We Tried Every 2026 State Fair Sporkie

“Media?!”

The parking lot attendant was positively bamboozled by the bold claim we made as we arrived at the Wisconsin State Fair. To be frank, I couldn’t blame him for his skepticism. You see, we were a strange bunch, perhaps more motley than media, that cruised down those saucy streets on a Thursday afternoon in search of deep-fried delight and crawfish catastrophe.

There were four us – Chris Drosner, our executive editor and ringleader, a voice of reason amidst chaos; Jonathan Joseph, our new associate digital editor, a voice in the desert crying out “No more mustard!”; Emma Rafferty, social media marketing mind extraordinaire, whose camera pointed in my direction immediately inspires the desire to crawl under the nearest rock; and then there was me, Archer, aka the Italian Mole Rat.

Our mission was simple: to eat every single State Fair Sporkie in rapid succession and to report our findings to the people.

“Journalism needs us,” I shouted, as the parking lot attendant finally waved us through to the designated media lot. (And by shouted I mean whispered inaudibly because I’m a very timid little guy.)

And so, with naught but Tums to defend us, we crossed the State Fair grounds, bold of step and steel of stomach, and prepared to face the mighty challenge within. 

Tinga Tango Chicharrones

VENDOR: BLUE MOON TAVERN AT THE PARK
PRICE: $14

The first Sporkie on our list was the one that I, as a mealy-mouthed stutterer, felt most embarrassed to order. “I’ll have the, uh, tinky winky … I mean the tingus pingus … the uh … tickly, uh, I’ll take the Sporkie one.”

This carton was loaded up and ready to party. The pork rinds were almost fully buried beneath chicken tinga, red onions, queso fresco, cotija cheese, candied jalapenos and cilantro. Sadly, I must report that we made a rookie mistake – we didn’t get forks. The pork rinds can be picked up and loaded with toppings by hand, but you will leave this scenario with embarrassingly sticky fingers and may possibly disgust anyone alongside you as you gluttonously mash those disgusting digits into the toppings in a desperate attempt to load up your rind.

The flavor was a pleasant mixture of sweet and mildly spicy, with the tender chicken and the queso fresco doing yeoman’s work. “Crunching on them rinds,” as true pork rind consumers such as myself refer to it, added much needed solidity to this sucker.

After my experience at the Sporkie’s last year, I was pleasantly surprised at the lightness of our first sampling. After eating a fair amount, I did not immediately feel like it was time to lie down and reconsider the choices I’ve made, which I think qualifies this as a prime Sporkie appetizer.

Porky Puff

VENDOR: BUD PAVILION
PRICE: $13

There are some things in this world that are quick to trigger my irrational and impotent rage – cars passing on the shoulder, my buddy Darryl (he knows what he did), and possibly above all else, long lines. I don’t know what it is, but standing there waiting for some BS just makes me want to headbutt a wall, which I can very much recommend against trying after my last incident. 

Now, I was starting to feel this rage bubbling in my lower duodenum after a couple women who it turned out were not in line had stood directly in front of the entrance to the line at the Blue Moon Tavern with the cluelessness of newborn snails, blocking it for everybody, and I feared that this day might devolve into misanthropic fury if every line was like that.

Yet it did not. Why? Because the good folks at the Bud Pavilion kept their line moving fast. Hell yeah, my Bud Brothers. And the Porky Puff they served us? Quite good.

I have to admit that I was slightly dreading this one. I am not a fan of hot, mushy meat. (I could probably reword that sentence, but I’m just gonna let it ride.) So this flaky puff pastry filled with pulled pork and peach filling seemed like a potential disaster. But it was quite the opposite. In fact, my first bite was a deeply enjoyable mixture of the flaky pastry edge, the tender pork filling, a little bit of sweet peach, and a drizzle of hot honey that really brought it home. The key to maximizing the puff experience, we found, was getting a bit of everything – including the mustard resting on top – in one bite. 

Fair warning, the edges hold better than the center – once you get all up in the hot, mushy meat, things get a little bit unfortunately slushy. 

Beer Break No. 1

Chris Drosner, if you didn’t know, is a beer connoisseur. And hence, of course, he wanted to sample a few interesting fair beers on our Sporkie quest. The first came in the form of beer soft serve. Yes, you read that right – it was a beer ice cream cone from Bud Pavilion, made with New Glarus Raspberry Tart. Here’s what he had to say:

“I was expecting this to be basically just raspberry soft serve, but it did taste like the beer, with an unusual depth and maltiness. It’s not particularly sweet, and it has only a hint of booziness as well as a nice little tang that delivered on the ‘tart’ in the beer’s name.”

