As I wandered through the Wisconsin State Fair…

…surrounded by the familiar scents of grilled sausages, deep-fried everything, and, of course, the occasional whiff of livestock, I suddenly caught sight of it—the world-famous cream puff building.

This is no ordinary structure; it’s practically a shrine, a temple of whipped cream and pastry, where diets go to die and taste buds ascend to a higher plane of existence.

The line to get in stretches out like a conga line of the hopeful and the hungry, and I can’t help but join in, feeling a mix of anticipation and slight panic—what if they run out before it’s MY turn?

These aren’t just desserts

As I edge closer, I catch a first glimpse of the cream puffs themselves. And holy cow (probably the same one that provided the cream), they’re massive. These aren’t just desserts; they’re architectural feats, towering mounds of pastry and cream that look like they could double as emergency flotation devices or possibly big enough to use as a pillow if you’re into that sort of thing. 

They had these golden-brown, perfectly flaky pastry shells, stuffed with what could only be described as a mountain of whipped cream. It was as if someone had taken the essence of happiness and decided to sandwich it between two pieces of dough. I could already tell that this was going to be an experience.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity…

and a few nervous glances at the shrinking pile of cream puffs—it was my turn. The server hands me one of these behemoths with a grin that says, “Good luck.” I cradled it in both hands—it was that big—and just stared at it for a moment.

This thing is the lovechild of a doughnut and a cloud, and I’m about to make it disappear.

I took my first bite, and immediately, everything else in the world just sort of faded away. The pastry was perfectly crisp on the outside but tender enough to melt in my mouth, crumbling just enough to make a mess of my shirt but not enough to stop me. It was like biting into a cloud, only this cloud was made of pure joy and maybe a little magic. 

The cream was thick and luscious

The cream was thick and luscious, with just the right amount of sweetness, and it seemed to multiply as I chewed, oozing out from every possible angle. I’m pretty sure I had whipped cream on my nose, my chin, and maybe even behind my ears, but I didn’t care. I was too busy being in dessert heaven.

With each bite, I felt a mixture of bliss and panic—bliss because it was just so darn good, and panic because I knew it would eventually be gone. The last bite was bittersweet, literally and figuratively, as I reluctantly finished off the cream puff. I looked down at my hands, now a mess of crumbs and cream, and couldn’t help but laugh at the state of me.

I had cream puff in my hair, on my shirt, and possibly down my back, but you know what? I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

By the time I finished, I looked like I had lost a whipped cream fight, but the smile on my face said it all. I just had a Wisconsin cream puff, and nothing else will ever compare. Sure, I might have to take a nap after this, and yes, I’ll be finding crumbs for days, but it’s all worth it. I’ve joined the ranks of the cream puff elite, and my only regret is that I didn’t get a second one—yet.

As I walked away from the cream puff building, feeling like I’d just conquered a delicious mountain, I couldn’t stop smiling. I knew one thing for sure: I’d be dreaming of that cream puff for weeks to come, and I’d definitely be back next year for round two. Because once you’ve had a Wisconsin cream puff, no other dessert can ever really compare. And honestly, who needs a clean shirt when you’ve got a story like this?