BBQ Championship: 'To an average person, black is burnt. To a judge, it's the bark' Jeremy Sandler National Post Wednesday, August 09, 2006 BARRIE, Ont. - Carnivorous has always been an excellent way to describe me. From a childhood spent with Gourmet Magazine planning road trips to roast-beef houses to a honeymoon that featured finding lunch in a Czech medieval village with the phrase "I smell meat," searching for the best in slaughtered foodstuffs has been a passion. So when the opportunity arose to serve as a judge for the third annual Canadian Open Barbecue Championship and Ribfest, despite objections from my cholesterol-concerned physician, I was not about to miss it. The promise of unlimited free barbecue brought much jealousy from some of my meat-loving family and friends. In reality, there is much less gluttony than one might expect. While good news for lipid levels, it was nothing like a Friar Tuck-ian festival of sampling with once-bitten food tossed aside as fast as the next morsel could be presented. Barbecue judging is in fact a lot more like wine tasting, minus the cuspidor. Over the two-day event, whether judging blind or being served at the teams' own tables, judges sample only one of each type of meat in the competition -- chicken, brisket, ribs and pork. Head judge Ray Lampe, known in books and on the Internet as Dr. BBQ, explained the reasoning behind only getting one version of each meat was to avoid comparison judging. Maybe it's because I feel robbed of dozens of taste tests, but it seemed a little like trying to judge Miss America after only seeing Miss Rhode Island. Still, it's a task taken seriously by discerning judges from as far away as Georgia and Florida, some of whom are "certified" by various south-of-the-border societies. They dip their noses right down to their food while poking and prodding to complete a survey of the meat. Score sheets rate not just taste, but aroma, texture and appearance as well. "We do anywhere from 15 to 20 contests a year. We get about $300 of free meat and spend about $6,000 to go get it," said Richard Schmidt, who along with his wife, Linda, had travelled from St. Jacob, Ill., to judge. Proudly sporting his certification pins along with an "I Love BBQ" watch and a giant hog belt buckle, he was only too happy to share his expert knowledge. "To an average person, black is burnt. To a barbecue judge, it's the bark," Schmidt said. "If you look at a beef brisket, that's the seasoning and the smoke. It's the delicacy." Sixteen teams, seemingly comprised from two main divisions, the apostrophes -- like Smokin' Eh and Wilbur's Smok'n Again -- and the puns -- Swine Fellows and The Master Basters -- competed for $20,000 in prize money. Also on the line was a much-coveted entry into the invitation-only Jack Daniels barbecue competition in Lynchburg, Tenn. "This is the Grey Cup of barbecue in Canada," said Greg Halsey of the Happy Grillmore team. "We want to go to the Super Bowl." To that end, the 16 teams sweated and smoked an entire weekend in a corral filled with team tents and tools ranging from standard grills to smoker boxes to what looked like a blackened horizontal water heater on wheels. "Even though people think we're nuts, it's actually a lot of fun," said Adrienne Ross, of the London, Ont.-based Dizzy Pig team that travelled with a trailer-sized portable kitchen. "I figure playing golf is more expensive," said Dave Yerzy, 44, a Toronto lawyer and amateur barbecue chef, who together with his friend Darrin Earley made up The BBQ Effect. "You can buy a bottle of wine for what we've invested." And for all the camaraderie talked about by the competitors, it remains a competition. Yerzy missed a deadline for turning in his chicken by about 30 seconds on Saturday. After he took first place for brisket and pulled pork, the missed points there let more than $3,000 in prize money and the Jack Daniels invitation slide to Team Cedar Grilling. "I don't know what it cost us," said Yerzy. "I don't really want to think about it." For Steve Adams, and the rest of Team Cedar Grilling, it meant celebration. "It's a rush, big time," said Adams, who credits his success to 25 years of obsessively tracking everything from weather to number of lid openings. "Too much, it's like a sad amount of time." Perhaps, but having experienced it, it's also delicious. jsandler@nationalpost.com © National Post 2006 |