Cream City Cone

VENDOR: WÜRSTBAR
PRICE: $13
OFFICIAL JUDGES’ SECOND-PLACE WINNER

Visually, this is a clear champion. The easily hand-held pretzel cone filled with bratwurst, sautéed onions and mushrooms comes with a cheese curd and flag perched on top like a marker of some grand victory. It’s a feast for the eyes (or at least a solid brunch). The Sporkies’ judges were clearly won over, as they gave this cone second place overall.

But our taste testing team was not so decisive. Unfortunately, vicious squabbling broke out amongst us. Me – I took the first bite of this cone and my culinary mind was short-circuited by dill mustard overload. My body rebelled, not understanding why on earth I had just guzzled that much straight mustard. This cone might as well live in Rack City because mustard was very much on that beat.

So sadly, I had to say – and must repeat now – that I was not a big fan of this Sporkie. But then Chris came in with his contrarian tendencies and devoured the rest of the cone with relish, speaking of his deep love for the bratwurst which he normally does not enjoy, his newfound appreciation for the mixture of flavors, his enjoyment of the savory concoction crafted within such a fine handheld pretzel.

I suppose we have a showdown – Chris vs. Archer. The question, reader, is who are you going to believe? A guy who thinks Mountain Dew Baja Blast is a culinary delight? Come on. (Note from Chris: Well, Archer lives off string cheese and Sour Patch Kids, so I’m not sure he’s in any position to talk.)

Birria Flamin’ Bombs

VENDOR: FIESTA GRILL & CANTINA
PRICE: $12
OFFICIAL JUDGES’ FIRST-PLACE WINNER

These charmingly testicular creations had a very long line. Of course, the first-place Sporkies winner pretty much always attracts a big crowd – and yet Fiesta Grill gets extra credit for keeping that line booking. They were not joking around about unleashing these balls of fire at top speed, and we were quickly able to secure two for the sampling. 

First note: “Flamin’ bombs” feels like something of a misnomer. They do not flame. Yes, the coating is red, but the breadcrumb-coated mix of birria, cilantro, onion and melted mozzarella is not spicy at all. In fact, take a bite of this dipped in the aioli and/or the birria consommé and the experience is mild and almost cozy. Like something your grandma might cook up when she’s feeling ambitious.

Frankly, I thought these were fine, a little underwhelming. They’re not something I would necessarily choose to eat given other options. But clearly I am in the minority because the judges thought this was the absolute bomb diggity with their first-place distinction, and both Chris and Jonathan were on board with the meaty mixture they deemed “delicious.” Am I the problem? No, of course not. Just because my family, ex, friends and co-workers all say so doesn’t mean a thing!

Beer Break No. 2

In the midst of our quest, we sampled two more State Fair beers: Central Waters Funnel Cake Ale and Lakefront Sil’s Mini Donut Ale. Of these two, one is clearly the funkier, the wackier, the bolder, and that is Central Waters. Take one sniff of that sucker and man, you got a noseful of funnel cake. One sip, and it might not hit you immediately, but then a rush of funnel flavor follows. Top notch funk. 

And that’s no knock on Sil’s Mini Donut Ale by Lakefront. That’s a delicious beer, too, with hints of cinnamon getting at that Sil’s taste. It’s just not quite as out-there as the Central Waters folks got. 

Sweet Lemon Berry Cheese Curds

VENDOR: SAZ’S BBQ
PRICE: $12.50
ARCHER’S FAVORITE

I’m going to skip to the end on this one and just say exactly what is noted above: These are my favorite. The lil’ curds were all killer, no filler. Note: You absolutely have to dip them in the sweet lemon zest cream whip on the side. That stuff takes them to another level. The white cheddar curds are fried, tossed in cinnamon-sugar, and then drizzled with sweet raspberry sauce for an addictive sweetness. I could not stop eating them. 

At this point, my stomach was turning against me. My innards were crying out, wondering why I was bombarding them with such a bizarre combination of foods all at once.

“Oh, God, is he doing the Sporkies again?” my stomach said. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Shut up, dude. It’s for journalism,” my brain said.

This is a critical point – despite the fact that I was starting to feel overstuffed and gastrointestinally distressed, I cleaned the plate on these curds. And there were a lot of them. While Jonathan and Chris both affirmed that they were good, they eventually gave up after trying a few, saving their innards for the Sporkies to come. Not me. That’s how much I liked them – I was willing to suffer for the curds.

Al Pastor Pizza

VENDOR: CHARLIE’S PIZZA
PRICE: $11
OFFICIAL JUDGES’ THIRD-PLACE WINNER
CHRIS’ FAVORITE

I must say that engaging in journalism with so many other people felt a little gross and vaguely unhealthy, sort of like … well, sort of like three dudes simultaneously eating a single slice of pizza. And yet there we were, munching on that colorful slice of al pastor pizza like germ theory had never been developed.

