Hoss, like me
Okay, yesterday’s blog ended up offending a lot of people. My observations about the growing girth of Americans, as evidenced at Disneyland, was taken as mean-spirited. Sorry about that.
Hey, I’m no prize myself. We were watching “Bonanza” in Texas last year, and when I stood next to the big-screen television to turn up the volume we all noticed that I was about the same size as Hoss. Hoss! He’s the fat one! Worse, they were right! If Hoss had been wearing a black Izod shirt, we could’ve been brothers!
So who am I to talk?
It’s true that the average weight of Americans has increased by 30% over the past 20 years. Some people put it down to the price you pay as an industrialized nation – Germany having had taken the strudel until 1998.
But even Germany never had Fried Snickers Bars. I have.
It was at the Mall of America last year, the largest contiguous indoor mall in the country (smaller than the mighty King of Prussia Mall, near my hometown, which is broken up into 2 indoor spaces). I was there to shoot the Farm Show and Inventors’ Conference for a Pitch to America segment (fans of the show may recall the Kissing Shield as a standout from that piece), and we were on our way back to the airport with three hours to kill.
We had to go to the Mall of America. After all, it’s the biggest. I once flew nine people (including a famous Hollywood Director) 2,800 miles to see the second largest ball of twine – I was not about to pass up a record-holding shopping mecca that was right on the way.
The first thing we saw was the huge fleet of Rascal Scooters. Our guide told us they were specially modified to hold trays in the front, so shoppers could enjoy a snack while they cruised the millions of square feet of shopping paradise. We declined the offer for our own personal scooters.
Then, wandering through the indoor amusement park, we came across a food court of a very different kind. All of the restaurants were based on food stands from State Fairs across the nation. Our guide explained that, where they were once made up of corn-on-the-cob and fruit stands, all of that went by the boards for the stuff that really sells. And if it’s going to sell, it’s going to have to be fried.
We browsed the turkey leg stand. There were so many for sale, it seemed like there must be thousands of turkeys out there, flying around legless, unable to land. But you can get a turkey leg at Six Flags, so we moved on.
Then we came across all things fried. And I mean deep, deep fried. Fried bananas. Fried funnel cake (served on a tray with no plate, as the portion would overwhelm any standard sized piece of Chinette). Apple pie and ice cream, mashed together into a lump, frozen, battered, then fried. And fried Snickers Bars.
It’s the same theory as frozen ice cream at a Chinese restaurant. A Snickers Bar is frozen, then unwrapped. It is dipped in a batter made of Krusteaz Pancake Batter and Rice Krispies, and thrown into boiling fat. The batter browns, the batter crisps and becomes a hard shell within which the candy bar becomes a Vesuvial mass of melted Americana.
My first bite had what I would imagine to be the same effect as catching a glob of Napalm in my mouth. It just burned and burned. And yet, even though my molars felt like Johnny Tremain’s hand, I could tell this was something special. The alchemists at Mall of America had taken ordinary high-fructose corn syrup and transmuted it into pure gold.
It was not without its costs, however, and I’m not talking about the oral scarring. I could feel my metabolism slowing down. I knew I belonged behind the handlebars of a Rascal, cruising from one Orange Julius to the next. This was my Batism by Nougat. I went in a sceptic and emerged a True Believer.
So here I sit, Hoss-like, apologetic for my last blog entry. I had forgotten all about the fried Snickers Bar, and all of the Earthly Delights that must temp so many before they make their way to Disneyland. It may no longer be exactly the place old Walt had envisioned: Disneyland had changed, but I can’t say for the worse.
Could it be better? I can think of one way:
Start serving some goddam fried Snickers Bars, and pronto. I’ll be back on Friday. Start warming up the Crisco.
