Stiffs and swine, p.9
Stiffs and Swine, page 9
“How much can we eat?” Bennett asked eagerly.
“That is an excellent question, Mr. Marshall.” R. C. looked thoughtful. “Eat enough to be able to score the food, but you should pace yourself. You will be consuming a fair amount of brisket this morning and as you know, brisket isn’t exactly a light meat.”
James raised his hand.
For the first time since their arrival at the tent, R. C. cracked a smile. “Yes, Mr. Henry?”
“Can we talk to each other while we’re eating?”
R. C. shook his head. “No. There must be absolute silence during the tasting. We wouldn’t want you to influence one another’s decisions. You may talk only after you’ve written down the scores for each entry. Now, here are the scorecards. You’ll see that you’ll be judging the meat based on a scale of one to ten. One being the worst meat you’ve ever tasted and ten being … well, a bite of pure heaven.”
“It says here that we’re scoring based on appearance, tenderness, and taste.” Lucy looked confused. “I don’t get how we can judge
appearance.”
“Think of it this way,” R. C. said. “If the entry is placed before you and it really looks like something you’d like to dig right into, then the presentation should be given a high score. Here is a list of illegal garnishes.” He handed each of them a sheet of paper. “If any of the entries are served with these garnishes, they will be disqualified.”
James consulted the list of banned garnishes, which included endive, radish, cabbage, kale, red leaf lettuce, or any other vegetables. The only acceptable garnishes were parsley, green lettuce, and cilantro.
“What the heck does kale look like?” Bennett mumbled in James’s ear. When James shrugged, Bennett pulled nervously at his toothbrush mustache. “Where’s Gillian when we need her?”
“If the meat’s on something green and leafy, then it’s probably a legal garnish,” James replied, but he was beginning to feel anxious about the level of detail required in being a food judge.
“Let’s continue.” R. C. consulted another index card. “If there are no further questions on garnishes, I would like you to recite the judges’ pledge located on the bottom of your scorecard. Please read it aloud with me now.”
James located the pledge and then recited the words: “I, James Henry, pledge to judge today’s food with objectivity and integrity. I will abide by all of the judging guidelines and will do my utmost to ensure a fair and just contest.”
“Goodness!” Lindy exclaimed with a nervous giggle. “I feel like I’m under oath in a court of law or am being filmed for Judge Judy.”
R. C. took a step toward her. “You have a very important role in the success of our festival, Ms. Perez,” he told her. “I’d like to remind you all just how significant the barbecue contests are to the public’s general impression of Hog Fest. Hudsonville depends heavily on this festival and, therefore, our town is depending on you to do your best as a judge.”
Lindy’s mouth hung open and Bennett mopped his brow with a paper napkin from the pile stacked in front of each of their seats.
Relaxing his tense stance, R. C. checked his watch again. “Why don’t you all chitchat for a few minutes? The first entry should be arriving any moment now.”
James was still anxious and turned to the Connellys for reassurance. They promised him that there was nothing difficult about being a food judge, as the scoring was all based on personal preference. They added that the blue-ribbon winner was usually the entry that the majority of judges awarded the highest scores. It always outshone all the other entries.
“The hardest part is scorin’ the first entry,” Mr. Connelly explained. “’Cause you’ve got no comparison. That’s why none of the barbecue teams ever wanna go first. It’s just the luck of the draw if your team gets picked to go to the head of the line.” His face brightened. “And here comes the first brisket now.”
James turned in time to see a pair of attractive young women wearing red and white checked aprons place a Styrofoam takeout container in front of each judge. The container was filled with slices of glistening brisket. James pulled the meat closer, inspected the bed of shredded lettuce, and noted that some of the edges of the garnish had turned an unappealing brown. The bark of the meat was covered in globs of sauce, some of which had dripped onto the lettuce. James felt that the presentation could have been stronger and gave the entry a five in the appearance category.
After cutting away a piece with his fork, James popped the brisket in his mouth. The initial taste was that of an overly sweet tomato sauce. In fact, James sensed that there was too much brown sugar or molasses in this particular sauce, though the meat itself was incredibly tender. He wrote down a nine for the tenderness category and a six for taste.
