I Risked My Life for Fried Butter — And I’d Do It Again

A love letter to dangerous food, deep fryers, and poor decisions on a stick.

Image by Brian Rosta

There are moments in life when you know you’re doing something stupid.

Like dating someone who owns more reptiles than shirts. Or getting bangs after a breakup. Or paying $9 for fried butter at a county fair while a nearby teenager screams “Hold my lemonade!”

Reader, I did the last one. And I felt alive.

Because everything at a county fair could kill you — and that’s exactly what makes it taste so damn good.

I Walked Into That Fair Like It Was a Buffet of Regret

There were screams in the distance. Rides screeching overhead. Someone shouting about discount wristbands. And I, an adult with a credit score and cholesterol concerns, was on a mission.

I saw fried peanut butter cups. Deep-fried lasagna. A guy eating nachos from a plastic cowboy hat. It was culinary anarchy.

I ordered everything I couldn’t pronounce and doubled down on what sounded illegal in at least four states.

And I still wasn’t full.

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