Vegetarian at the BBQ fest

Competitive barbecue is big business, and participating in an event isn’t cheap. When you consider the entry fees, cost of food, equipment rental or purchase and travel costs, things start to add up well beyond the $500 first-place amateur prize. Matt and Vic were lucky to receive 76 pounds of pork butt and nine racks of ribs from Mark White at Sam’s Club-University City, a company Vic describes as “a big-box store with the heart of a mom-and-pop shop.” And the honey used in many of Vic’s sauces was sponsored by Cloister Honey, which harvests some of its honey from hives atop the Ritz-Carlton on Trade Street.

The competition and the money are exciting and important, but it would appear that competitive barbecue is just as much about the journey as the destination. Vic had been prepping for this event for a week. He’d been up since 5 a.m. and wouldn’t see a bed or a shower for another 36 hours.

The team was competing in six amateur categories, and they weren’t all about meat: Ribs, Boston Butt, Best Sauce (both tomato and vinegar subcategories), Bloody Mary, Best Booth and “Anything But.”

“Anything But” is a chance for contestants to showcase their culinary prowess with dishes containing anything but pork. Entries range from chicken wings and grilled pizza to burgers and even cupcakes. Vic entered his “pride and joy” — souvlaki, which is grilled lamb nestled in a buttered grilled pita and topped off with fresh cucumbers, tomatoes and his famous tzatziki sauce. I  had a sample (sans lamb). In a word: Excellent.

Late Friday night, when the meat was smoking away low and slow in a steady 225-degree slumber for the rest of the evening and the backyard teams had settled in under their respective tents, I got a chance to find out a bit more about these carnivores.

Matt has hair like Patrick Dempsey that he assured us is not styled. Vic looks like Luke from “Gilmore Girls” (I can’t possibly be the first person who has drawn this comparison) and is covered in 12 different Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein tattoos, including a ring of Whos around his right bicep and Yertle the Turtle down the length of his torso. Both are 44, married and fathers to young children.

“My kids think I’m famous,” Vic says about being recognized as the Hotdog Guy around town.

They both love what they do and, it would appear, do only what they love, as Vic makes a living with his hotdog cart and Matt is “prematurely retired.” They’ve toyed around with the idea of going pro, but according to Vic, “this is a hell of a lot more fun.”

Vic shared a little medical history with us and, like the obsessive, diehard, lunatic meat-lover that he is, he had actually been competing with three intestinal hernias. Yes, three. He didn’t let this slow him down, but he did stop every once in a while to carefully tuck his intestines back where they belong, assuring me each time that he was “not doing anything gross.” He delayed his surgery so he could compete in the event. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” he says.

We took a minute to sample Vic’s eight specialty sauces, each sharing a common (but top secret) base formula and accented with unique ingredients such as merlot, honey, cinnamon and cherry juice. They were all good. Really good. I asked where I could buy them. “They deserve to be on the shelf,” he says, “but I can’t afford to get them there.” It’s a shame. The MerlotBQ would be lovely over tofu.

As the night crept further along into the wee morning hours of Saturday and the guys started discussing the intricacies of salt variation by region, I slipped away to catch a few hours of sleep in my own bed. Perhaps I cheated on my assignment just a bit. But, if it counts for anything, I didn’t shower before turning around and heading back a few hours later. I slept with my windows open as a result.

The next morning, the backyard lot looked like the aftermath of a successful fraternity party. Beer cans and sleeping men were strewn about the ground. Those who were awake were sipping beer. Breakfast of champions.

“If I look like I slept in a parking lot last night,” says Matt, beer in hand, “it’s because I did.” He slept flat on the ground with little more than a rug between him and the pavement. Vic passed out upright in a chair for about an hour.

Vic and I headed over to the Bloody Mary competition, which, oddly enough, was being judged by runners from the 5K Hog Jog. Because nothing goes better with an early morning run than vodka. “This is the whole reason I signed up for the race,” says liquor-happy racer Zeke Watkins, Bloody Mary in hand.

After the last runner-judge-drunk was served, we headed back to camp, where I packed up my things and said my goodbyes. The day was just beginning, but my time in Meatland was over. It was my two-year anniversary, after all, and my boyfriend had a big, secret vegetarian night out planned.

I was a little sad to go. The guys had grown on me, but unfortunately so had the smoke. I decided against spending a second day marinating in meat smoke and opted instead for a hot shower and a nap and left the carnivores to do what they do best: Serve meat to the masses. According to the guys, they had a line of hungry festivalgoers wrapped around their booth. They say it was the food. I say it was their crowd appeal.

I stopped back by the awards ceremony on my way to dinner only to learn that my home team didn’t walk away with any awards this year. In the short time I was with them, they’d already won over another fan, but they only placed 32nd in Ribs and 22nd in Boston Butt.

I obviously can’t speak to the quality of their final products, but I can say that what Fat & Chili lacked in awards this year, they made up for in charisma. People are drawn to their tent, and they have an impressive way of making everyone feel welcome, even a lone vegetarian in a sea of meat. Vic even invited me to come have a soydog at his cart, which I will do.

I can’t say I’ll be converting into a meat eater any time soon (or ever), but I did appreciate Vic and Matt’s dedication to their craft. They may not have won this time, but there will most certainly be a next time for Fat & Chili. In fact, if Vic has his way, he won’t stop competing in barbecue events until you pry the grill tongs from his cold, dead hands.

“We’re gonna die on the road, cart behind the truck, doing the Chili Man thing and selling hotdogs,” he said.

~ Katie Levans

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