It's just a step to the left
I actually wrote this a long, long time ago. Then, for reasons brought on by dental discomfort, and inhuman amounts of work, I forgot to edit and post it. So we're going back in time. I advise you to buy a lot of gas while we're there:
HyVee '08
I’ve been on a medical leave of absence from this site. There were some things that happened in April, but we’re not going to talk about them. For they are dark things. Evil things. Things that shall not be named. Things like the all-day dental appointment. A bloody day. A terrible day.
In all fairness, it wasn’t actually the whole day, it was just over 6 hours spread out over one day. First the initial drilling, then what oral surgeons call “supreme yankage,” then back for more drilling, molding, fitting, poking, and some kind of welding, maybe.
Anyway, we’ll not discuss that longest and bleakest of days, nor will be discuss the sinister, doped-up days of recovery that followed. Or the weeks with the temporary crowns in. That part of April, 2008 isn’t to be revisited. We’re going to walk around it. We’re going to skip ahead to the 3rd Annual Barry Road HyVee barbecue contest.
It was very cold…
When I loaded my truck at around 9 am Friday, April 27th, I wore shorts and a Point Lager League t-shirt, and I was sweating like a pig. Not like a stuck pig. I wasn’t gushing briny porky perspiration by the quart. But it was definitely hoggish. It was hot. Sultry. Sticky. Perfect.
Then we got to HyVee. And somewhere in the three miles between my driveway and HyVee, we hit the next ice age. Which, yeah, OK, we’ll save money on ice for the beer and meat. But damn, it was cold. The temperature dropped at least 15 degrees in minutes.
Yep. Well worth the drive.
So, I’m freezing my ass off while I unload the truck, and I dropped a hunka oak on my foot, which was only protected by the soccer girl sandals Sara bought me, and ya know, it just was not a great start for the contest. That’s all I’m sayin’. The weather got all pissy on us. My foot was crushed (I’m not as tough as the average soccer girl), and the there was the grease fire and the rain and Scott wouldn’t do that thing he does with his thumb and index finger, and well, there ya go.
But then it got colder. And colder. We ate bacon wrapped chicken breasts stuffed with pepper jack, and we ate bacon wrapped little smokies and bacon wrapped watermelon rinds, and we even ate deep-fried bacon. There was much bacon. From Farmland®, The Bacon Experts®. But even all that bacon couldn’t warm us up. By 4:30 am, it was about 34 degrees. Which isn’t even close to the coldest we’ve cooked in. But it was cold enough that when Brett took over, I went home to bed.
Then I went back, where I won and lost. My pork did goooood. Eighth overall. I’ll take that at any contest. But I lost the contest that really counted: the Old Style bet for the worst score. Brett’s ribs, which were outstanding, finished lowest out of the four categories, so he won three 12 packs of Old Style. Pure Brewed in God’s Country.
He wasn't even doing it wrong.
Out of 39 teams;
Chicken: 10th
Ribs: 30th
Pork: 8th
Brisket: 25th
Overall: 16th
Brisket and Ribs were better than that, but whatcha gonna do?