Rockin' Rib Fest

Yes, there is such a thing, it happens every year in our city and it's grown exponentially since it started some 20+ years ago. Rib aficionados from all over the USA come to hawk their trademark sauces, styles and tastes, and people flock from all over the metro area to gorge on smoky, saucy perfections. It's heaven on a bone. There's lots of sides to go along with the meats, plenty of ice cold beer and usually many bands for entertainment.

My recollections of this extravaganza are not new. I haven't attended in many, many years as the sheer size of the festival makes it daunting to try to get to, park at and traverse. But I want to go back because even the distant memories can't squelch the feeling of being completely surrounded by some of the best barbecue-ers in the country. Making a perfect barbecued meat is an art form, and not every back yard griller is capable of producing a plate of succulent and divinely cooked ribs, where the meat slips off the bone and melts in your mouth, filling your senses with it's sinewy texture, a smoky tang and the spicy, eloquently flavored sauce. My last adventure was with several guy friends from that season of my life, who shall only be known as T. and K. We were pals, party-ers and good buddies, and the RibFest that year was just another adventure. Upon our arrival, we made a game plan: Each of us would purchase from three different vendors, then convene and share the wealth. This would continue until all the stands had been plundered, not to mention the many cups of beer to wash it all down. The first time we stepped up one of the many chest highs tables where you could set down your cardboard container of piping hot ribs, I was nearly crazy with hunger from all the surrounding smells. We dug in, ravenous. Each container held several small pieces of either beef or pork ribs, in any number of special sauces. I would taste and savor the warm, smoky meats, then sip my beer and reach for another. We wiped out the initial offerings and went for more, each one more wonderful than the last. There were giant beef ribs with a tang of mustard, clove, garlic and pepper; smaller pork ribs rich with cumin and chili powder, baby backs, spareribs, riblets, and even chicken drummies in a wide variety of mouth numbing and endorphin inducing hot sauces. Our mouths worked over the bones in an attempt to remove every last shred of tender meat, and we shamelessly licked our fingers nearly dry to get every last drop of sauce. All around the festival were dispensers of wipes for cleaning sticky faces and fingers. We ignored them and didn't care. We were in hog heaven, and cow heaven and even chicken heaven. I have never tasted better meat. We shared observations about flavor, texture, meat tenderness and sauce consistency, we split each offering equally, and if one seemed superior to another, we never hesitated to go back for another round. In between, we feasted on roasted corn, savory hush puppies, tender collard greens redolent with bacon and garlic, coleslaws that barely even resembled the slimy mass found in most restaurants and onion rings that held the perfect marriage of crunchy coatings and meltingly sweet onion flavor. The noise level was near deafening, the heat from the July sun and the many grills breathing constant tongues of flame was oppresive, but we barely noticed. Part way through my second container of a particularly succulent and juicy texas beef rib, I suddenly realized that I was profoundly full. And an accompanying sense of intense disappointment filled me. So much food, and yet, as is true with every thing, there is a point of no return. I simply couldn't eat anymore, nor even take one more sip of the rich, dark beer I so loved. One look around the table at T. and K. made the consensus clear: we were all there. The smell of the cooking meat and the throng of people around us began to take it's toll, and we dumped our garbage and made for the open green grass in front of the stage where a band popular from our high school days was playing saccharin sweet musical memories. I think we found a post, or tree or something to hold us up, our faces flush and sweaty, our bellies round and taut from the onslaught of our food orgy. I recall thinking that this might make me never want to see another piece of barbecued meat again, but thankfully, and blessedly, that didn't come true. In fact, it was a few short hours before I felt the urge to imbibe once again of the grilled and glorious fare. One more container of those fabulous beef ribs, another cup of crisp and hot hush puppies and a big cup of delicious Bass Ale and I was good for the night, driving home with my memories and my full stomach. The next morning I awoke to the stale stench of my smoked out clothes and hair and the type of food hangover that occurs when much too much of a good thing is consumed in far too few hours. Ah.....but the bliss!