Sugar Creek, Mo. — At about 9:45 on the evening of April 21, 2010, I was sworn in as a Certified Barbeque Judge (CBJ) of the Kansas City Barbeque Society (KCBS). Sworn in? Yes indeed — the barbeque business is serious.
As I learned in the almost 4-hour class, barbeque contest participants will spend a minimum of $500 to compete in a single event, so it is the responsibility of the CBJs to invest our time in serious judging.
"You are here to judge, not to do a buffet," our instructor reminded us.
And there is the rub – no pun intended.
In a normal competition, the CBJ will be presented with four different types of barbeque: chicken, ribs, pork and brisket. (The meats are served in that order based on required cooking time, from least to most.)
Depending on the number of contestant offerings the CBJ will judge, she or he will consume an average minimum of two pounds of meat in a single sitting. And that two pounds is based on our instructor's suggested sampling of just two bites per contestant's offering.
So, imagine this judge-in-training's shock, surprise and disappointment when, after being served three delicious pieces of barbeque chicken, to have to discard – that's right, THROW AWAY! – all but two bites of each. And the same with the ribs, pork and brisket.
No doggie bags. Two bites. Judge. Discard. It's almost criminal is what it is.
We CBJs do blind judging, meaning we rate each offering on its own, not in comparison to others. We rate in three areas: appearance, taste and texture.
Appearance is scored when we first see the contestant's offering. It is brought to us (usually a table of six CBJs) in a box that must include enough meat for all six judges to have a sample. The box can include just the meat, or it can have some regular lettuce underneath. But it can't have any kale or other fancy greens, nor can there be other types of garnish, as they may be considered a hint to a judge of a certain contestant's entry. Illegal garnish is a disqualification (DQ).
The entry's meat can also have sauce – but just on the meat. Any excess, either in the tray or in a container within the tray, is a DQ. Not providing enough samples for all six CBJs is also a DQ.
We experienced all of these in our training, but the last one was my favorite. A tray of what looked like six delicious ribs were passed around. When CBJ #4 picked up one, she got two – they had not been cut through. By the rules, she was not allowed to tear them apart, so she passed the tray to me. I took the last rib, and passed CBJ #6 an empty tray.
Clearly unhappy, CBJ #6 did what was required: he reported the problem to the Table Captain, who declared a DQ. As it was a training event, the Table Captain brought CBJ #6 another rib. (After all, we PAID for the class.)
Taste and texture (also called tenderness) are purely subjective. We rate on a scale of 9 (excellent) to 2 (inedible), with 6 being "average." There are suggestions in our certification program handbook, but as our instructor told us, "Don't ask me what 'average' is, you're the judge."
And that's about it. And the end of the class, we were all – 58 of us – sworn in as official CBJs. Our next step is to review The Bull Sheet, the KCBS official newsletter, and contact competitions we would like to judge. As our instructor said, we ask "if we might have the pleasure of judging at your event," and not to show up to judge until we are accepted and confirmed for the event. (Some CBJs have been "disrobed" for being a bit to pompous.)
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
I Lost My Knife Sharpener
The headline read, "Missouri man killed in wreck with semi," and that is what happened. The story was brief, and it listed the man's middle initial wrong. I know this for sure - the man was my dad. He kept my pocket knife sharp.
It happened about 11 a.m. on January 28. As near as we can tell, he had made an early stop at the grocery for some potatoes, onions and cookies (he loved his sweets!) and was returning from a circular route when he crossed the center line of the highway. Why? We don't know, probably never will. And that's not important.
More important was one of the "gifts" we received after Pop's death - a story - one he'd never tell, because it was about himself.
After serving in the Korean War (and having to come back to help his Mom during the Elwood flood of, I think, '53), he started work at Seitz packinghouse. He worked at Seitz for 32 years, then took the "buyout."
He tried several different things, kept meticulous notes of job searches and get-rich-schemes in what apparently was a tight economic time at the home in the late 80s, then down to a population of just he and Mom. But like he was always known to say, "Better days are comin'."
As one of the ladies at Baisch & Skinner (which was then Stuppy's) shared, it was a single, memorable action that lead to another 20 years of work for a man who had to be told to take his vacations.
She said there were about 50 men waiting around in the warehouse, hoping for a chance at the one position, and she didn't know how she would choose. Then in came Pop, went right up to the desk, saw the stack of blank applications, and aid, "Well, I guess I better help you hand these out."
A co-worker said, "You better hire that guy!" And the rest is history.
The day Pop died was a cold day. It would have been a nice evening for a big bowl of potato soup.
It happened about 11 a.m. on January 28. As near as we can tell, he had made an early stop at the grocery for some potatoes, onions and cookies (he loved his sweets!) and was returning from a circular route when he crossed the center line of the highway. Why? We don't know, probably never will. And that's not important.
