The Frog Leg Festival started Thursday. They predicted attendance of about 80,000, in a town of no more than about 4,000. It's not even big enough to have it's own grocery store. I've never been here before at Frog Leg Festival time, so I'm curious.
I'm no stranger to frog legs. I was born & raised in Florida of parents whose ancestors were here for generations. When my father got the urge he would go gigging and we would have frog legs for dinner. I freaked out the first time I saw frog legs cooked. They jump about in the pan exactly as if they are trying to get out. Creepy. My father sat me down and explained the anatomy of frog legs which cause them to do this bizarre dance. Frog legs were the first food I was told "tastes like chicken". It doesn't, it is, however, a mild flavored white meat. I've eaten frog legs in Florida and also in France. Funny, all the "f's" there, frog, festival, Florida, France. Food, too--one of the two things humans are reported to like best. I think the other one of the two also begins with "F". But I digress.
On (F-word)Friday, both sisters and I took ourselves off to the Festival. First (omg, another f-word), you walk in through the vendor area. It was mostly the usual carnival vendor stuff. Unusual in the amount of what was called authentic Native American products. There were three booths devoted to it and most of the others had a corner devoted to It except for the few booths devoted to something in particular. There was more Native American arts and crafts than I've seen at actual pow wows. Call me cynical, but either Native American craftsmen are getting far less skilled at what they do, or somebody is playing a little fast and loose with their terms.
Two booths interested me. One was a family run affair selling bottled hot sauces made from recipes the grandfather brought from Trinidad. I got some of the one labeled "Hot Pepper Sauce". It's mustard based, complex, and has a good kick.
The other grabbed my attention with a sculpture of a dragon clinging to a rough, slender, tree trunk. all natural colored. It was a very detailed, European type dragon without a trace of sentimentality. No "Puff, the magic...." here! Unfortunately, his smaller ones were completely mundane and full of vivid colors. He had many other types of sculptures including a small frog (every booth had at least one frog related item) with a stout plug crosswise through it's center. When you turned the plug, the frog croaked. It was well-modeled and fit nicely in the palm.
The young man selling these sculptures was the artist. He explained that he is a furniture maker and uses his sawdust mixed with a glue to form the statues--including the 5' dragon clinging to the tree.
Next came the food booths. All the usual carnival stuff: corn dogs, philly cheese sandwiches, hot links, blooming onions, funnel cakes, the whole list. I kept looking for the local booths featuring frog legs in various flavors. You know, the ones run by civic groups, usually for a good cause. Like the ones at the Gilroy Garlic Festival, back in my vicinity. Or the ones at the Calamari Festival, the Artichoke Festival, the Clam Chowder Cook Off, even the Burrito Bash, or any other food related festival. But no, there was none of this. If you wanted any of the fabled (oops, another f-word) frog legs, you got in a line, walked up to a table, paid your money, and walked off with a styrofoam container to the tented area full of chairs and tables. In the meantime, I treated myself to a corn dog.
I wanted to see what the legs were like. I had been told that they were very, very, small. Now, all the frog legs I've ever eaten or seen were bull frog legs, half again as long as a chicken drumstick, but more slender. They probably had about as much meat on them as a chicken drum. But the patrons here were eating leprechaun frog legs! They were tiny and the pair were still hooked together. They were the size and shape of small butterfly wings, not Monarchs, small butterfly wings. They couldn't contain even one good sized bite of meat, but the people had to take three or four bites to get it all. I don't think I can ever convey the humor of watching big people pick up little butterfly wings out of huge styrofoam containers, daintily hold them between thumb and fore finger, and nibble, nibble, nibble. Kabuki theatre without make-up. I had to leave before I laughed out loud, knowing that once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop.
The only thing left was the midway, none of us were interested. On Friday and Saturday nights there was also a rodeo. On Sunday there was a Mexican rodeo. I'm not now nor have I ever been a fan of rodeo. I don't know the difference between a Honky rodeo and a Mexican rodeo, except that the price of admittance to the Mexican one was $24.00 more than the Honky one. I was told that this was because the rodeo was only that, a rodeo; while the Mexican rodeo was apparently a variety of entertainments including a couple of live bands, thus, the price difference. Well, I still don't know the difference between the two having opted out on both.
The weathermen had been telling us that a cold front was creeping toward us and should arrive late Saturday. Saturday morning however, dawned bright and warm. There was a warm breeze out of the south that was pushing fluffy, designer clouds, full of moisture, across a bright blue sky. It was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, just right, with a pleasant breeze. And I'm thinking, 'hmmmmmmm, south wind, moisture laden clouds, cold front moving in from the north....I might yet get the thunderstorm I've been hoping for.' This is not the right season for thunder storms, but since they are such a rarity on Monterey Bay, I'm always hoping for one when in Florida.
The whole day remained balmy. But just after 7:00 it clouded up and I began seeing flashes, definitely lightning. I could not see the actual bolt, but the sky would light up. It was so far away, there was no thunder. It kept happening off and on. Around 10:00 it started to rain. It was so loud I thought it was hail and turned on the back lights to see. But no, it was just rain. And in the far distance I could occasionally hear the lightest rumbling of a rolling thunder long after a sky flash. Well, it was a thunder storm if only a tired one. Then at 11:00 a real golly whumpus opened up on us. I turned on the lights again. This had to be hail. I couldn't even hear the TV. But, again, just rain, really, really, hard rain. The kind that could bruise if it hit you. I went out on the lanai to enjoy it. I had forgotten just how hard it can rain in Florida. The sky kept lighting up closer and closer, but if there was thunder, it was drowned out by the hammering of the rain.
I watched a lone car driving down our little dirt road, very, very, slowly. Then, it stopped. Left the motor running and the lights on, but just stopped in the middle of the street. I waited for someone to get out and check under the hood or something before I remembered: "Oh yeah, it's raining so hard they can't see at all, even with wipers going full." This type of rain blinds drivers as completely as a snow white-out. There's nothing to do but wait it out. Ten minutes later the driver was on hir* way. The sky was still lighting up and I got one (count 'em)--one-- good bone shattering thunder clap. The it was back to sky lighting and occasional distant rumble. Still, I'm counting it as a thunder storm, since I got that excitement and adrenalin rush.
It's been a good week.
*Not a spelling error. Hir=His/Her.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment