A taste of Wheaton (all of it, actually)

Sunday September 16 2007
By James Fuller, Daily Herald Staff Writer

If you're an adult, you attend summer festivals for one of two reasons: For the family activity or the endless supply of foods in little booths waiting to harden your arteries.

I'm not a glutton, but I'm fascinated by the warm glow of satisfaction festival food-lovers have in the summer.

That in mind, I hit Wheaton's Autumnfest on Saturday with one goal: Eat one thing from each food booth.

I set one rule. I must eat all of my order and take whatever the vendors offer.

You should know that I'm about 5'9" and 155 pounds. I'm also training for a 12-mile race next month, so I haven't eaten anything that tastes good in awhile.

I find six booths at the fest.

The first booth is Genoa Pizza, where I grab a slice of pepperoni that represents about 25 percent of a large, thin-crust pizza. I add to this the only thing the second booth sells, a 16-ounce apple-cherry fruit juice concoction.

Normally this would satisfy me, but I'm on a mission.

Next is a Bangkok chicken breast from the Pad Thai booth. It comes on a stick, so it must be good.

I'm halfway through. Next up is a booth labeled simply "Greek Food." I order a kabob, but they're out. The chef suggests a chicken gyro.

Remember, I must eat whatever is offered to me. So chicken gyro it is.

"Green peppers?"

"Yes, please."

"Onions?"

"OK."

"Salad?"

"Sure."

"Cream sauce?"

I pause. I'm already staring at an entire chicken with various greens on it. But rules are rules.

"OK, put some on there."

I walk away wishing I had a team of oxen to pull my plate. I find a good seat for the Magic Matt stage performance and dig in.

Half way through the gyro I'm pretty sure my heart stops, but I push on feeling the glow that only too much meat can provide. But by the end, my tasty gyro is a chore to eat. I'm laboring and starting to sweat. Somehow I find room for the whole thing.

Two booths to go, and already I'm Thanksgiving full.

Next up is Pancho's Mexican Food. I scan the menu for something good, but light. They offer one steak taco for $2. I place my order.

"You want the three tacos for $5 special?"

My own rule will kill me.

"Uh, sure," I say while taking a deep breath. I walk away and find a seat by the men's room just in case. The tacos are good, but I'm so full.

One down. Two down.

By the third I'm on the verge of delirium. Somehow I'm floating while feeling the heaviest I've ever been. I take a walk in hope of finding some room in my belly. I complete a full circuit of the fest, and my third taco. At this point I truly am Jim "Fuller" for there is no one alive who is as full as I am.

The last booth also is the largest. It advertises everything from elephant ears to full slabs of ribs. I consider my options, and my gut, and order the coup de grace - a lemon shake-up.

OK. Fine. I admit it. I failed. I wimped out. You don't have to rub it in. A real festival food fan would've gotten the ribs. But as much as I found a love for fest food, it didn't override my dread of bursting at the seams. Hey, there's always next summer.