Deciding not to eat another bite, James swallowed some water and then watched as the Connellys and his friends completed their scorecards. After everyone scored the first entries, Bennett sat back in his chair and exhaled in relief. “Whew! That wasn’t as tough as I thought it’d be.”
“Yeah,” Lindy agreed. “I guess that’s because we all love food, so we’re naturals for this kind of thing.”
Lucy dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin. “Maybe we should start a business. Food Judges for Hire. We could judge barbecue contests, pie bake-offs, decide who makes the best fried chicken, chocolate cake, peanut brittle, casserole, food using maple syrup, sweet potatoes, strawberries …” She grinned. “Can you tell I’m feeling a bit burned out on my protein diet?”
James returned her grin and was about to compliment her again on her weight loss success when the second entry was set before the judges and the room instantly fell silent.
The entry was average overall and James wrote down sixes for all three categories. The third entry was far superior to the first two. The brisket was nicely presented in a fanlike pattern over large lettuce leaves, was extremely tender, and was covered by a delicious smoky glaze that hinted of black pepper, garlic, and soy sauce.
“That one was really good,” Lucy said after their scorecards had been collected. “I ate three pieces of that brisket.”
“Definitely the best so far,” Bennett concurred. “Don’t you kinda wonder which entry is Jimmy’s?”
“If he’s as good as he claims, it might have been that last one,” Lindy stated and then made a zipping motion across her mouth as the fourth entry was brought it. The moment it was placed in front of the judges, Mr. Connelly held out his hand and shouted, “Stop!”
Concerned, R. C. scurried over to the table. “What is it, Mr. Connelly?”
“Well, I hate to say it, but this brisket is sittin’ pretty on a bed of endive. That’s on the list of illegal garnishes, right?”
R. C. examined the entry and sighed. “You’re correct, sir.” He gestured to the two girls in the checkered aprons. “Ladies, please remove this entry and bring in the next.” Disappointed that he hadn’t even had the opportunity to sample the disqualified entry, James anticipated the fifth entry’s arrival. When it was set before him, he immediately smelled something spicy. As he inhaled deeply, he realized that the brisket had been arranged on a bed of fragrant cilantro. The garnish was a suitable accompaniment for the tender meat, as its flavor was distinctly spicier than the previous entries. James chewed a bite and then took another, savoring hints of paprika, cayenne pepper, and onions. It reminded him slightly of chili and was certainly a distinct entry. He gave it high scores.
After the score sheets were turned in, Mrs. Connelly drank her entire glass of water and then waved at one of the girls to refill her glass. “I think I got a piece of jalapeño in mine!” She gasped, her eyes watering. “My mouth is on fire!”
R. C. offered her a package of saltines. “Bread is better than water if your tongue is burning,” he suggested, and he waited until she had eaten all of the crackers and seemed to have regained some feeling back in her tongue. “Are you able to continue?” he asked her.
Wiping tears from her cheeks, she nodded. “I’m fine. I just think my piece had some extra spice. I’m afraid that mistake is gonna cost somebody.”
The next entry tasted particularly fruity, but James couldn’t pinpoint which fruit he was eating. The blend of the fruit flavors in combination with the meat was interesting, but James wouldn’t have ordered the brisket in a restaurant. Like the first entry, it was simply too sweet. Even though he sensed the fruit and added sugars were made less intense by the addition of ginger and a salty flavoring that he couldn’t identify, James didn’t enjoy the combination.
“What was the fruit used in that sauce?” he asked the other judges once the entry had been whisked away.
“Mango,” Lindy answered. “I’d know that taste in a heartbeat. My Brazilian mama is wild about mangoes. I really liked that entry.”
Bennett snorted. “Why would you go ruining a perfectly fine piece of meat with a mango? Would someone explain that to me? Bet it was that women’s team, those Adam’s Ribbers.”
“That’s mighty sexist of you, Bennett!” Lucy’s blue eyes flashed. “I think—”
Their debate was instantly interrupted by the arrival of the final entry.
