In my youth I lived in a tiny town called Tremont. Every year they kick off summer with the Tremont Turkey Festival, which celebrates the high school’s mascot by eating it: big fat turkey sandwiches. And oh nally are they good. Add on a bag of Kitchen Cooked chips and I’m in heaven.
I moved away when I was a wee lad and rarely get the chance to return to the festival. However, I crave those sandwiches year round.
Last year when I was still living in Champaign I’d convinced Christine that a roadtrip for a mound of turkey on a bun was worth a Friday night’s effort. Heck, we’d even stop by the o’ grocery store and pick up overly frosted sugar cookies that I so fondly remember from my childhood.
Upon arrival we decided to forgo the carnival rides (I’m too old for throwing up anymore) and went straight to the Turkey Pavilion. My mouth was watering so badly I could barely hold a conversation. The line, which extended into the street, was a small sacrifice for years and years of cravings.
Just when we reached the pavilion’s entrance a shout was called from the sandwich assembly line. “We’re sold out!” Sold out?! Surely they must be kidding. Surely there must be at least a few more sandwiches to sell to the desolate looking women who’d driven for hours for turkey on a wonder-bread bun.
They were not kidding. I cried a little.
On the way back to the car I made a stop at the grocery store, determined to drown my disappointment and frustration in sugar cookie with a frosted-on dog face. When I asked the girl at the register why the cookie case was empty (EMPTY!), she snapped her gum and calmly told me that they’d changed owners last week and haven’t had any since.
Sorry Christine. That was a waste of a road trip.