The Florida State Fair, Tampa
As new residents of the Tampa Bay area, we were pleasantly surprised to learn that the Florida State Fair was held in our vicinity. When a great big Ferris Wheel appeared in the view from I-75 one morning, our excitement was triggered. The days were counted down as opening day loomed.
The fair is a thing not to be missed back home in Pennsylvania. Surprisingly, Pennsy doesn’t have a state fair. Instead, they have the Farm Show, which is great for seeing all the livestock, rows of shiny new farming equipment, butter sculptures and for slurping Penn State milkshakes. But they don’t have all the rides and concessions typical of what people expect when they think of “fairs.”
Instead, in Pennsylvania, it’s the municipalities and counties that do all the fairing, with the midway rides, food concessions, livestock, baking and canning competitions, and arts and crafts exhibits. Fair season is a big to-do and though it runs from spring through fall, from town to town, for us the festivities didn’t begin until September with the Ephrata Fair.
The thing is, for all that stuff, not much of it really interests us anymore. We’re too big for all the wacky rides, except for that Ferris Wheel. And we don’t can, jam, quilt or bake, so those things, though slightly interesting, don’t exactly get us out of bed in the morning. And we certainly don’t farm, so away with the rows of New Holland tractors, Harvestore silos, and Conestoga spreaders. Yes, some of the animals are kinda cute, but…you can’t eat ‘em. Well, not in their current state.
Frankly, the real reason we love fair season is the food: ground, grilled, battered, fried, sliced, salted and dusted with sugar. Especially dusted with sugar. It’s not unusual for me to say, “Baby, let’s go get dusted.” It never turns out the way I originally intended.
Our favorite way to celebrate the fall was to make our way from Denver Fair to Ephrata Fair and finish with the New Holland Fair. With a week of rest between each one, it’s a great way to pass the change in seasons with plenty of food and belly aches. And of course, there was all the great people-watching: We humans are some strange folk and whether carnies or townies, both groups have some whoppers on parade. It would have been a nice experience to road trip from fair to fair across the great State of PA. Maybe in the future, when we’re old and weary.
Enough about back home in ol’ cold and dreary Penn’s Woods. We’re in Florida now and though they also have at least fifty other regional fairs, Floridians also have a State Fair and it was happening near us. We didn’t have to travel down toward the tip to Miami, or up the shaft to Tallahass’, or across the dangly bits to Orlando. It was practically in the palm of our hands; we had to go.
Yes, Florida does have a State Fair and when opening day arrived, we gave the event time to settle and drove over on a Wednesday morning just as the gates opened. We figured a weekday with most people being at work would make for light crowds. Traffic was fine and parking was plentiful. I could taste the funnel cake and corn dogs.
Florida State Fairgrounds
4800 U.S. Highway 301 North
Tampa, Florida 33610
Phone: 813-621-7821
State Fair: February
http://www.floridastatefair.com/
Truthfully, my belly was open for business and welcomed all comers. I had done zero research to see if there was a signature Florida Fair item–like the PA Farm Show milkshakes–that were must-have eats. We would just make our way around the fair and eat whatever appealed to our senses. Though had I researched I may have discovered that banana funnel cake was available somewhere, but I’m staying away from anything called a catfish sundae. [Marketing pro tip: it’s all in the name, fellas.]
We walked from the sporty little runabout first toward the colossal Ferris wheel then shifted toward a comparatively wee hot air balloon to find the entrance. Tickets were $15 at the gate (discounts available for children under 12 and seniors). After a no, thank-you to the souvenir photographers wed drifted to our right to start a counterclockwise circumnavigation of the scene.
And that’s when I saw it–Cracker Country. Oh, you damn right I’m going to Cracker Country. The marquis over the wood ramp leading into the cyclone-fence enclosure read “CRACKER COUNTRY – Mildred W & Doyle E Carlton Jr Rural Florida Living History Museum.”
Mildred and Doyle–as cracker a name if I’ve ever heard one. Images on the marquis showed an Amish looking dude at some machinery and a Similarly fashioned woman at a spinning wheel. The landscape beyond the gate was something out of The Village. Majestic live oaks draped their Spanish moss over a town of weathered, unpainted wood shacks with tin roofs.
