In April of '98, I decided to pay a visit to the Lone Star State's amazingly colossal fruits and to celebrate them with the rest of Poteet during their annual berry to-do. In preparation, I held off on both breakfast and lunch in order to build a hearty appetite for various creatively prepared strawberry delectibles from the finest of Texas kitchens. After all, any food-themed festival has to be a treat for the tummy. (That's right, I said "tummy." And I'm no less of a man for it.)

Upon arrival, I discovered a posted agenda tempting fair-goers with a number of deceptively exciting events: belly dancing, tiger petting, lawnmower racing. Certainly, I had to catch the performing monkey. But, first things first — I came for the eats.

I sniffed my way to the culinary center of the festival to experience a taste of Poteet. After two beers, a turkey leg, a corn dog and a plate of nachos, I lay bloated on a set of surprisingly cool bleachers, although I had yet to consume berry one. I paused to wonder if perhaps I was too early for the strawberries, and to contemplate also where I might acquire some antacid. But, a quick check of my watch snapped me out of my food coma — the next monkey performance was soon at hand!

As the monkey arrived, dressed as though he had lost a bet, I joined the gathering crowd. As it turned out, there was no real show, but the little guy would tip his teenie bell-hop hat in exchange for a quarter. Those willing to part with more received the privelege of posing with him for a Polariod. It wasn't much, but still — you can't beat a trained monkey. (Unless, of course, he's been disobedient.)

Sufficiently amused by the subjugation of my ancestors, I made my way back into the bustle of the fair grounds. After a mandatory ride on the death-defying ferris wheel and a second attempt at finding Poteet's strawberry treats (the best I could do was strawberry ice cream), I admitted my defeat and headed in search of those of the larger-than-life variety.

The first megaberry was easy enough to find; it tops a 130-foot-tall water tower. Okay, so it's basically a water tower painted to look like a strawberry, but the townspeople did go to the trouble of adding a green stem. So, it still counts in my book.

The second berry I happened upon by accident. About the size of an upturned VW Bug, it stood tall in front of a local food mart. Berry number two has since moved, however, as I discovered on a recent return visit. I was disappointed, but undaunted, and after a bit of detective work, I discovered its new home on a ranch outside of town. From what I could glean from the locals, the owner of the food mart sold the place and took her berry with her. Luckily, though, an auto-body shop resides on the property and the berry can be visited during normal business hours.

As I soon realized, I should have looked for the strawberry monuments in reverse order, because I found that they got smaller as I went. The last was a disappointingly man-sized berry in front of the Poteet Volunteer Fire Department. Okay, so at 1,600 pounds and almost 5 feet tall, it was still impressive as strawberries go, but I'd seen bigger.

Having found the final strawberry, my safari was officially at an end. But, something still nagged at me; I had yet to satiate my berry appetite. I finally got my chance, though, as I made my way out of town, where I discovered Poteet's strawberry source: two miles of roadside vendors' stands. Naturally, I had to stop.

I sampled a couple of ripe-looking baskets and chose the finest that my wallet could afford. Sweet, yes. Juicy, yes. Tasty, no doubt about it. There, on the edge of the Strawberry Capital of Texas, I finally got that for which I had longed all this time. I was satisfied at last. The only problem was — and I hate to say it — these particular strawberries were from California.