The barbecued wisdom of Solomon

May 19, 2009 09:39 pm

— Watching the growing stack of Styrofoam boxes of barbecue chicken at the Ray City Barbecue Cook-Off, we realized there would be a little more to our job as judges than simply delving into the delicious.
We would have to counter desire with discretion.
As tempting as it would be to grab each finger-licking entry and devour them whole, this would not be a wise approach. And we had to be wise. Wisdom is a hallmark of being a judge whether it is deciding a matter of life and death like Solomon, or deciding which chef created the best-looking, best-tasting, most-tender barbecue chicken.
In fact, Solomon may have had it easy. You can’t just threaten to split a chicken in two. You have to tear into it and know when to stop or you’ll never make it to the end of the contest.
Being a barbecue judge is hard work, because after the chicken category, came pork, Brunswick stew, an open division that included sausage, bacon, a pork chop, etc. Topping it all off: Ribs.
Yeah, being a barbecue judge is hard work ... if you can get it.
The cook-off was part of Ray City’s ongoing centennial celebration. Jacque Guthrie, a centennial organizer, invited me several weeks ago to be a barbecue judge. To say I love barbecue is an understatement. I could create a sonnet to barbecue. Given some of this column’s subjects, regular readers may be surprised that I’m not writing a BBQ sonnet. But being a judge now, I will exercise discretion and refrain from the temptation to sing the praises of barbecue.
With no family obligations this past weekend, I accepted. Expecting to eat much, I ate a regular breakfast. You do not want to deny yourself food prior to a big eating excursion. You want to take regular meals so your stomach is prepared to expand. If you skip meals, instead of making room for more food, your stomach shrinks. Or so goes the old legend surrounding matters of eating contests and judging cooking contests. So, my belly was well stretched prior to the contest. Ain’t that a shock!
Still, Saturday afternoon, grills and barbecue teams filled the Ray City park. I walked the gauntlet of meat, raring for the challenge. Bring it on, I would have said, but my mouth was watering too much to really say anything.
I joined seven other judges inside the community center. We sat at a long grouping of tables. Organizers provided flatware, stacks of napkins, bottles of waters, scoring sheets.
Then came the meats, those stacked boxes of chicken. As the stacks grew, a fellow judge said, we may want to pace ourselves. A bite or two from each entry. Wisdom, you see. That’s why we were judges.
This particular judge was particularly wise. He said, I guess if we go back and eat all of one that would be the winner. This proved true in my case. The entries receiving the highest marks in each category were summarily devoured.
Judges, you see, are wise beings, and all it takes is a purple ribbon safety-pinned to your shirt that says in gold lettering: “JUDGE.”
Of course, I also ate a few other entries in their entirety, too. That may not have been wise, but who knows when I may again have the opportunity for people to offer me large amounts of tasty meats for free. At times, wisdom is a matter of perspective.
One judge mentioned that he would like to know how to turn being a barbecue judge into a career. I remarked that an organization could actually charge people to be barbecue judges instead of looking for volunteers. Think about it: You will spend about three hours eating large assortments of barbecued meats. People pay a lot of money to do that in various restaurants all of the time. Why not charge people to be judges?
There is that matter of discretion though. We judges exercised it. We placed left-over samples in garbage-bag-sized doggie bags. No joke. We filled individual Hefty bags with left-over samples to take home.
But I have to admit, as much as I love barbecue, I was pretty well barbecued out by the contest’s end. I’ve even swore barbecue off for a while. Just a while, though.
Really, I had to. This was the first time I’d ever suffered what can only be described as a meat hangover.
Dean Poling is The Valdosta Daily Times assistant managing editor.