The Minnesota State Fair begins today, and along with the rides, attractions and crowds comes a veritable smorgasbord of food choices all gathered in one place.

For a foodie such as myself, the variety is a cause of celebration. But when it comes to food, the fair can also be the scene of heart (and stomach) ache.

It is in that spirit that I, like Coleridge’s ancient mariner, must tell you, the reader, this tale of woe and warning.

Before coming to Minnesota, I worked in Jackson, Mississippi, for six years. I was a historian at a museum in Downtown Jackson and the Mississippi Fairgrounds were a stone’s throw from my office.

Every year, starting the first Wednesday in October (because it was still hot in Mississippi), the Mississippi State Fair would be held for 10 days at the fairgrounds. Admission was free during lunch, so occasionally some co-workers and I would go over during our lunch hour. The Mississippi State Fair is smaller than the Minnesota State Fair, so the lunch options were not as abundant. Still, you had your funnel cakes, deep-fried candy bars and cookies, turkey legs that tasted like they had been dropped in a pile of salt and the rather questionable alligator-on-a-stick.

Then one year, IT came.

The Luther Burger.

Named after singer Luther Vandross, who supposedly invented IT, the Luther Burger contains the regular accouterments you typically associate with a burger, such as cheese, bacon, onion, pickles, lettuce and tomatoes. But where it differs is that it foregoes the usual burger buns, using one or two glazed doughnuts instead as the base and top.

I had first heard about the Luther Burger from an episode of “Man vs. Food,” when former host Adam Richman ate one at GCS Ballpark in Sauget, Illinois. As a fan of the show, I was excited to hear that this unhealthy creation would be available for me to consume.

So, on day one of the Mississippi State Fair, I went to the fairgrounds and approached the burger stand, drooling while simultaneously clutching my chest. I ordered the burger with just bacon and cheese because, let’s face it, ordering it with vegetables to make it “healthier” makes about as much sense as standing in a bucket and trying to lift yourself up by the handle.

I received my burger and sat with several co-workers, eager to take my first bite of a hybrid between two of nature’s most perfect foods. I sunk my teeth in, anticipating a divine experience, and it was… okay. Actually, it was not okay. It was underwhelming. All I could taste was sweet and no meat. My world was shattered. What Adam Richman had sold so well was, in fact, disappointing.

But, I couldn’t make an accurate assessment with just one bite, so I took another. Also underwhelming. The third was the same. How sad.

But, I was a historian (which I’m sure is Latin for “what paycheck?”) and I had spent $8 on this doughnut burger, so I was going to finish it.

If only I had known what trials lay ahead.

After finishing the burger, one of my co-workers commented I was looking a little green. And I sure was feeling a little green. It soon turned into a lot green. My lunch hour was coming to an end and I still had to walk back to my office, but the demonically inspired combination of fried dough and carnival meat sitting in my stomach threatened to make a second appearance if I moved. With that threat lingering over my head, I remained put, not wanting to waste $8 (because, clearly, I had not already).

A few minutes passed and I finally mustered enough courage to make the walk back to my office. What was normally a 2-3 minute walk lasted an agonizing 15 minutes as I prayed to every omnipotent being known to man that my lunch would stay down. The irony that what I anticipated being a religious experience left me asking, “Why, God? Why?” was not lost on me.

I made it to my office without incident, but I was not yet out of the woods. For the next two hours, I sat stone still in my chair, sweating profusely as my stomach painfully digested the abomination I had eaten. I vaguely remember a little bit of rocking back and forth whilst the lyrics of “Amazing Grace” escaped my lips, but it also might have been a hallucination brought on by the pain.

While I can say I made it through those trying two hours without losing my lunch, I also came out of it with a valuable lesson: burgers and doughnuts don’t mix.

So my advice, for what it’s worth, is if you ever cross paths with the Luther Burger (or doughnut burger, or Krispy Kreme burger, or whatever deceptive name has been bestowed upon it to trick you into tasting it’s wretchedness), avoid it like the plague. I don’t know if the Minnesota State Fair offers IT, but if you absolutely must try this monstrosity that is the unholy marriage of doughnut and burger, then I suggest you recruit other brave souls with whom to split IT. That way, you can try IT without having to eat the whole thing and never speak of IT again.