Heilige Sauerkraut, only in Texas do people think it’s normal to fry butter and then sell it with a smile. Back in Bayern, ja, we fry schnitzel, maybe a chicken, but nobody deep-fries a stick of butter unless they want a quick trip to the Notarzt. Texans though? They call it lunch, grin, and wash it down with a sweet tea big enough to drown a Dachshund. Willkommen to fair season, meine Freunde.
County Fairs – The Dorf-Party mit Pigs
Let’s start small, with the county fairs. Think of them as half farm show, half church reunion, half carnival, half BBQ party. Ja, I know my math is bad, but when you mix prize-winning pumpkins, Ferris wheels, tractor pulls, and funnel cakes, numbers start getting drunk. A good county fair means kids screaming on the tilt-a-whirl while some poor 4-H teenager tries to keep his goat from giving interviews to the local newspaper.
At these fairs, the livestock isn’t just for looking cute, it’s warfare. Who’s got the fattest pig? The fluffiest sheep? The cow with the attitude of a rodeo clown? It’s serious bragging rights, right up there with having the largest pickup truck in the parking lot.
Food? Don’t expect kale salads. You’ll find fried Oreos, fried Twinkies, fried Dr Pepper (don’t ask me how), and turkey legs the size of a medieval weapon. It’s part dining, part jousting match—you either conquer the turkey leg or it conquers you.
State Fair of Texas – Big Tex, Bigger Appetites
Now, ja, county fairs are cute and cozy, but let’s not kid ourselves—the king is the State Fair of Texas in Dallas. Held every Herbst, this thing is like Oktoberfest’s rowdy cousin, but with more cowboy hats and way more mustard on corn dogs. Standing tall is Big Tex, the 55-foot talking cowboy statue. He greets you with a drawl thicker than Weißwurst stew: “Howdy, folks!” You wave back, and then remember—it’s a giant puppet looming over fried food heaven.
The Texas State Fair has every carnival ride you ever regretted getting on. Giant Ferris wheels, tilt-a-things, spinny death contraptions, alles dabei. Add to that live music from famous country acts, and you’ll find yourself two-stepping while trying not to spill queso on your boots.
And then there’s the rodeo shows—wild bulls, broncs, and clowns braver than most soldiers. For a Bavarian, it feels like watching a Maibaum-festival, but instead of men climbing a greasy tree, you’ve got a guy wrestling a horned missile.
Brewkraut’s Box
What’s the deal: The State Fair is the biggest of its kind in America—millions of visitors, miles of fried food stands, livestock competitions that look like beauty pageants for cows.
What’s nonsense: Deep-fried butter. Nobody, ich sag’s nochmal, nobody needs that. Your arteries deserve better.
Prost-finale: Come for the corny dogs, stay for the rodeo. And leave before you try the fried beer—your liver will thank you.
Why These Fairs Matter
It’s easy to laugh, ja, at the food coma culture. But these fairs are more than an excuse to wear elastic waistbands. County fairs keep small towns alive—bringing neighbors together, showing off farm pride, giving local kids a chance to shine. The big State Fair, meanwhile, is a Texas calling card. It says: This is who we are. Loud, fried, stompin’, proud.
If you’re visiting, bring three things: loose pants, a strong stomach, and a patient liver. Don’t plan on counting calories—count memories instead. One minute you’re eating a corn dog, the next you’re watching a 2,000-pound bull toss a cowboy, and suddenly you’re back in line for fried cheesecake. Willkommen in Texas, my friend. This ain’t no Bavarian Biergarten—it’s Texas gone full carnival.
So ja, go. But don’t try to eat everything, unless you want to end up like Big Tex himself: smiling, towering, and stuck in place.
And remember: in Texas, the turkey legs are for dinner, not for sword fights—though honestly, they work fine for both.