James instantly approved of the entry’s appearance. The brisket had been sliced thin and laid out on a bed of emerald green, curly leaf parsley. The ruffled leaves of the garnish set off the two-toned meat. Having read up on the entire process of barbecuing meat the night before, James now knew that the reddish-pink shade showing on the meat was caused by the smoke ring—the chemical reaction that occurred when the nitrates in the smoke blended with the protein in the meat. These brisket slices had a more dramatic smoke ring than any of the previous entries. James scored it a nine out of ten for appearance.
Pulling the meat from the fork with his front teeth, James was shocked at its tenderness. It practically disintegrated with each movement of his jaw. And then there was the taste! James tried to chew slowly, but he simply couldn’t. He hurriedly swallowed the first piece and then popped a second into his mouth. There it was again; the perfect blend of garlic, tomato, chili sauce, mustard, and brown sugar. As he shifted the meat over his tongue, he detected a trace of nutmeg and the most delicate hint of honey. Beneath all of these flavors was an underlying layer of Worcestershire infusion along with a breath of whiskey.
This is the best barbecued brisket I’ve ever had, James thought. He scored the entry another nine on tenderness and a ten on taste. He then continued eating, waving away one of the girls when she came to collect his plate.
Bennett did the same. “Oh no you don’t, missy! This here’s my lunch,” he told the young woman.
As R. C. reviewed the scorecards, he seemed to tabulate which team had won quite quickly. James assumed the champion brisket was the last entry. After all, everyone had kept their portion of the entry and seemed to still be relishing every forkful.
In the space of ten minutes, R. C. and two other men from the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce had reviewed the scorecards and were prepared to announce the first-, second-, and third-place winners in the Best Brisket category. They asked the judges to exit the tent and join them by the podium, where the trophies and cash prizes would be awarded.
James saw Jimmy and Hailey standing expectantly in the front of the large crowd. Both Jimmy and his girlfriend wore bright red T-shirts that read, The Pitmaster Loves a Tender Butt. The competing teams wore color-coordinated shirts, hats, or aprons. James noticed that Jimmy’s team was the smallest and that most teams consisted of three or four members.
R. C. began his announcements by declaring that the entry from the Tenderizers had been disqualified due to the use of an illegal garnish. The three men in their team, wearing orange aprons bearing a black meat tenderizer in the center, began to shout at one another. Above their discord, the sound of Jimmy’s hoarse laughter could be heard.
“Dumb asses!” he shouted at them.
James thought Jimmy looked even worse than yesterday. His flesh appeared more swollen, and there were dark bags beneath his eyes. Of course, Jimmy wore his customary expression of amusement and was already muttering insults at the competition just as he had the evening before.
“Mr. Lang.” R. C. leaned toward Jimmy. Though he spoke away from the microphone, the warning in his voice was clear. “If you cannot behave in a civilized manner, I will ask you to leave the contest area.”
“Sure thing, boss. I’ll scoot off after you hand me my trophy!” Jimmy opened his arms, displaying a complete view of his enormous belly and sweat-soaked shirt.
Ignoring Jimmy, R. C. announced that the third-place winner, who would be awarded two hundred dollars cash, was the Marrow Men. The audience cheered as a man wearing overalls and a chef hat embroidered with flames and the name of his team accepted an envelope and a white silk ribbon. R. C. then called for a representative from the second-place team, the Thigh and Mighties. A middle-aged woman took the ribbon and the envelope from R. C.’s hand and then planted a big kiss on his cheek.
“This is our very first ribbon!” she exclaimed and waved it in the air. The crowd applauded her loudly and several people shouted congratulatory phrases such as “You go, girl!” and “Cook that ’cue!”
One of the other men from the Chamber of Commerce collected a small trophy with a blue ribbon attached to its base in order to present it to the winner. When R. C. announced that the Pitmasters had captured the first-place prize, Jimmy hollered with delight. The noise sounded strangled in his hoarse throat, but it was a triumphant howl all the same.
