Stiffs and Swine, page 6
Bennett grinned. “Our fill? Nice culinary pun, Professor. I hope you get through that book fast so you can educate the rest of us on regular contest categories before we eat a piece of barbecued possum.”
“You’re kidding, right?” James was alarmed.
“No, man.” Bennett shook his head. “They’ve got a category called ‘Anything Butt.’ And if there’s already categories for chicken, pork, and beef, then what meats do you think are left?”
James rifled through his book until he located the table of contents. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out before I end up with a piece of rattlesnake ’cue on the end of my fork!”
Inn at Fox Hall’s Warm Chicken Salad
3 cups cooked chicken, cubed
1 cup green seedless grapes, halved
1 cup sliced celery (optional)
1 cup mayonnaise
1⁄2 cup toasted slivered almonds
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons onion, finely chopped
1⁄2 teaspoon salt
1⁄2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1⁄2 cup bread crumbs
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees and lightly grease a 2-quart baking dish. In a large bowl, mix all of the ingredients except for the grated cheese and the bread crumbs. Spoon mixture into the baking dish. Mix the cheese and bread crumbs together and sprinkle them over the chicken mixture. Bake in the preheated oven until warm and the cheese is melted, approximately 20 minutes. Serve on croissants or toasted buns.
When James and the rest of the supper club members made their way to the Hudsonville town park, the number of people awaiting the kickoff of Hog Fest astounded them. Swarms of men, women, and children of all ages stood beyond the park entrance, talking animatedly and glancing excitedly at their watches.
The park had been divided into quadrants, the largest of which was further partitioned by the main road. Flanking the road, which led to the recreation center on one end and the tent where the barbecue entries would be judged on the other, were vendors selling fried food. These booths offered up all types of batter-dipped foods from sweet potatoes to fried okra to fried bananas to fried peanut butter cups. Behind their napkin-stacked counters, multiple vats of grease bubbled in anticipation. Perspiring merchants wearing a spectrum of colored aprons and matching visors prepared their booths for the imminent crush of hungry customers.
The Flab Five were allowed to enter the festival grounds early as R. C. Richter, the head judge of Hog Fest and president of the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce, needed to review the rules of the sow beauty queen contest with them. Strolling down the park’s main road in search of the indoor recreation center, the group gazed wide-eyed at the assortment of merchandise being positioned for sale. The fragrant line of food vendors was separated from the dry goods merchants by an area of picnic tables surrounded by garbage cans. James and his friends walked by booths of plush pigs dressed in jean jackets and straw hats, personalized leather key chains, handmade pottery, carved wooden walking sticks, necklaces made from crystallized grains of rice, water colors of the Blue Ridge Mountains, neon windsocks, Hog Fest T-shirts, and much more.
James’s vision began to blur by the time they reached the end row of the tradesmen, but his eyes were assailed by a fresh variety of primary colors as they viewed the area where caricaturists, clowns selling pig-shaped balloons, temporary-tattoo artists, and face painters were tucking dollar bills into aprons or stirring paint as they occasionally checked the time. In less than thirty minutes, the festival would open. The feeling of anticipation among the vendors was palpable.
Inside the recreation center, a modern building made of glass and steel, men and women bustled about with determined strides, holding clipboards and walkie-talkies. A slim man in a blue button-down shirt waved at James and his friends as they approached a reception desk stacked with park maps, contest times and locations, and schedules for the entertainment events.
“Welcome!” The man shook hands all around. “I’m R. C. Richter, president of the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce and head judge here at Hog Fest. Thank you kindly for agreeing to be our celebrity judges this weekend.” He smiled at them, though it was clear that he wanted to dispense with the formalities and get down to business. “I trust you’re finding the Inn at Fox Hall satisfactory? Eleanor Fiennes works very hard to please all of her guests.”
“It’s simply divine!” Gillian gushed. “Why, I saw so many species of birds on the nature walk I took after lunch that I felt as though I were truly in a sanctuary.”
As Gillian took a breath in order to describe Fox Hall’s flora and fauna in complete detail, James put a hand on his friend’s shoulder to distract her. In answer to R. C.’s question, James replied, “The inn is great, thank you. But I’m sure you’re very busy and would like to give us the lay of the land before the festival begins.”
