You, too, Can Become a Genuine BBQ Judge!

What better way to eat your way across the country?

I’ve always known Scott as a pie man and, since he lives just down the street with his wife Felicia, one of the best women in the world, we occasionally have reasons to talk about pies. For some reason that’s made sense only to me, I used to think his skills came naturally because he’s a born and bred Iowan. That’s ridiculous, of course, because I’ve met phenomenal pie bakers from other parts of the country, plus one from Bali. But that’s another story. In any case, despite living in Brooklyn now for a long time, his pies are much better than any I bake.

One day we were standing around neighborly disagreeing about apple pie techniques and that naturally led to Scott revealing he’s a member of The Kansas City Barbeque Society. In fact, he was just a few contests short of becoming a master judge. Anyone can become a judge, he said. All you need to do is attend one of the Society’s classes, study the judging handbook, and pass a test.

I told Felicia she really is married to the most marvelous of men and went back home to sign up for a class.

This could all be yours!

Late one Friday night several months later, my son and I pulled into a Pennsylvania town so small that even the McDonald and the local bar were closed. The town’s one hotel was under renovation, their restaurant buried under thick plastic sheeting, so we dined on pretzels and Budweisers purchased in the lobby vending machines. The alarm clock was set for 7 a.m. so we’d be on time for our barbeque judging classes.

The school took over the firehouse, the trucks parked in the driveway to make way for five rows of tables and enough chairs to accommodate about thirty attendees, not counting the baby in the stroller. Most of the students were men of generous proportions. The majority appeared over 50, possibly because they may be retired and have more leisure time to drive wildly around from competition to competition that take place all over the country and and around the world, including Transylvania.

Our instructors were a husband and wife team. The wife, a former grade-school teacher, paced about in front of a large screen. The husband, a really amiable guy, walked up and down the rows greeting everyone and handing out the Kansas City Barbeque Society Official Handbook and #2 pencils. His wife called us to order precisely at 9 a.m.

Among the very first judge precepts and, for many the hardest to follow, is the command to park your personal barbeque likes, dislikes, and everything else you’ve ever learned, heard, or seen on TV or social media outside the judging tent. The Society has it’s own sensibilities when it comes to cooking the four categories of meat: chicken, pork ribs, pork butt, and brisket. For instance, points are taken away if the rib’s meat falls tenderly off the bones. Charred edges are not to be considered the be all and end all of delectablity. Smoke rings have no bearing on how well the meat has been cooked since they can be artifically induced. Bottled sauces are fine to use, although disrespect from fellow competitors should be expected. Don’t make yummy or disgusting sounds after tasting. Don’t talk or even look at fellow judges. Always, always, always clear your palate with a swig of water and a cracker before moving on to the next category. Everyone was appropriately horrified of the examples she gave of judges failing to comply with the rules. My son and I exchanged ahh snaps that one day she may be talking about us.

After a much needed break and coffee came the session where we would be tested on how well we were paying attention by tasting six pieces each of the sanctioned meat. Here is where everything became real, where it brought into focus how much power we would have to bestow joy or heartbreak. There we would be, sitting before a crowd of bleary-eyed, exhausted contestants, who had been up all night laboring over their smokers and grills that they had dragged from God knows where and who had shelled out a very penny in transportation, equipment, cooking fuel, and meat. They would be retirees and kids, men and women who rather cook than do anything else in their lives, and who were now betting their reputations on this event. They represent all classes and all partisan viewpoints, towing their gear in all kinds of vehicles, even a Lexus SUB owned by a lawyer who had built by hand a very professional looking oil drum smoker. For one weekend they put their differences aside and bask in the excitement of being with their barbecue family. And there we would be, ruling over their shared passions.

Being a barbeque judge is not for the faint of heart.

Examples of how chicken and pork is presented to the KCS judges.

My son and I mulled this over while the first container of chicken was being passed out. By the pork butt entry our stomachs outpaced our moral delimna. Imprudent eaters that we generally are, we had made the rookie mistake of ignoring the recommendation to take only a few bites of each serving and left nothing but bones in our chicken and ribs boxes. Yet we soldiered on through the butt and brisket to pass the test and take our oath to maintain the strict standards of judgement-ship that the Society expected of us.

Neither my son or I ate much for two days, which is saying something about the rigors of the job. A couple of weeks afterwards the Society mailed out our name badges and membership cards, proving that we had graduated to the rank of official Kansas City Society barbeque judgeship.

Epilogue

Soon afterwards, I packed a bag full of stomach medicine, intending to drive the next morning to a competition in Maryland. But then I received an email that the event was canceled due to multiple outbreaks of Covid among the judges. I came down with Covid the following month. Then winter arrived and, at some point, I lost my badge and forgot to renew my membership.

I just renewed it, though, and my stomach seems to be in a relatively forgiving mood. I’m mulling over whether to sign up for an event in Soldonta, Arkansas, or Seagrove, Onterio. I bet Butler, Montana would be interesting. And there’s that competition in September in Transylvania.

Why not put on your own Kansas City barbeque competition this summer! There are many categories to choose from beyond the huge Master events—backyard for small events, kosher, and even virtual! The details are a click away.

…..and while you’re at it, how about signing up a friend for a free subscription!