More important was one of the "gifts" we received after Pop's death - a story - one he'd never tell, because it was about himself.
After serving in the Korean War (and having to come back to help his Mom during the Elwood flood of, I think, '53), he started work at Seitz packinghouse. He worked at Seitz for 32 years, then took the "buyout."
He tried several different things, kept meticulous notes of job searches and get-rich-schemes in what apparently was a tight economic time at the home in the late 80s, then down to a population of just he and Mom. But like he was always known to say, "Better days are comin'."
As one of the ladies at Baisch & Skinner (which was then Stuppy's) shared, it was a single, memorable action that lead to another 20 years of work for a man who had to be told to take his vacations.
She said there were about 50 men waiting around in the warehouse, hoping for a chance at the one position, and she didn't know how she would choose. Then in came Pop, went right up to the desk, saw the stack of blank applications, and aid, "Well, I guess I better help you hand these out."
A co-worker said, "You better hire that guy!" And the rest is history.
The day Pop died was a cold day. It would have been a nice evening for a big bowl of potato soup.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
RIP, Sweet Georgia Brown
When it comes to a certain issue, I think I must be a dinosaur watching the glacier edge my way, or a Model T driver out on the Interstate. The glacier will eventually overtake me when I can no longer out run it, and in this situation, there's no optional vehicle I would find acceptable.
The issue is what I see as a major sign of our moral decline, the increased use and acceptance of profanity.
I try to avoid it where ever and whenever I can. And last night, I made a major avoidance decision. I was settling in for the opening of the annual Blue & Gold Tournament at Fatima High School, Westphalia, Mo. I started following the Lady Comets, home and away, with that very tournament in January of 2000. $3 per night for two games of basketball in a warm gym? You couldn't beat it!
I cut my teeth on small-town basketball while living up north in Memphis, Mo., where high school basketball is a community event. Friday nights usually featured a fundraiser of a soup/chili supper, complete with dessert. Although they didn't have the suppers, I happened upon Fatima and enjoyed a great decade.
In my observation, girls' basketball is a bit like chess: you can see the plays (moves) forming. It can be fast, but it's fast with a purpose – not the racing up and down the court of the boys' game.
I've had a decade of enjoyment with the Lady Comets, but it came to an end last night. During the warm ups for the opening game, the music was loud — I suppose that has to be accepted as the youngsters look up to the adults, and I understand the NBA "entertainment" is almost as much music as sport — and angry. That's how I describe the type of rap/hip hop music where the rappers shout out threats and boasts in a usually hateful, sing-song rhyme.
I can put up with it, usually, and I guess the players like it. But when "Get Buck" by Akon came on, that was it. That one, administrators of Fatima High School, is profane. Shame on you for allowing it. Shame on you players for selecting it to be played in front of your guests, who if you haven't checked the stands, range in age from 8 days to over 80 years.
Maybe I'm a prude, but this dinosaur is packing up his Model T and seeking greener pastures. I won't be expecting "Sweet Georgia Brown," but I'll accept nothing less than a far slower decline in our moral fabric.
The issue is what I see as a major sign of our moral decline, the increased use and acceptance of profanity.
I try to avoid it where ever and whenever I can. And last night, I made a major avoidance decision. I was settling in for the opening of the annual Blue & Gold Tournament at Fatima High School, Westphalia, Mo. I started following the Lady Comets, home and away, with that very tournament in January of 2000. $3 per night for two games of basketball in a warm gym? You couldn't beat it!
I cut my teeth on small-town basketball while living up north in Memphis, Mo., where high school basketball is a community event. Friday nights usually featured a fundraiser of a soup/chili supper, complete with dessert. Although they didn't have the suppers, I happened upon Fatima and enjoyed a great decade.
In my observation, girls' basketball is a bit like chess: you can see the plays (moves) forming. It can be fast, but it's fast with a purpose – not the racing up and down the court of the boys' game.
I've had a decade of enjoyment with the Lady Comets, but it came to an end last night. During the warm ups for the opening game, the music was loud — I suppose that has to be accepted as the youngsters look up to the adults, and I understand the NBA "entertainment" is almost as much music as sport — and angry. That's how I describe the type of rap/hip hop music where the rappers shout out threats and boasts in a usually hateful, sing-song rhyme.
I can put up with it, usually, and I guess the players like it. But when "Get Buck" by Akon came on, that was it. That one, administrators of Fatima High School, is profane. Shame on you for allowing it. Shame on you players for selecting it to be played in front of your guests, who if you haven't checked the stands, range in age from 8 days to over 80 years.
Maybe I'm a prude, but this dinosaur is packing up his Model T and seeking greener pastures. I won't be expecting "Sweet Georgia Brown," but I'll accept nothing less than a far slower decline in our moral fabric.
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