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Monday, August 11, 2008

Gone To The Mountains For Some BBQin...

This past weekend was one of the highlights of my life. No, it wasn't the Jonas Brothers concert. And it no, it wasn't watching my Bar Mitzvah video on Betamax....The whole family loaded up the wagon and headed West to the highest BBQ competition in America. "BBQ at the Summit" is in the town of Dillon, CO and is over 9,000 feet above sea level.

Thursday night I went to a BBQ judging school which was a million times more fun than real school. We studied the competition rules, ate meat, learned secret handshakes, started a fraternity, did some keg stands, and took the loyal Kansas City Barbecue Society oath of excellency in meat officiating.

Friday was devoted to walking the festival and getting ready for the big competitions on Saturday. Check out this guy working the grill like a rabbi on rye.

EGB asked to get a closer look at this whole hog. Then she remembered the story 3 Little Pigs and felt bad that it was now only 2. I just looked at this as a good visual lesson in subtraction. There WERE 3 Little Pigs....we subtract one and roast him now there's only 2 Little Pigs and they are in trouble if they're anywhere near this BBQ festival.

"Noooo Papa....I can't look! But maybe I'll taste? By the way, do they have any of that Western North Carolina Sauce that I like?"

Time for me and Tom to do work. Got the coolers, got the KCBS rule book, kissed the baby, said bye to the women, and went to get our grub on in the forest.

EGB wake up! Don't you want to see Papa Danger before he goes on a BBQ hunt? It's a dangerous world out there.

Approaching the lions den. The Judges Tent. Where boys become men...again...after their Bar Mitzvahs, that is. While there is something "manly" about being 13 and barfing cupcakes after dancing too hard to Tone Loc's, "Wild Thing"-- it doesn't compare to 3 hours of eating 28 pounds of BBQ in a tent.

While the men were judging, the women were......nursing behind 5 Port-A-Potties. What a surprise.

Overlooking the lake and contemplating if the men will be fatter when they get done with judging. Will they come back? Will they slip into a meat coma?

Phew! Pappa made it. Notice the smile and meat sweat on the brow.

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