So, I’ve been home from the Devon Horse Show (Pa.) for a few days, and I think I’ve finally recovered from my Devon food hangover. What’s that you say? You don’t get hangovers from food? Well then, you’ve never spent 10 days roaming the grounds of Devon.
Horse show food is infamous for being greasy and unhealthy (i.e., yummy), but Devon takes it to a new level. The horses showing in the Dixon Oval are the cream of the crop—Devon is the pinnacle of competition. The Devon food is no different. Funnel cake. Cheese fries. Fudge. Tea sandwiches. Ice cream. Cupcakes. Burgers. Pizza. Seriously, there’s not a sprig of broccoli to be found.
I found it particularly cruel this year that whilst attending Devon, I was conducting interviews with various riders about their exercise and diet habits for an upcoming article I’m writing on rider fitness. I nodded and murmured, “Of course, great idea,” over the phone in response to discussions of yoga and cardiovascular work, all the while eyeing that snickerdoodle cookie I’d elected to be my lunch for the day after the hot and heavy campaigning between it and the cheese fries. It was the equine journalist’s version of eating ice cream while watching “The Biggest Loser.”
I’ve covered Devon for the Chronicle for more than 10 years, and in that time, I’ve worked out quite a system for my diet for that week and a half. For the first few years, I splurged, reveling in a double-scoop serving of ice cream daily in the short breaks I had while the Hackney ponies pranced around the ring. I considered a pile of piping hot french fries a “meal.” (Isn’t ketchup a vegetable?) But then I realized I could pace myself. I assigned myself a specific indulgence per day.
For some people, hunter breeding day at Devon means feasting their eyes on some of the prettiest young horses in the country. For me, it means a cup of ice cream. On Memorial Day Monday, the first day of the professional hunter divisions, some first year green horses’ eyes bug out as they take their first twirl around the Dixon Oval. Mine widen in anticipation of a slice of pizza. Yeah, I know I can get pizza anywhere, any time, but really, doesn’t it just taste better at Devon? Or maybe it’s just me.
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Don’t get me wrong—I eat a pretty healthy menu at home. I even have a garden out back and occasionally ingest some of the green stuff that grows there, if I can get to it before the deer do. This year, I had the best intentions as I drove up to Devon. “No cheese fries this year!” I admonished my aging and widening self. “I’ll bring some oranges and granola bars along and eat those instead.”
And yes, oranges and granola bars have their place. In fact, a few weeks before, I felt like I’d discovered the solution to the nation’s health care debate when I rummaged through my backpack at the end of a 10-hour day photographing cross-country at the Jersey Fresh CCI and found a granola bar. It was a bit more like granola powder after a few days of jostling with my notebook, camera batteries, voice recorder and sunscreen for room in my bag, but it tasted like five-star chef granola dust, I was so hungry. I texted my co-worker, Lisa Slade, of my discovery, and she replied “Victory!” Yes, sometimes, a granola bar makes your day.
But for 10 days in late May and early June, any granola bars in my bag will languish there unnoticed and unloved, because it’s Devon time.
The Chronicle staff is always having adventures of one sort or another when we’re out traveling to bring you horse sport news coverage from around the world. In the Chronicle staff blog, we take the opportunity to share some of the more interesting behind-the-scenes stories of an equestrian journalist on assignment that you won’t find in the magazine.
