Catharsis On A Bone

From an early age I loved ribs. Beef, pork, lamb, whatever; where gnawing is necessary, I am happy as a clam. (Conversely, that you don't have to gnaw on clams makes them an inferior food source.)

Today, I made a personal pilgrimage to my food Mecca. That is, I went to Reno. The Nugget's "Best of the West Rib Cook-Off" gave me the opportunity to taste a variety of ribs, baked beans, coleslaws and hush puppies. I ate until waddling became necessary. I killed an acre of the rainforest in napkins, and ate the accompanying wildlife equivalent in pork products. In scale form, I caused the polar ice caps (here, ice cubes) to melt.

And I am coming back next year.

Look at this photo. Notice the charred edges. You, my fortunate readers, are literally SEEING flavor. The sauce tasted like a honey/ketchup base, but had a decent amount of pepper. I later tasted a rib with a sauce only applied before being removed from the heat, and the textural experience of eating the rib suffered: the sauce's coating made the cook's skill in determining "doneness" (a magical moment few are capable of perfectly determining) a non-issue. The second rib's meat was more moist. The first had a sauce. If the second had had a sauce, I may have asked permission to follow them on the road.

While the recipes captivated my attention, the tools and techniques would impress anyone (even blasphemers who "don't like ribs"). Recipes are proprietary secrets closely guarded by individual grilling competitors. The monstrous tools necessary for the mass production of barbecue cause me to hope (pray) for a back yard large enough to house my own twenty foot grill. And two sides of pork to grill. No. Four sides. Six? . . . Please?

My own fixations on barbecuing aside, the competitors have expertly grilled for eight hours a day over the past 3 days. They will continue their efforts for the next three days. These lucky few are living the dream, as demonstrated below.

For the record, this man literally painted barbecue sauce on six racks of ribs. Inferior doesn't adequately describe my immediate reaction.

This gentleman relaxing before 8 racks of ribs. . . and a controlled fireball. If John Nash (of "A Beautiful Mind" and "Game Theory" fame) mathematically expressed the relative career of the griller and me, he would determine: Grillmaster >>>> Lawyer.

Note the four "greater than" characters.

More of the same, but this grill and griller arrived from Texas to be voted the best ribs in show. I wholeheartedly agreed.

If anyone has any (hidden) interest in attending next year, let me know. I will be making a second pilgrimage to this holy place where mana rains down from above. I mean . . . wait. I'm not obsessed.