This particular recipe link was sent to us from Connie, who just so happens to know that I love corn-dogs.  It came from The Recipe Book on Blogspot and it’s a copy-cat recipe of the famous Fletcher’s Corny Dogs.  Robyn begged me to do this one on my own because she didn’t want to deal with the deep-frying.  I don’t blame her because deep-frying is a huge stink-fest that is sometimes filled with skin burns and flames.  

Obviously I had high hopes for this corn-dog recipe, but I have no idea what possessed me to have four motherfucking packages of hot-dogs ready. My other son and his fiance were over so that made six of us. You can go ahead and do the math if you want, but I’ll just tell you that it was too many damn hot-dogs.

I forgot that I bought some bamboo skewers a while back and bought another package (they’re like $2 at Target). Do you even care? Way to be one of those food-bloggers, Nance. Let me tell you the cute story about how I accidently bought too many skewers. And then I’ll tell you how you can use the extras for kebabs (of which we never eat). Or how you could use them to hold up twee signs on cupcakes.  KILL ME.

I’m going to give you the quick and dirty run-down on these corn-dogs because I’m boring myself. Just know that we followed the directions.

We rolled the hot-dogs in flour because it is supposed to make the batter adhere to the hot-dogs better. We also started out using a cast iron skillet like the recipe said we could (foreshadowing). I used a tall glass to dip the hot-dog in the batter. I did everything they say you should do, dammit.

I even used a thermometer to make sure the temperature of the oil was right. I was on the ball, baby.  This part pissed me off the most because Rick broke my thermometer that night.  I blame the fact that he’s left-handed.  Ahem.

You just don’t know the anticipation that was going on in our kitchen. For the record, three of the people in the house left to go to the store and the three that stayed were the most interested in the corn-dogs. Alex, because he also loves corn-dogs. Me, OBVIOUSLY. And Rick, because he kinda looks at this shit like science so it’s fascinating to him (nerd).

WTF?

Let me try another one and I’ll swirl it this time to try and keep the batter on.

Eventually we decided to ditch the damn cast iron skillet.

We’re bringing out the big guns. This is one of the inserts for a commercial food warmer. It is NOT made for deep-frying.

I loved watching Alex’s face when this thing started rocking back and forth because the oil was getting hot. Shit was totally unstable and we had no business using it for deep-frying, but whatever, DO NOT DO THIS AT HOME. Alex was raised in the same house as my mother and that woman lived to make us nervous about anything she could. Her particular favorites being that the furnace would blow up if I left the boys home alone (teenagers, mind you) and that the house is going to fall over the hill one of these days. Please understand now why I am insane.

Rick, who had not spent impressionable years around Crazy Shirley, handled the deep-frying while Alex and I stayed as far away from that hot lava disaster-waitin-to-happen as we could. In some parts of the country we would be called by our native name…chickenshits.

This is as good as it got.

Don’t even say it. Don’t even THINK IT.

It ended up being a huge pile of despair.

I don’t think you can ever make corn-dogs at home that are as good as they make at amusement parks and fairs.  So it looks like I’ll be staying in Connie’s guest bedroom next year when the Texas State Fair opens!