Spanish Chilled Apples

If you thought that my going to a frat party was amusing, I have just two words: salsa club. I know I’m not supposed to be putting myself down, but come on.

Enough of this negativity. Instead of remembering the bits where I wanted to run out the door, let's remember the parts where I was having fun, shall we? Good. Let's move on.

Apparently, every year, Chapel Hill holds an Apple Chill fair. The main section of Franklin Street is cordoned off and filled with stalls selling pots, jewelry, and food. And more food. But no apples in fridges, so the name remains a mystery. In further attempts at cultural exchange, I had my first funnel cake (a huge plate of fried dough covered in powdered sugar — one serving is enough to double your cholesterol level instantly), and I explained that cotton candy is known as candy floss back in Britain. They didn't like the imagery that the different name conjured up; I'd never thought about it before, but they do seem to have a point there.

The weirdest food choice would have to be the corn. Yes, corn-on-the-cob. On a stick. Not something that I expected to see. Or that there would be a queue for that sort of thing.

We arrived fairly late, so when we got to the merry-go-round, it had just closed. But it wasn't playing any carousel music, so we convinced ourselves that it wasn't all that good anyway, and we didn't mind missing out. Denial is such a great thing.

Hurrah! Another fire alarm. I suppose I should leave, before the flames consume the building. Or, more likely, when the firemen turn off the over-boiling pan...