Food

Editor's note: Andy Johns wrote about his experience in a Kansas City Barbeque Society judge certification class last August. Saturday he judged his first competition.

WAYNESBORO, Ga. — Judging a barbecue contest in the bird-dog capital of the world has got to rank highly in the pantheon of Southern experiences.

And on top of that, the guy serving the 'cue told us to call him Buster.

Teams represented several parts of the south at the Boss Hog Cookoff in Waynesboro, Ga. The town, which is apparently known for its hunting dogs, is 25 miles south of Augusta and far enough east to attract the Carolina crowd.

Among the 29 teams competing were The Smokin Butts from Lakeland, Fla., the Pickin' Porkers from Clemmons N.C., Slaba-Daba-Que from Savannah, Ga. and Yeah We Smoked It from Yemassee, S.C. Six home states were represented amongst the 36 judges.

There was won woman who looked about 30, but aside from her, I looked to be the youngest judge by two decades.

The other evaluators varied from Iris, the judge sitting next to me who drove with her husband seven hours from Florida in their RV and would have looked perfectly at home behind the counter at a Christian bookstore; to another man with giant ear spacers in his lobes who looked like he knew a thing or two about eating and driving hogs.

They all shared a common sense of anticipation before each category was served.

Each team sends in a sample for six of chicken, pork ribs, pork and beef brisket. The meat was graded from two to nine on appearance, taste-texture and tenderness.

In my judging, I handed out only one nine all day, which went to a slice of brisket that was a fantastic tasting piece of meat. Unfortunately, it could have been a teething toy for a juvenile mako, so it got a six for tenderness and probably should have gotten a five.

I handed out a few scores on the low end: a five for taste to a chicken sample that was bathed in sauce, but had no hint of smoke flavor, a five for appearance on a box of chicken that appeared to have been tossed together by a bad horseshoe player and a five for pork that didn't pass the pinch test. Properly cooked pork should maintain its shape when pinched between your thumb and index finger. Over-cooked pork just smushes to an unrecognizable gray form.

The ribs were so sweet you could wipe the sauce off and slap it on pancakes. For my money that's not a good thing. I like my ribs in the dry, spicy Memphis tradition.

A good judge however, must not let his personal preferences get in the way of fair evaluation, and I judged the ribs based on how close they came to the ideal version of what their creator intended them to be. On my score card, our batch received a smattering of sevens and eights with a six in there for one that could only be described as average.

Overall, I'd give the experience a seven. The judge sitting to my left said he planned to judge six more competitions this summer. I hope to judge one or two more this year, and then do two or three per year for the foreseeable future.

Then again, if Buster handed me another rib, I'm not likely to turn him down.