I would later learn that Doyle E. Carlton, Jr. with his wife Mildred was a successful cattle rancher and quite the philanthropist. And I suppose as honest a Florida Cracker as a wealthy rancher can be.
In the center mall a small, low stage held a bluegrass band performing for packed benches of gourmands under a massive, sprawling mossy oak. Visitors milled about and I couldn’t discern a rhyme or reason to the layout so we just wandered aimlessly from shack to shack.
Each structure housed an interpretive display of life in the late 18th and 19th century when settlers moved into the surrounding region. Settlers gonna settle, and the Scotch-Irish that did so in Florida became known as Florida Crackers or simply ”crackers.’ They were farmers and ranchers and among the first whites to move to the region after Britain obtained Florida from Spain. Contrary to the pejorative use of the term, these folks bore the moniker proudly not ironically as the term has roots in meaning “boastful”, and descendants still self-identify as such.
Anyone who’s been to Williamsburg, Amish Farm exhibits, or the like, know what to expect from these living history museums. Volunteers in period dress explain daily life and activities with demonstrations of skills, equipment, and production. Some of the exhibits were informative, some were hokey, but all was good fun.
We pass a lemonade wagon and veered again to the right toward the Okahumpka train depot, which seems a little late 19th century. There seemed to be a blending of the eras and it was becoming more reminiscent of the Amish all the time. We didn’t focus too deep on the learning.
Inside was a nice O-scale model railroad depicting “The Original 1890’s Flatbush Co. Fair,” (for some reason.) It was a nice setup complete with windmill, midway, and sawmill. The air was cool inside and I’d have lingered if they’d let you run them, but I didn’t ask. Food was calling. I didn’t come here for trains–unless I could race them for a Jager shot. We came for meat on sticks and fried starch.
We worked our way around Cracker Country from exhibit to exhibit: blacksmith, gardens, schoolhouse. The Governors Inn held an interesting gallery: some impressively painted headshots of every head of the Florida state from Jackson to Scott hung in gilded frames over a series of potted plants on plinths. They weren’t all originally from Florida but Jackson was certainly a cracker in the pejorative sense.
We continued on, touring the quaint structures whose architecture really appealed to me when we came to a gap through which wafted the aroma of smoked meats. So we exited Cracker Country in favor of our bellies. The first stand we came to offered massive smoked turkey legs for $12, but hold on there, son, there’s a whole lot more to see. Let’s not waste all that gastro-estate on one fowl drumstick. Besides, how do I know those leathery looking legs weren’t on a grill at Charlotte County Fair last week?
While Christa looked over a few food carts that appealed to her, I skirted an aquatic animal show complete with juggling seal to scout the culinary offerings. With a cursory overview of options, I chose my first meal from a Latin stand: some marinated grilled pork on a stick and a deep fried potato ball filled with seasoned ground beef. The pork was nice, well seasoned, but with an odd texture, reminiscent of too much time in a brine. I scarfed it down in seconds, though. It was tasty. That potato ball, though—fantastic. But how could seasoned ground meat stuffed inside a ball of mashed potatoes, rolled in breadcrumbs, and deep-fried be anything less than fantastic?
Christa found a fantastic donut freshly fried and iced with a sugary glaze. It was airy and soft and the warm dough dissolves in your mouth almost as quickly as the glaze. The most ethereal french pastry had nothing on that donut. I gnawed on my leathery but tasty meat and delicious potato ball while she savored that sweet donut and we moved on.
We ducked out of the sun and into an air-conditioned pole bar full of vendors hawking their wares. Everything was here from handicrafts and artwork to weight loss gimmicks and non-stick cookware. Christa started to lace her way around the aisles when I said I’d be right back. I had a sudden jolt of inspiration and raced off to make things happen. I returned minutes later with some poutine from a nice looking stand that made their own fries. Fresh cut fries, cheese curds, and gravy? Done, done, and done.
It was nice to get out of the sun for a bit, but after a while, the smell of handmade soap mixed with human sweat and pickles was losing its appeal. We made our escape at the next door and wandered back to the food.
Christa found a different french-fry stand with hand-cut fries and malt vinegar–bonus points. I found..something else. At this point, I can’t remember. I think it was something sweet, but not an elephant ear or funnel cake. I never got either of those. I never get either of those and every time, weeks later, I think, “I could really go for an elephant ear. Why didn’t I get one at the fair?” Next fair–no elephant ear. Anyway, I think it was some variation of ice cream. Maybe…maybe in a waffle.