Chris is the expert on this one – he is a self-professed lover of al pastor who has eaten many of the tacos from many locations and developed strong opinions about them. Knowing his opinion was a notch above ours, we watched with anticipation as he took the first bite of the slice of pizza. 

When he said it was good, a collective sigh of relief was unleashed. The review here is simple: This slice of pizza is essentially an al pastor taco in pie form, and it undertakes that mission well. It’s certainly the spiciest of the Sporkies, but it’s not hard to handle at all. (Trust me – I have the spice tolerance of an Elizabethan schoolchild.) The bites are best when you get a bit of pineapple in there, and be sure to squeeze the lime juice out before you dive in.

Unfortunately, while Chris enjoyed his slice, he was also beginning to falter. He did not have the intestinal fortitude I had developed over years of treating my body like a trash can. “There is a conflict within you,” I told him, as he groaned.

The meats and the cheeses and the cream whip and the cinnamon sugar and the pastry were all battling inside us now, and there was no escaping their fury. We could only hope for the best in the wars to come.

Deep-Fried Horchata Balls

VENDOR: BADGER BITES
PRICE: $11
JONATHAN’S FAVORITE

Sweat had begun to make itself known as we journeyed across the grounds in search of our penultimate Sporkie. Cover bands absolutely refused to relent with amp-busting renditions of “I’m Yours” and “Come On Eileen.” The smell of cigarettes lingered. My feet ached. This, I thought, as my head went light, was the true State Fair experience … and I was about ready to be done with it.

But then, a miracle – the Deep-Fried Horchata Balls. Reader, let me tell you that these things resurrected me. One bite and you’re hit with a deeply rich mixture of cinnamon sugar, dulce de leche sauce, chocolate sauce and chips, coconut and the surprising king of the toppings, plantain chips. These are obviously extremely indulgent, almost overwhelmingly rich, and they are also fantastic. Jonathan took a bite fresh off the grill, still so hot that it nearly roasted the inside of his face, and he did not care – the pain was worth the deliciousness. I concur. 

Bayou Crunch Cup

VENDOR: EXOTIC MEAT GRILL
PRICE: $20

I suppose I should admit that we had a debate on the drive to the State Fair. We concluded that the smell was probably coming from me. And then we had another debate – when exactly should we eat the Bayou Crunch Cup.

The photo the State Fair posted of this was undeniably the least appetizing on offer – a murky plastic cup filled to the brim with slaw and … giblets of some sort with a crustacean on top staring at you with accusatory eyes. I advocated for eating this last, as I was concerned it might dampen our appetites, and so after turning our insides into a seven-story tower of flavors that should never mix, we went and bought a cup full of gator nuggets.

Exotic Meat Grill had by far the most byzantine line control – I was forced through a winding chained-off maze in order to make it to the window. And since no one was in line at the time, I felt absolutely ridiculous, winding back and forth like a rat in a cruel experiment. And then I felt somewhat violated when I realized this cost $20. Crawfish is expensive, I suppose.

Immediately upon my leaving the line, an older woman stopped to enthusiastically ask us if I was holding the crunch cup. I enthusiastically affirmed, and we commiserated over its weirdness joyfully, as others in the crowd tried to catch a peek. Chris joked with a man about the crustacean on top of my cup. It was a pleasant little State Fair moment, and as we walked away to find somewhere to actually eat this thing, the mood was buoyant and fun.

So yes, cracking open the crawfish on top is gross. Its legs move. Its eyes watch you. Its insides appear potentially inedible. But they are in fact edible and frankly just pretty much taste like shrimp. In fact, the crunch cup itself isn’t all that wild a meal – the breaded crawfish bites and gator nuggets taste like seafood nuggets with a zesty sauce on top. The slaw is slaw. The sidewinder fries at the bottom are sidewinder fries. It’s all actually pretty normal and not nearly as weird or intense as the photo might suggest. 

Was this our favorite Sporkie to eat? No. But I will say that in some ways it was actually the best Sporkie. You see, the Bayou Crunch Cup isn’t really about the food itself – it’s about the adventure and the fun. It’s about getting your friends together and all trying to eat this weird, kinda gross thing and laughing as you do. It’s about random and friendly strangers gawking at your choice of sustenance. At its core, the Bayou Crunch Cup is about what the Sporkies are about – fun. So as we laughed and groaned and maybe gagged a little trying to crack open the crawfish, this strange plastic cup full of sea creatures won me over as the ultimate Sporkie, the Sporkie of fun, the Sporkie of joy. Long live the Bayou Crunch Cup.