One Last Taste.

As sure as the sun shining in the sky, I looked forward to the Taste of Buffalo every second weekend in July. (Just to let you know: yes I, too, see the rhyme in the opening line, but it was just too perfect, number one and number two, I don’t have the patience to do the whole post that way, so deal with it.)

The last few months, however, have seen my body malfunctioning in a number of ways, all of which point uncomfortably to diabetes and - unless things change - I may not be able to gorge on all kinds of foods like I used to in the past.

As I have done for many years, I park on another street a good few blocks away. Sure, the closer spaces are likely taken, but whatever exercise I can get in the face of this situation is fine by me.

I get to the Taste where I immediately head for the tent selling tickets. Now, it may have been the sweat pouring from my brow or the rumored brain fog that comes with diabetes (Christ on a cracker, does that word make me uncomfortable), but my math skills were not up to my usual standards. Tickets were sold this year at six dollars a sheet (up from five; thanks, Biden). Looking back, I definitely meant to get five or six sheets (all the better to keep my sugar down, my dear) instead of the eight I was saddled with. (For context, each sheet has ten tickets, so that’s 80 I paid for...and now, my math skills have returned.)

As much as I want to pretend otherwise, this was not a subconscious rebellion; I truly didn’t want that many tickets. I doubt that they give refunds, especially considering I paid with my card, so I had no choice but to grin and bear it.

Making a path to try meals in order of where the booths reside, my first stop was Rachel’s Mediterranean for the Falafel Rice Bowl.

Falafel isn’t something I partake of very often, which is unfortunate. This was quite good and the other ingredients (lettuce, tomato, feta) complemented it well.

From here, I had planned to try the Chicken Wonton from Sidelines, but, hey, a brother is allowed to change his mind. I settled on the Alu Matar Samosa from India Gate.

It took some doing for my plastic fork to break through the shell, but it was worth it.

As far back as 1998’s Small Soldiers, I’ve been fascinated by a burger topped with onion rings. Some restaurants have swapped out rings for strings, such as with the Rodeo Burger from Stack Burger.

A specialty burger like this is always a joy. From here, I'd wanted to go to Dirty Bird's food truck, but they didn't have the BBW (chicken, bacon and ranch between two waffles) like I wanted to get from them three years ago. Their main dish this year was Chicken and Waffles on a Stick. Sensing - and quite rightly - that it wouldn't hold up as it was presented, I, instead, decided on the Kartoffelsuppe from Hofbrauhaus. 

Creamy soup with vegetables and meat. Very delicious and given the award it won, I'm not the only one who thought so.

By this point, I’m feeling mentally peer pressured to spend my excess tickets, which accounts for why I got a large order of Greek Fries from Venus as opposed to the more manageable smaller size.

Don’t get me wrong; they were tasty, but it does no good to mount a pretense of eating better with fried potatoes and garlic sauce traveling through my gullet. With the fries digested, I figure it’s time for dessert, and what better dish to partake of than a piece of Peanut Butter Pie from Danny’s South?

Whoa. I’d completely forgotten about the drizzling of chocolate syrup on top. My mind was racing. Should I really eat this? Was it worth the risk to my health?

With fork in hand, I dug in, breaking off a corner piece and sliding it in my mouth. As the richness of the pie and its various parts (forgot about the mini chocolate chips!) registered in my taste buds, I got a flash of the effect that the whole piece might...would have on my body.

For the first time in my life, I would not finish a piece of Peanut Butter Pie.

I retreated to one of the tents meant for dining and encouraging fellowship between strangers. I was torn between leaving the remaining piece behind and tossing it out. I’ve never been much for wasting food (which is likely what brought me to this point), but a piece of pie on an outside table in a pandemic is not getting snapped up, so I threw it away. Thankfully, it was out of their purview so they couldn’t be offended by the gesture.

The extra tickets I certainly couldn’t bring myself to dispose of, so I left them on a table, feeling they could do more for someone else than myself.

It pains me to look to a future where the things I love to eat are forbidden if I want to stay alive, especially the foods offered at the Taste. Still, it’s been a hell of a run. R.I.P. My chances of going here again.