Confessions of a carnivore |

Confessions of a carnivore

FRISCO – Our plates were sheets of heavy paper squared off into six boxes, one for each individual sample. After each round, we tossed them unceremoniously, along with bundles of napkins, into nearby garbage pails.

“Imagine the amount of paper that’s wasted in all these events every year,” I noted to one of my fellow judges at our preparatory class on Thursday.

“Imagine the antacid,” he replied.


After stuffing more than two pounds of meat into my gut Saturday, not to mention untold crackers and quarts of water to cleanse my oh-so-discriminating palate, I walked out into the rain yesterday hurting.

I am now convinced that pigs, chickens, lobsters, salmon and cows live apart for a reason. Even dead, they seemed to fight pretty strongly for elbow room in my stretched food bank.

Jog to shake them up a bit and they only get more ornery.

Thankfully though, they stayed put. And all told, the fare was fabulous at points, formidable at others.

My incisors got a workout.

Between the beautiful brisket glazed in pink smoke rings and chicken skin the color of maple syrup, all shades of pork passed before our eyes and over our lips. My fellow judges and I sundered piles of tender flesh that were stripped, sliced and sawed into beautiful geometric patterns.

And most of us walked away happy.

So as the grills rolled onto the trailers and the tents finally folded, I couldn’t help but concur with the statement prominently displayed on a T-shirt in one contestant’s stand.

I didn’t claw my way to the top of the food chain to eat vegetables.

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