Pumping R. C.’s hand, Jimmy grabbed the microphone and said, “Get used to me, folks. I’m gonna be winnin’ all of these this weekend.” He then blew a kiss to Hailey and stepped to the side of the podium and surveyed the crowd, clearly wanting to bask in his victory a little longer. Trying his best to mask his irritation, R. C. reclaimed the microphone and began advising the audience about the time schedule for the remainder of the barbecue contests.
“I’m gonna get another blue ribbon tomorrow!” Jimmy tried to shout, but the words came out as a croak.
It was at this moment that Gillian appeared in the front row of the crowd. She waved at her friends and then her eyes fell on the figure of Jimmy Lang. As James and the other supper club members watched, Gillian stared at Jimmy, her eyes wide with shock. Slowly, as though her body found it difficult to function, Gillian walked toward Jimmy.
By this time, R. C. had completed his announcements and had switched off the microphone. The audience members had mostly dispersed, seeking lunch or their next round of entertainment. The barbecue contestants headed back toward the cooking area and Jimmy, who had been busy smiling at himself in the reflection of his trophy, finally realized that the show was over. No one except for Hailey waited to congratulate him. When he saw that Gillian was blocking his path, he paused and grinned at her. “Hey there, Red,” he said as though greeting a fan. “You waitin’ to shake the winner’s hand, huh? Maybe get a picture, too?”
Gillian didn’t answer. She kept staring at Jimmy, her face drained of all color. Her fists were clenched so tightly by her sides that her knuckles were moon-white, but her shoulders sagged as though a great weight had been placed upon her back.
“Little lady?” Jimmy cupped the trophy under one arm and scratched his shaved head in confusion. “Do I know you from somewhere?” He waited while Gillian mutely stared. “Well, if you’re gonna just stand there actin’ like a retard, then I’m outta here! I’m Jimmy Lang, future champion of Hog Fest, and I’ve got places to go!” He made a move to brush by Gillian.
Suddenly, her right arm shot out like a hammer and she hit Jimmy square in the nose with her closed fist.
“Yes, you know me!” Gillian shrieked as blood oozed forth from Jimmy’s nose. Absently rubbing her hands, she yelled in a voice torn with pain and grief—a voice her friends had never heard before. “And I know you! A day doesn’t go by that I don’t wish you were rotting in the ground!”
Tears fell down her face as she screamed, “How could I ever forget how much I hate you! YOU BASTARD! YOU SHOULD KNOW ME! YOU KILLED MY HUSBAND!”
To say that James was stunned by Gillian’s words would be an understatement. He stared at his friend, who had covered her face with her hands and was crying hard, her shoulders shaking and the bangles on her arms clinking in disharmony. James blinked hard once, then again, but the reality remained unchanged. Gillian had been married? Or had his ears deceived him? Did Gillian just accuse Jimmy Lang of killing her husband? What husband?
James turned toward his other friends and could tell from their expressions that they too were bowled over by Gillian’s words. Even Hailey was awestruck. The only person who didn’t appear the slightest bit surprised was Jimmy. Cradling his nose with his meaty hand, he backed away from Gillian, grabbed Hailey by the arm, and walked off toward the cooking area. He never said a word.
Somehow, his departure allowed James to regain power over his own limbs. He moved toward Gillian, his right arm extended with an offering of a paper napkin.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he spoke to her softly, as though he were comforting a scared animal or frightened child. “Gillian. It’s okay. He’s gone now.”
Sensing that someone had spoken her name, Gillian raised a face awash in agony. Her eyes gazed unseeing at the napkin, at James, at the handful of gawking onlookers. Her closest friends stared back at her, blindsided into frozen silence. James could see that he would receive no immediate help from them, and while he stood there, desperately trying to think of some way to comfort Gillian, she suddenly turned and ran behind the tent, quickly disappearing in the mass of wandering festivalgoers.
A full thirty seconds later, Lindy whispered, “What just happened here?”
Instead of answering, Bennett walked back inside the tent where moments ago they had all been happily assessing the virtues and vices of barbecued brisket. The other supper club members watched him as he sank into one of the chairs and pulled at his mustache furiously. “Did that crazed woman actually say she had a husband?” he asked his friends as they fell into their own chairs.
