An Austin couple debates the culinary worthiness of the crusty little ferrule beloved by many State Fair of Texas-goers.
State Fair of Texas
Ken Robison has been an artist for decades, but when he was asked to make the State Fair's butter sculpture, he got to use a new medium.
The grim traveler sampled the offerings with a heavy heart.
Our estimable advice columnist on finding love in the country, the (unquestioned!) merit of the State Fair, the fulfilling post-rodeo career of a bucking bull, and more.
I heard you like fried things, so I put some fried things on your fried things.
Despite the Texas icon's untimely demise, one Dallas man has the structure's original head stored in a barn.
This time last year, I was leaving the Cotton Bowl along with thousands of football fans who'd made the annual pilgrimage to watch the 106th Red River Rivalry, one of the highlights of the State Fair of Texas. While throngs of UT fans were making a beeline for the parking lot, dejected after their loss (a scene that was played out again today), I noticed many of the OU faithful heading straight for the fried food stands, eager to celebrate their victory by eating something—anything, everything—dipped in batter and dunked in hot oil. Naturally, I joined them. (Full disclosure: Although I am a native Texan and, thus, feel obligated to root for the home team even though I did not attend UT, my brother is a faithful OU alumnus, and I feel obligated to extend my unconditional sibling support even though he decided to go to school in Oklahoma. Plus, I went to school in Illinois, so I have no room to talk.) In between yells of "Boomer!," the celebratory Sooners popped doughy balls of fried beer into their mouths and hoisted paper boats filled with golden Oreos into the air like they were brandishing the Golden Hat itself.
The cookies, known to most Texans as Caramel deLites, will be fried to mark the Girl Scout's 100th Anniversary.