Texans get fired up at the World Championship Bar-B-Que Contest
HOUSTON RODEO | Texans get all fired up at the World Championship Bar-B-Que Contest
HOUSTON -- Walking around sprawling Reliant Park, I pass tent after tent filled with cooks wearing boots, blue jeans, big belt buckles and don't-mess-with-Texas looks on their faces.
The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo -- three weeks of cowboy competitions, country music concerts, carnival rides and farm-related exhibits -- is about to take over this oil town for the better part of March. The kick off to this annual Wild West party is the World Championship Bar-B-Que Contest.
(Courtesy)
PHOTO GALLERY
Right on (BB)Q
In a state that hosts more than 100 barbecue cookoffs each year, this is the grandaddy of them all. Some 374 teams spend three days firing up spare ribs, brisket, pork and chicken in hopes of walking away with nothing more than a trophy and bragging rights.
Texas certainly didn't invent barbecue, although I'd rather make Alamo jokes than say that out loud. Barbecue is a big deal in the Lone Star State, where generations of African Americans, Germans, Mexicans and run-of-the-mill cowboys have all put their unique spin on this finger-lickin'-good food.
All of these different influences make it hard to define "Texas-style barbecue." But if you had to boil it down to a few simple generalizations -- and isn't that what journalists do best? -- here are two: bring on the beef and easy on the sauce.
"If you gotta put sauce on it, you're not very proud of what you're cookin'," said Lon Babcock, 65, a native Houstonian and long-time judge at the World Championship Bar-B-Que Contest.
Like the "World" Series, "World" Championship is a bit of a misnomer. The vast majority of the teams in this cook off come from Texas. "Although I'm certain we got some Yankees in there."
One Yankee who was here last year is Scottie Johnson of west suburban Westmont.
Johnson, 44, got into competitive cooking as his 16-inch softball days were coming to an end. He named his grill team Cancer Sucks in honor of his late wife, Corliss, who died of colon cancer in 2003.
"It was her rallying cry," he said. Cancer also took the life of his father in October 2006, the same weekend Johnson was competing in the Jack Daniel's World Championship barbecue cookoff in Lynchburg, Tenn. In that prestigious contest, Cancer Sucks racked up the best overall score, automatically securing Johnson a spot in the Houston competition last year.
Johnson and his fellow team members, who include his two daughters, Zoe, 10, and Lexi, 7, spend much of the summer traveling from one cooking contest to the next. They donate their winnings -- that's $80,000 so far -- to the foundation they started for cancer research after Corliss died (http://corlissfoundation.com).
There's no money to be won at the Texas cookoff, but that was OK with Johnson.
"Nothing compares to Houston," he said. "It's probably the greatest contest I've ever been to. Just the sheer size of it. They take it seriously down in Texas."
This year's barbecue event set an attendance record, with 207,149 people pouring into Reliant Park over three days. They came for the music, carnival rides and 'cue. A $7 ticket includes all-you-can-eat barbecue at the food tent. But the best grub is in the individual teams' tents, which are closed to the general public. You need a special invite -- or in my case, a press pass -- to get in. Rumor has it that short skirts and large, um, smiles can do the trick, too.
"It's one big party in here," said J.D. Schacht, a 33-year-old Houston attorney and member of the Devil's River Mountain Men team, who let this nosy reporter crash their festivities.
As the music blared, a large crowd huddled around a fat pig the Mountain Men had been roasting to crispy perfection over an open flame for the past eight hours. People juggled their long-necked Lone Star beer bottles with paper plates full of brisket, ribs, sausage and chicken. A guy in a coon-skin hat leaned against a giant fake mountain complete with a real waterfall. It felt like a frat party with way better food.
The Mountain Men have never won any prizes for their cooking. In fact, they laughed when I asked that question. But they've twice clinched the trophy for the most colorful team.
"We're always one of the last booths to shut down," said Schacht, brimming with Texas pride.
In this town, pit bosses take their partying seriously, too.