Christa then got a corn dog.
Now we were thirsty and you can imagine the prices for even a bottle of water. We weren’t necessarily being cheap, but we had given ourselves an allowance of $20 each and any money spent on drinks meant less for food, so we had to be frugal. Then I discovered the iced-t stands. Scattered around the grounds, they offered refills of freshly brewed tea for $1. It was a steal, so we did. After the whistles were wetted, we wandered onward.
We now made our way to the livestock. Our personal favorites were the poultry and rabbits. They smell less than cows and horses and offer more to look at than a snotty muzzle or an evacuating anus. Aw, but those baby calves and goats are adorable.
So we started with the rabbits. Christa wondered if our cats would like a black dwarf Polish bunny to play with. I suggested they’d love a black dwarf Polish bunny to eat. I foresee a black dwarf Polish bunny at some point in our future, just maybe not with these cats. But, they were adorable.
Then we moved on to the poultry and ducks. Though there were none at this fair, I’ve previously seen the Asian show-chickens with the long trailing iridescent feathers and such. They are beautiful if impractical. What I saw this time and must have missed at other shows are the bantams. They were adorable.
Bantams are miniature versions of barnyard birds. So, let’s say you like the cut of a Rhode Island Red’s jib and would like to strut around with one on special occasions, but they’re just too big and unruly. Then fret no more, my friend of feathered friends–they come in half sizes. These little pocket peckers are pint-sized poultry for the paltry connoisseur. Well, they’re not that small. They’re about the size of a teacup poodle. There was a table of either FFA or 4-H teens petting several like housecats. You could have a try yourself and I was keen but decided not to. I didn’t need to start looking for bantam houses online.
We then moved on to the larger animals, quickly snaking through the corrals. The brahman bulls and hot-weather hybrids were interesting compared to the Holsteins, Hereford, and Angus back home.
I was reminded of a short story I once read about a kid named Kissimmee (Sim) from Florida who moved up north and was having trouble fitting in until he brought his brahman bull to the school carnival. Now that I think about it, I believe the story was called A Florida Cracker. I need to look that up. It was in an old, early twentieth-century school reader called Skylites, I think.
A Texas longhorn stood in a pen dwarfed by his massive horns, as wide as the bull was long. It was almost comical and when he turned his head, he deftly maneuvered them between the bars of the pen with little troubler. Still, I had to wonder how they transported them.
We next toured a building with insect displays and entomological resources. By this point, we were growing weary and a bit bored. I exited and looked for another of those frugal iced-tea stands, but there were none. We walked over to the livestock stalls to see the horses, but they were currently participating in a draught-horse show in the arena. Sugar-crashing, we opted not to watch and instead made our way to the exit with one last circuit through the food vendors.
One difference from PA is the climate. The fair season in Lancaster is in the fall and the weather is usually cool. It’s a lot easier to eat your fill of fair food in the cool of northern autumn than the heat of Florida. While it was February, the clear blue skies let the sun shine through and with all the walking, we found our appetites diminished after the few treats we ate.
Though the regional fairs back home are free to enter (only the rides and food have a price), I found the price of admission to be reasonable. There’s a full day of experiences to view, taste, hear, and smell. There was plenty of people watching, as well as livestock viewing and if my stomach had been willing, an endless amount of food to eat. Cracker Country alone was worth the price of admission, full of entertainment and learning experiences, as well as quality homemade handicrafts to purchase. Though, the same could be said for the local shopping mall, short of the livestock. Maybe.
I’m not certain that we’ll go again next year. It’s kind of a been there, done that situation and the food, though tasty, featured nothing exceptional to pine for over the next year. [Edit: We would see many of the same stands at the Plant City Strawberry Festival several weeks later.] What we may do instead is use this resource to go regional fair tripping across the state next season.
If you’ve never been to a State agricultural fair, or if you’re positively batty for them, then I do recommend a visit in the future. We didn’t experience all there was to be seen, either; there are music shows, Jack Russell races, robotics championships, and lots more as well. We’ll have to decide when next February rolls around. Though I may have gotten my funnel cake and elephant ear fix elsewhere by then. Or not at all.
Whatever happened to pie eating contests? And spitting watermelon seeds?
Thanks for reading!