Taste of the Town: Jackson, Ohio

My digestive digression continued Friday night as I traveled to Alumni Stadium in Jackson in pursuit of further fantastic football foods. I was instantly besieged with a sense of vast discouragement. It had been raining all day and was still persistently precipitating as I pulled up to the stadium. How would I be able to enjoy the food if I was stranded in the pouring down rain? I would be wetter than Michael Phelps in Beijing. I would be wetter than an earthworm in Seattle. I would be wetter than a bootlegger in the 1920’s. I would be wetter than R. Kelly’s sheets.

 I finally had to decide to dig deep. After all if I wanted to emerge as one of the premier eaters in Southeast Ohio, I would have to learn to overcome adversity. In a wave of good fortune, I discovered a tent located outside the stadium that appeared to contain some variation of a cooking device. I keenly approached the tent and was greeted by three diligent gentlemen and four intimidating deep fryers. Yes, it was that time of the week again. It was the time where my colon shudders in fear. It was the time my arteries begin voluntarily clogging in anticipation of what they are about to be exposed to. It was the time where I swallow my dignity and make a public spectacle of myself as I ravage through an assortment of unhealthful cuisine.

I spent an hour shooting the breeze with concession cookers Jerry Post and Steve Lorbach. Post and Lorbach seemed to have it made at their station. They were surrounded by good food, blaring old-fashioned rock-n-roll on a nearby stereo, and raving about Jackson’s 6-0 record. As I was bobbing my head to Springsteen’s “Glory Days,” I was introduced to a man named Dave Delay. Delay was wearing a wrinkled blue apron with his nickname embroidered on the front. His nickname is derived from the main dish that he prepares Friday nights for Jackson fans. I fully expected the nickname to be “Steak Man” or “Chicken Man” or even “Pork Man.” But contrary to my stubborn speculation, Dave Delay is frequently referred to as “Veal Man.”

 Yes, you read it correctly, veal. I just couldn’t get my mind across the concept of veal. I get a certain feeling about me when I eat meat. The meat I’m eating becomes an unwarranted determinant of my personality and self-image. When I’m in front of a steak I feel brute and manly. I often envision myself gritting my teeth, chopping down trees, and trimming a mane of chest hair. When I eat fish or chicken I feel elegant and classy. I see myself as an esteemed philanthropist, a charismatic businessman, and, at times, a mannerly 18th century duchess. However, as I stood in front of veal I felt wildly irrelevant and moderately monotonous. I envisioned myself crocheting scarves, regularly viewing C-SPAN, and examining ant colonies. It was new territory for me. Nevertheless, I started to eat.

Deep Fried Jackson County Veal Sandwich- This was a massive slice of veal teetering helplessly on a bun that fell dreadfully short of accommodating the meat. I plowed through the sandwich mindlessly. The breading was outstanding. I had gone from generally uncomfortable and passively unstable to mysteriously confident and undoubtedly nourished. I regretted ever harboring negative thoughts about veal. It had won me over. In fact, by the time I finished the sandwich (which was a very swift process) I had developed what I perceived to be the initial stages of an intimate relationship with veal.

EATING TIP- Put ketchup and pickles on it. I would highly recommend you eat this with your eyes close. It simply enhances the bliss.

Pizza- It was gone in 20 seconds. I actually don’t really recall tasting it. I’m sure it was good. Ultimately, it is pizza.

EATING TIP- Show no regard for your surroundings. Devour it. Pizza is amazing. You have every right to just demolish it.

Pizza Rolls- These were your typical snack-like pizza rolls. They did have a twist, though. Instead of the conventional oven baking, they just toss them in the deep fryer. This was awesome for my taste buds but devastating for my esophagus. I methodically finished these off in well under a minute.

EATING TIP- If you need guidance in eating pizza rolls, seek immediate psychological assistance.

Deep Fried Jackson County Veal Sandwich- It was so good I had to have it twice. Only this time there were upward to twelve people watching me put the sandwich away. I felt like Tiger woods on the first tee. I had a following, a gallery. Periodically, I would hear a cheer. People were in awe. You would have thought it was the penguin feeding at your local zoo. The “Veal Man” stood alongside me and offered a running commentary of my excursion. For the couple minutes I was eating that sandwich, I sensed an extraordinary time of fellowship around me. It was almost as if there was a collective bond over my improper eating habits. It was a genuine moment.

In the end, the “Veal Man” lauded me. He constantly exclaimed that I was a professional, and I started to believe it. I had separated myself from other eaters. For that short amount of time, I was the king of consumption. I was the duke of digestion. I was the emperor of eating. I was the chairman of chewing. I was the sultan of swallowing. I was the monarch of munching.  I was the god of gorging. And most importantly I was the viceroy of veal.

From jamming to ‘80s rock under the tent to feasting on fried veal sandwiches, I had been associated with some of the biggest traditions in Jackson. Lorbach, Post, and the “Veal Man” truly showed me a good time at Alumni Stadium, and you can bet your bottom dollar that they also showed me the spirit of Friday night.