The One Where I Judge a Barbeque Contest

I'm gonna jump ahead in the textbook and bring you the recap of my weekend as a barbeque judge before my Rogers Centre review. Usually when I want to remember things on day/road trips, I take pictures of them. Later on, I look through all my pictures and remember what I wanted to say. Unfortunately, at these barbeque competitions, only certified photographers and such are allowed to take pictures. So I'll be doing this while the weekend is somewhat fresh in my mind. As a quick refresher, this is how I became a certified barbeque judge.

Before I begin, I'll offer this piece of advice now, as well as at the end of the post: If you love barbeque, become a certified judge. If you read on, you'll understand why.

The Clambake

From a story perspective, there really isn't much of one from this weekend's events. No one fell in the fire. No one got arrested. A good story should have at least rising action and a riveting climax. Me trying to tell the entire story of this past weekend's clambake would come off as a "I had fun and all of you should be jealous" post. That's not what this is for. That's what Facebook photo albums are for. But for those of you who have never been to a clambake, you can look at this as a simple instructional guide if you ever want to put on a clambake of your own. And if you do, invite me. Because clambakes are fucking awesome.

First, a picture of the finished product:

Or more specifically, this is the finished product:

The One Where I Become a Certified Barbeque Judge

Regarding the previous post, Daniel did an excellent job explaining the day-to-day activities of the unemployed. My method, while largely similar to his, has a few key differences, mostly because of the longevity of my current stint on the inactive roster. I'll let his explanation simmer (or maybe ferment) for a few days before I pile on.

Now, a post that I promised you last week: my experience at a Certified Barbeque Judging Class. I guess it all started a couple of months ago when I began watching a show on TLC called BBQ Pitmasters. This program showcased a handful of barbeque cooking teams who would travel around to contests, competing for culinary fame, trophies, and often tens of thousands of dollars, simply for cooking barbeque. To be fair, the extent to which these cooks would go to ensure perfection was astounding --  48 hours straight, barely sleeping at all, killing themselves to make sure every minute detail of their food was perfect. But the cooking part wasn't what intrigued me the most.