Not So Exquisite Ex Cuisine

It has been many, many years since I last visited the CNE. I’ve been meaning to go almost every summer for the past 15 years, but I just never made it. This year, however, I was determined to make the trip.

A number of other food writers, bloggers, and journalists had already covered the food beat on the Ex prior to my visit and a lot of what I’d read wasn’t particularly encouraging. But gee whiz, it’s the Ex. Nobody goes there with high expectations in the food department, do they? We all know the Food Building certainly isn’t what it once was, and hasn’t been what it once was for quite some time. But surely some of the carnival treats have managed to hold up over the years, right?

Now there are two food items that friends of mine insisted that I buy during my visit: Tiny Tom donuts and a corndog. How I missed either of these CNE standbys during my childhood is a mystery.Perhaps my fear of crowds might explain the first one.

Tiny Toms are obviously a hit with many – there is no shortage of customers lined up, watching the little rings of extruded dough make their way from the hot oil to the conveyor belt to a final shake in a paper bag with sugar, cinnamon, or cocoa. $4.50 buys a dozen of these little grease bombs. I bite into my first ever Tiny Tom – it’s piping hot, sweet, and thuddingly dull. I feel like I've been zonked. And now I have eleven and half of these left to deal with.

In search of a corndog, I check out those offered at Super Corndog ($4 for regular size). It takes our friendly server a few tries to get it right as the thin gruel of a batter keeps sliding off the tube steak into the oil. When I am finally handed the greasy, golden weiner wand, the ensuing eating experience is another disappointment; the dough has never obtained a nice crispy exterior – it is soggy and sweetly bland, and the "meat" itself is mushy and off-tasting. After a couple of bites, this goes in the trash.

How about a bubble tea? Sounds harmless enough. But there’s a catch. While I know that, technically, a bubble tea doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to come with tapioca “pearls”, I have to think it’s a reasonable assumption that someone ordering a bubble tea is going to expect it to be part of the beverage and therefore shouldn’t be charged extra for it. That’s like charging for mustard on a hot dog.

I had read about Dippin’ Dots ice cream a while back and was primed to shell out $3 for a ridiculously small dish of these cryogenically frozen beads of whatever-the-heck, but the friendly server offers me a sample before I commit. I choose the cotton candy flavour and am given a spoonful of pink pellets so cold that I can’t taste anything.Then the melting begins and the queer coating on my tongue lets me know I should keep the three bucks in my wallet. Sorry, Dippin’ Dots, but no sale. If this truly is “the ice cream of the future” we’re headed for grim times, friends.

But I still want ice cream, so I opt for some of the cheap vanilla stuff sandwiched between two hot waffles ($3.75). I love the contrast of temperatures and I love that the waffle is fresh off the iron, but it’s just not cooked enough.And as freshly-made as it is, it tastes stale.

I remember loving Sno-Kones as a kid. Now, $3.50 buys not so much a Sno-Kone, but rather a hard-packed sphere of ice that could easily be lobbed as a skull-cracking projectile. Ordered in lime, it’s the only green thing I partially consume all day.

I wander over to investigate the Ribfest taking place on the day of my visit. Bandshell Park is hot, smoky, and filled with the sweet scent of charred pig. It's lunchtime, yet there's little in the way of a 'fest' feel going on. However here is an opportunity to enjoy a bottle of cold Alexander Keith’s for $7.50. My guest and I share a shady table with a charming gentleman who introduces himself as Brian. “How are the ribs?” I ask him as I lean in to photograph his plate. His answer takes a while. “Well,” he says, “I guess they’re somebody’s idea of an award-winning rib.” Ouch.

I didn’t go to the Ex to find great food. But I was hoping to find some good bad food, the kind of deep-fried, fat-laden, grease-soaked goodness that may be bad for the heart but oh so good for the soul.

To The Summer When I was 8,
Please come back. I miss you.