Posted by Bill
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| Giant bologna anyone? |
As you may have guessed from my love of the Flyers, I grew
up in Pennsylvania. Although I have
spent a great deal of time in Louisiana, having moved here with my parents before
high school, in my family Pennsylvania will always be home. This is why my parents decided to move back
to Pennsylvania when they retired about three years ago.
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| Ouch! Sorry Bruins... |
Retiring to Pennsylvania is something that I
understand. Philly is in my blood as
much as NOLA is. What I did not really
understand is why my parents wanted to move to a tiny town in Amish country called
Lebanon. Lebanon is a quaint little town
nestled in a valley not far from Lancaster and Harrisburg.
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| This is how I see Lebanon, but with more Amish people |
I have visited my parents in Lebanon a fair few times since
they retired, usually going back for Christmas and New Years at the very least,
and overall I have found Lebanon to be rather unremarkable. It is quiet, and of course it is in
Pennsylvania, but not much about Lebanon surprised me…until this past New Years
Eve. This year I experienced a strange,
somewhat mind-boggling event that apparently Lebanon is well known for: the
Lebanon Bologna Drop.
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| And really, next to Philly and New Orleans, this might as well be the sum total of Lebanon |
The Lebanon Bologna Drop is essentially a traditional New
Years ball drop, except that instead of a ball, the good people of Lebanon use
a 200 lb. Bologna.
Now, to be fair, Lebanon Bologna is very different from American Bologna, the finely ground, lard-filled sausage-esque and disturbingly uniformly colored American luncheon meat. Lebanon Bologna is a cured sausage much more akin to summer sausage, and of course owing its roots to the Pennsylvania Dutch who were practicing the slow-curing methods of central Europe. Now, comparatively classy as Lebanon Bologna may be to American Bologna, the Lebanon Bologna drop exposed me to a side of Lebanese society rather inconsistent with my original impressions of the quaint little valley town.
Now, to be fair, Lebanon Bologna is very different from American Bologna, the finely ground, lard-filled sausage-esque and disturbingly uniformly colored American luncheon meat. Lebanon Bologna is a cured sausage much more akin to summer sausage, and of course owing its roots to the Pennsylvania Dutch who were practicing the slow-curing methods of central Europe. Now, comparatively classy as Lebanon Bologna may be to American Bologna, the Lebanon Bologna drop exposed me to a side of Lebanese society rather inconsistent with my original impressions of the quaint little valley town.
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| It's specially prepared and everything |
I arrived at the Bologna Drop around 11:00PM to find a crowd
of about 100 people standing about and staring at a DJ. Weird enough on its own, but I was also
feeling a bit overdressed in what I might describe as business casual
attire. Steelers and Eagles jackets
appeared to be the norm, and I was faced with a tiny deluge of mullets mixed
with a liberal dose of rat tails. As the
time crept slowly on towards midnight, I was beginning to feel increasingly out
of place, dearly wishing that I had not been harboring such a skewed vision of
Lebanon that I well, dressed “up” for the dropping of a giant sausage.
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| This pretty much sums it up |
As midnight approached, the DJ switched to the newest crazed
dance music, and the crowd went from awkward staring to breaking it down, with
everyone between the ages of 3 and 50 apparently knowing exactly how to dance to
each song. Everyone except me.
Into this surreal pall of awkwardness descended the fabled bologna. Now, to paint you a mental picture, this bologna was hung from the hook of a nearby crane, and I had been watching it closely because it seemed as if there was little keeping the bologna securely attached. At first, the bologna was swaying lazily, then it was rocking steadily, and by the time midnight was almost upon us the bologna was swinging about seemingly uncontrollably.
Into this surreal pall of awkwardness descended the fabled bologna. Now, to paint you a mental picture, this bologna was hung from the hook of a nearby crane, and I had been watching it closely because it seemed as if there was little keeping the bologna securely attached. At first, the bologna was swaying lazily, then it was rocking steadily, and by the time midnight was almost upon us the bologna was swinging about seemingly uncontrollably.
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| I guess the cage keeps it from flopping around obscenely... there are children present |
The pendulous log of dangling bologna finally stabilized just
before the countdown, which, to make sure I had no idea what was going on,
started at 30 instead of ten. But
although the count started at 30, the bologna’s descent began by plummeting as
if the giant meat tube had ripped free of its hook. There was no way it could have taken 30
seconds at that speed, and it looked as if the whole affair had been
botched. This, however, must have been
par for the course as none of the other folks chanting the bologna countdown
seemed to be phased by the rapid descent.
Sure enough, the drop was checked short, and the bologna lowered slowly enough
to touch the ground right when the crowd yelled “Happy New Year!”
After that, the thing to do was apparently to take pictures next to the giant bologna, but I figured that a rapid escape was probably more prudent. My sister and I adjured to the nearest Irish pub for our first few…several…drinks of the new year.
After that, the thing to do was apparently to take pictures next to the giant bologna, but I figured that a rapid escape was probably more prudent. My sister and I adjured to the nearest Irish pub for our first few…several…drinks of the new year.
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