Taste Of The Town Federal Hocking

With my torso bellowing, I took off on another of my infamous esophageal excursions through the Gridiron Glory coverage area. I found myself in the heart of Stewart, Ohio at Federal Hocking’s week seven clash against Trimble. For some ungodly reason, I felt like a super hero.

            It may seem and/or be exceptionally unreasonable, but it still managed to dominate my thoughts and actions Friday leading up to my Taste of the Town trip. I developed a brief list of stark parallels between my caloric contingencies and the exhilarating adventures of your generic superhero. When called to duty, superheroes put on capes. I put on a wrinkled, black long sleeve tee. Superheroes have technologically superlative transportation devices. I have my operative rear wheel drive Buick LeSabre. Superheroes have ardent and cunning sidekicks. I have a durable and perverse appetite. The only place we really differ is our reason. Superheroes fight for a noble and redeeming cause. I fight for a pompous and ravenous meal.

            Armed with a growing misconception of my fundamental role in society, I arrived in Federal Hocking to a civilian’s welcoming. I instantly eyed the concession stand inside. Little to my knowledge I would not only be leaving the stadium with a full stomach but would enter with one as well.

            I was in the midst of ambling up to the ticket booth when I spotted a substantial assembly of perceptible loiterers hovering around the tailgate of a red pickup truck. As Gridiron Glory’s resident food expert, I sensed that this gathering involved a meal. Tossing my amateur status aside, I detoured abruptly over to the truck. I found a man. I found a grill. I found food. The story of the group was straightforward but cutting-edge. It was a peaceful pregame amalgamation of football parents. Each family contributed a dish, and they merged two of the most influential factors in my nutrient dependent life: tailgating and a potluck. A mere twenty feet from the truck was a table occupied with main dishes, side dishes, desserts, and assorted plastic cutlery. I felt like a pilgrim at the first Thanksgiving. I mumbled a few inarticulate sentences proclaiming everything I was thankful for and started eating like I was in Plymouth in 1621.

Potato Medley- I’m 25% Irish. Let’s just say there was no famine in Federal Hocking Friday night.

Macaroni Salad- A smorgasbord of macaroni, dressing, ham, shredded cheese, and likely a few other undisclosed items. I wouldn’t write home about it. Maybe call. Definitely not write.

Goat Milk Fudge- The moment I saw the word goat I was alarmed. I am generally uncomfortable with the notion that my milk is derived from a cow let alone a goat. In fact, I am unaware of how one would acquire “goat milk.” I must have missed that aisle on my last trip to Kroger. When I began eating it, however, I was made extremely comfortable. It was sensational.

Butterscotch Dessert Apparatus- It had marshmallow, caramel, chocolate, and butterscotch. It was an overwhelming sensation. I also got to taste it about five hours later because most of my slice stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Pumpkin Roll- It was a seasonal favorite. I felt like I was a participant of the autumn period. You could be a scarecrow wearing flannel while mindlessly assembling a cornucopia and sipping lightly on apple cider and you still wouldn’t be as festive as I was.

Jalapeno Sausage with Hot Garlic Butter Sauce- There’s the magic word again: jalapeno. It benched me in Ironton. It parked me in Trimble. And it would bury me in Fed Hock.

Pumpkin Roll- In the spirit of the season, I had another.

 

And THEN, I went to the concession stand.

Nachos Supreme- Ground Beef+cheese+nachos+salsa-self respect= a stomachache.

Breadsticks- From the cold weather, I lost feeling in my extremities. From the food, I lost feeling in my mid section. After a few rounds with the breadsticks, I effectively lost feeling in my taste buds.

Hot Chocolate- Don’t ask me how it tasted.

I came into Federal Hocking with a superhero’s mentality. I left marred by my massive mastication. I stumbled upon new ground nonetheless. In a late season conference game for their kid’s faltering football squad, the parents of Fed Hock’s players still relish the fellowship of high school football. That is precisely how they showed me the spirit of Friday night.