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Everyone always wants to know what's new to eat, of course.
This year at the State Fair, don't pass up the Llama Thyroids! Fire-braised and sprinkled with shaved lentils. Also new: deep-fried beer, artisanal Lutheran Jell-O cubes and the tantalizingly named "horse tacos," about which nothing else was known at press time.
Aside from that, "new" isn't really the State Fair's big draw, is it?
Don't think we don't appreciate the additions. We do. Years ago, a new restroom facility went up across from the Grandstand ramp. Menfolk liked it. Instead of the good, ol' Communal Trough of Splashing Horrors, it had those newfangled things that hung on the wall. I think it's been there for a decade. It's still "the new bathroom."
Fair authorities are no doubt horrified at this example: "What of the new history center? Isn't that more important than bathrooms?" C'mon, you know the answer to that.
But yes, the new history building is slick and impressive, and a big improvement over the musty, somewhat incoherent old museum, which included a train car filled with Ice Capades memorabilia. Dozens of skates from the 1940s hanging from the ceiling. There was an old electric chair from a long-gone sideshow attraction. It was a mess. It felt like poking through Grandma's attic, if Grandma had been a skater and part-time public executioner.
I was sad to see it go. It was one of the few places on the grounds where you could be alone and inhale the old bygone days. Which no doubt contained asbestos.
The welcoming State Fair sign over the transportation plaza is new, except it isn't; it's a resurrection from the old streetcar days. Like the restrooms, I don't know offhand if the new entrance was made four years ago, or eight. I know it's recent, which makes it a Class Two Fair Thing.
Eh? What do I mean? In case you didn't know, there are four categories of Fair Things: New, recent, classic and ancient.
New: That food stall with a fancy sign that tries a bit too hard. The tent by the 4-H building that wants to sign you up for a TV service that didn't exist in 2019.
Recent: The aforementioned restrooms and transit plaza.
Classic: Everything you expect to see. Pronto Pups and Poncho Dogs, Spin Art, Tom Thumb Donuts and his bitter arch rival, Tiny Tim Donuts; the DNR pond with its murky layer of green scum; the sight of the Skyride gondola cars going across the sky and the Space Tower going up into it; the redolent barns, the cacophonous chicken room, the clacking charade of the handwriting computer in the Grandstand. The greasy gust of Hades pouring from the French fry shops. The amplified terror of passengers hurled skyward in a small metal cage; the Midway din; the white noise of the fans in the cow barn. And so on.
Ancient: The old fair buildings. Ye Old Mill. The historical plaques that tell you soldiers mustered on this spot in the 19th century. The Horticulture Building with its Oz panache. The Grandstand, solid and sober.
New, recent, classic, ancient. The fair might be our sole shared institution that provides them all.
james.lileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858 • Twitter: @Lileks
