Monday, October 17, 2011

Funnel Cake or Why I Don't Eat Funnel Cake

This weekend was a crazy one: the Richmond Folk Festival was in town.  After being in Richmond for only a few months, I've already been identified as one of the few old-time guitar rhythm players in town.  So, amazingly, I performed at the Folk Festival on the Virginia Folk Life stage for the flatfoot clogging demo on Saturday. (Check out some video here.  I'm the young lady with the pearls playin' the guitar.)  It went well, and now my mediocre guitar playing will be forever immortalized in the Library of Congress, yo! I gave my maiden name for the description; as a newly married woman, I felt the Orwig clan deserved recognition for all my years of middling musical training and skills.

That said, there was MORE to be done that weekend. Jammin' on the James, a Lindy Hop dance workshop was all weekend, so I spent the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday experiencing the kind of pleasure and deep embarrassment that comes from being a 31-year-old beginner at anything, much less at dancing. That said, I had a heck of a time, listened to Dixie-land jazz that included a sousaphone, and ended up having dances with my hubby that made me feel that I might have learned a bit about Lindy Hop after all. Which is good.

But thrilling as all this may sound, it is not the reason I'm writing.  Oh no.  I'm writing, ever so briefly, about funnel cake.
Photo courtesy of user Lorax & released under the GNU FDL from Wikipedia
Inspired by the Richmond Food Collective's recent discussion of fair food, I realized I had $10 worth of food tickets from performing at the Folk Festival that I hadn't redeemed by Sunday afternoon when our Lindy workshop ended. So Jefferson and I headed over to catch the last band at the Richmond Folk Festival (afro-cuban AMAZINGness), and since we missed the State Fair this year, cash in on our annual fried dough obsession. 2 funnel cakes used up all my tickets, and boy-oh-boy were we pleased.

1st taste: Oh yum! Hot, sweet, buttery dough, chewy and perfect!
2nd bite: Oh god! The taste sensation continues!
4th mouthful: *pause to catch breath*
5th go: I feel funny.
6th bite: Is that my liver twitching?
7th bite: Oy.  Shoulda stopped at bite number 6.

I gave the rest to Jefferson, who not only ate all of his, but finished the last 1/3 of mine. We then shook our booties (and the powdered sugar off our fronts) for a few minutes to the Afro-Cuban harmony madness of the Pedrito Martinez Group, and then waddled home.  That was at 5:30pm, and it turned out that the funnel was to be our dinner.  Mostly because we both felt if we ate anything else, our livers would go on strike. Blergh.  Who knew that I'd need Tums after a little fried dough. (Okay, a LOT of fried dough.)  And considering my suffering, you might ask if I had the chance, would I do it all over again?

Yes. Yes, I would. And you know what? At next year's State Fair: you betcha I will.

Now, time to go train for that half marathon. I wonder if they'll allow waddling as well as jogging?


  1. Yes, one funnel cake per year (or three) will do ya! Would love to see you perform! How do we find out where you sing and dance?

  2. Trying to book a gig in RVa soon. We have a facebook page, just search for The Don't Tell Darlings, plus we have a booking list on our website, But once I get something here in Richmond, I'll probably post here about it as well.