Sunday afternoon and I found myself on the other side of Brooklyn at Coney Island. Since the powers that be will be soon be tearing down most of the old attractions, the long, LONG train ride from my island to Manhattan and through the better part of Brooklyn was a must. But, I’m not complaining. I had wonderful company and time to work up an appetite for artery-clogging carnival food.
Coney Island is hilariously boorish with its classic Astroland collection of rides, actual “freak shows,” and snake-adorned performers. Emerging onto the boardwalk, I immediately spotted a live-human target game called, I kid you not, “Shoot the Freak.” The poor (yet surprisingly nimble) sport was being shot at with paintballs and wore a necessary amount of multi-colored armor. People were lining up to participate and the crowd chose sides to cheer. I felt dirty just standing in the crowd and quickly moved off.
A little “grass” hut further down the boardwalk offered Daiquiris and Pina Coladas, as though Coney Island was an acceptable substitute for a tropical vacation. We humbly requested the latter from a distracted bartender, and nodded yes when she barked, “RUM?!?” Un-carded and having witnessed the liberal pour, we giggled at the staggering amount of alcohol filling up a large portion of the plastic cup. Aren’t Pina Coladas supposed to taste like pineapples and coconuts? Nonetheless, it tasted delicious about halfway through.
We moved on to bigger and better things. I wanted an elephant ear, but evidently funnel cakes are the preferred fried dough in these parts. We devoured a funnel cake on the beach that really should have been crispy but at least was completely covered in powdered sugar (as was J* with his navy-blue polo, ah what a yuppie). After a bit of walking around, I settled on a corn dog and J* ordered a “Coney” dog smothered in onions and mustard. This is the kind of awesomely disgusting food that you simply must eat in such settings. These baked Low Fat Corn Dogs are a much more reasonable way to enjoy carnival food in your own home.
We passed out on the train on the way back only to awaken and eat too much salt-water taffy compliments of Atlantic City.