About this time a year ago, I was living in a small town surrounded by a lot of other small towns in southwest Arkansas.  One day I was coming back from lunch with my coworker, Tina, when out of the blue, she said,   “Girl, I thought about you this weekend.  We were all at Mike’s Country Store for the Testicle Festival, and I almost called to see if you wanted to come down and join us.”

I froze in the middle of the parking lot and stared at her.  I had never heard of such a thing.  Did you know about this?  My first thought was that this was something for men kind of like breast cancer awareness for women.  I was very, very wrong.  For several minutes I just kept asking, “What?” and then, as she explained it to me, I followed up with, “I don’t understand.  Are you kidding?”

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In case you are equally unfamiliar with this charming tradition, let me try to explain.  Apparently, in the spring, farmers castrate (or according to Tina, “de-ball”) bulls.  I’m sure there’s a reason for it, but I don’t know what it is.  At the end of the day, farmers have all these leftover cow parts.  As she talked, my spidey-senses started tingling.

“Do they fry them?” I asked. 

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Yep.  Apparently, they taste like gizzards.  The whole event is celebrated by drinking (quite a bit, I’m guessing) and eating an assortment of fried snacks, including Rocky Mountain Oysters. 

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