluffy white confection. Ah.
As we sauntered down the avenue, I feeling happy, Sherry supping on a healthful looking bowl of chicken, red beans, and rice, and Wade sipping his Diet Coke, I, not surprisingly, felt the need for something more. Would it be the Hospice Funnel Cakes? Methodist Ice Cream? The Pulled Pork Nacho Plate seemed to beckon. Perhaps I really did need to know what a deep-fried pickle was like. But in the end, I remembered why I was here. I remembered what food all the others were here to honor. I remembered the Brat. And in that moment, I knew that what I must have was the famous Bucyrus United Methodist Bratwurst Casserole. The side of the trailer says that all that's in there is bratwurst, onions, kraut, noodles, and spices. Well, whatever the spices are, they better guard that recipie. It's dynamite. What's more, this is no skimpy casserole that the farmer's would have to make in the long winter to stretch out the remaining meat. This is a hearty casserole that has tasty bits of bratwurst down to the last spoonful. Hmm...tasty.
Once all the books had been bought or ogled, all the food purchased and eaten, it was time for the main event: the big parade. Small-town parades have got to be the absolute paragon of making your own fun. Apart from the local fire departments driving their trucks down Main Street flashing their lights and sounding their sirens while people either cheer or wonder would happen in the case of an emergency, the only participants are the folks you know down the street gussying themselves up to show off their particular hobby, group, or whatnot. One special feature of Ohio festivals is that various Queens and Princesses of other Food Festivals show up in their fancy gowns to wave at folks and promote whatever foodstuff it is they are queen of. Of course, any good parade is an interactive parade, so our little group has taken to waving at anyone with a sash in a "queenly fashion." You know the wave: fingers together, palm out, arm swiveling at the elbow. Experts even throw in a nifty little motion on the elbow while it's turning. Quite exquisite. Some queens smile and wave back, others ignore us, and it has been reported that one year a queen almost came off the float to teach the group their manners.
Here, Wade, Sherry, Rick, Jason, and Mrs. Jason wave at one of the queens. The picture on the right features synchronized stomach grabbing. Evidently the group has been meeting at this same tree for years.
Forget the emergency vehicles, we knew that the parade was on the go when the Bratwurst Festival Court came floating by pulled by a fancy tractor. Standing behind the Queen is everyone's favorite icon, Brattie.
While Brattie galavants with the ladies, Mrs. Brattie let's us know that she hearts Jesus.
People might snicker at being Miss Bratwurst, but I wouldn't want to be Miss Walleye.
Of course, being Miss West Jefferson Ox Roast isn't any picnic either. For instance, you have to put up with people giving you the Queen Wave in Bucyrus.
Here we have competing Apple Festivals. Jackson County's court scores points with the brilliant white matching dresses. But Oak Harbor wins the competition with a beautiful artifical tree and the "I'm not worthy" kid in the fancy chair.
However, the most elegant Queen of the day has to be Miss Milan Melon Festival. Her poise and grace while sitting in a watermelon were unrivaled. AND she gave us the nicest smile and the most queenly wave.
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