Being on on a barbecue team is like catering a 4 day, outdoor party for your friends who have brought their friends and the friends of their friends. You get dirty, you get worn out, you get drunk, and then, after all that, you get to maybe win a trophy for your cooking.

It was 2:30 this morning when my stamina began to give out. I was one of five people getting our booth ready for the judging of our pork shoulder. Mikey and Willie Jr. were installing carpet swatches on the floor to make our booth look somewhat Turkish in theme. 

Dave Garr and Efraim Cuevas, two of our excellent prep guys down from Chicago, were tending to the smoker. Efraim, or Left Hand as we call him, was concerned about keeping a steady temperature in the rotisserie. Logs added, logs subtracted.

And I grabbed a trash bag and went about the business of picking up the cigarette butts — hundreds of them —  squashed into the muddy floor. Before he left for the night, team leader Chuck said “don’t worry about it, the judges are taught to judge from the waist up.” But I wasn’t going to risk losing a meat point on a butty floor. We turn on the stereo and clean up to Eric Clapton’s “After Midnight.” 

Efraim, who is a restaurant chef, decides to reconsider our sauce. This is a very creative hour for artists, cooks, etc. We sample his new concoctions on Saltine crackers. “I’ll keep working on it,” he says. 

Mikey and I finally leave the park to get some sleep, hardly concerned about the judging that will come at 10:45. We are achy and ready for a breaky. My hands smell like stale butts and beer. My clothes, like smoke. Dave and Efraim are up until 4 a.m. minding the smoker. This is their big moment.

The judges come around the next morning and our main cook Willie and Left Hand decide to handle the presentation alone. They put on chef jackets. The three judges come and go. 

Later in the afternoon, we receive the message. Our pork shoulder is in the top three. Champagne bottle pop. Celebrations begin. 

Around 3:30 p.m. four more judges arrive to determine which of the top three teams are the champions in the pork shoulder division. From behind the bar, Mikey observed: “They were very animated. One of the judges ate so fast she almost choked. I took that as a good sign.”

They went away full, and pleased.

The Ques Brothers barbecue team, only in its second year and seriously lacking in sponsor money, is very happy. I am, at the time of this posting, sitting on the upper deck of our booth listening to Bob Marley singing, “Every little thing’s gonna be alright.” Oh, and drinking from the keg of the good beer we’ve been hiding for the diehard team members.

This keg was provided by John Bragg, owner of the Downtown restaurant Circa and a team member.

He sits down next to me, in a plastic chair borrowed from someone’s patio. “You know, there is a big difference in a lot of teams down here,” he says. “For some teams, it’s just about feeding a lot of people. I was once hired to cook ribs for like 400 people for a corporate team.” He takes a swig of his beer. “I tell you what. I’m really glad to be here and not be cooking. Our guys really care about their shoulder.” 

Willie, Left Hand and Dave are glowing like embers in our smoker. We drink. We await the award ceremony and, no matter what happens a half hour from now, we await the celebration to come.