R. C. nodded gratefully. “Yes. Please follow me, folks. I’ve got name badges for you to wear this weekend. Kindly display them in a visible location on your person at all times. These are how you’ll gain entry to restricted areas around the festival. They will also grant you discounts at the majority of the vendor booths. Of course, any entertainment venues you’d be interested in attending are free of charge. Just show the ticket takers your name badges and they’ll let you right in.”
“Wow. We are getting the red-carpet treatment. I’d better look over which singers are performing. Maybe some of my favorite country bands are here.” Lindy grabbed several schedules from the reception desk and glanced at them as the group hastened down a long hall to a conference room.
R. C. directed them to each take a seat in one of the maroon leather chairs. “Please make yourselves comfortable. The Hog Queen Contest will take place later this evening after a series of opening ceremony events. At eight p.m., the contestants will be paraded down a length of purple carpet. The name and weight of each contestant will be announced and your duty will be to judge each female on her size, personality, grace, and costume.” He grinned. “Unlike most beauty contests, the more a contestant weighs, the higher her score. But it’s not always the biggest sow that wins. Some of their owners can get quite creative with their costumes.”
Lucy cleared her throat. “So we have four categories?”
“And each category should be given a score of one to ten?” James sought clarification as he didn’t want to make any errors on his scorecard.
R. C. gave an affirmative nod to both questions. “Yes. And I must emphasize an important point. The owners, regardless of their appearance or behavior, are not to be considered in your judgment of the contestants. I’m sorry to say that some have even tried to bribe judges in the past. I know that you five will remain unfazed by such attempts, but I thought I should warn you all the same.”
“Do some of the owners dress up like their pigs?” Bennett peered at R. C. in disbelief.
“Indeed, Mr. Marshall.” R. C. reddened slightly. “And some of them barely dress at all.” He coughed slightly in embarrassment. “Allow me to show you a slide from last year’s contest.”
R. C. reached over to the wall to turn off the lights and James noticed that the armpits of his shirt were stained with sweat.
I wouldn’t want to be the one to run this show, James thought, but he decided to pay close attention to the popular venues at the festival in case he could replicate any of them for the library’s next Spring Fling.
As the room fell dark, an image appeared on the white screen at the end of the room. It showed an enormous and rather hairy-looking black sow wearing a pink tutu. A pink ribbon had been tied around its ear. The photo had been taken directly in front of the judges’ table and the owner, a rather large woman stuffed into a matching tutu, was caught in time making an awkward attempt at a plié. The impression she achieved, however, was of possessing a severe case of constipation.
“My, my,” Gillian uttered.
“Is this last year’s winner?” Lucy asked, her blue eyes crinkling with amusement.
R. C. turned the lights back on. “No. I believe this contestant was one of the larger entries, but she didn’t win. I just wanted you to get a sense of what you’ll be seeing tonight. Of course, there’s no way to illustrate an individual’s personality on screen.”
“What kind of personality can a pig have?” Bennett muttered, but R. C. overheard.
“You’d be surprised, Mr. Marshall. Some of these ladies will trot as proudly up the carpet as a thoroughbred racehorse. Some will give you flirty snorts or roll their eyes at you. There’s plenty of ways the contestants can stand out from the field.”
“I appreciate the respectful manner in which you refer to these contestants,” Gillian said, beaming at R. C. “I was initially afraid that this contest might belittle these lovely and intelligent animals, but I can see that you truly approach this pageant with a high degree of dignity. I applaud you!” Gillian clapped her hands as R. C. blushed.
Luckily, his walkie-talkie began to crackle and he excused himself to answer what sounded like an urgent stream of babble. As the supper club members watched, the veil of sweat on his forehead began to drip down his temple. He dug a red bandana from his pocket and dabbed at his face. “Are you sure?” he tersely asked the person on the other end and then hurriedly added, “Over.”
“I’m sure, boss.”
R. C. replaced the walkie-talkie into its case on his belt. “It seems as though I may need to beg a favor. Four of our judges, who happen to be family members, have contracted pinkeye. Due to the fact that they are contagious over the next twenty-four hours until their antibiotics take effect, they have withdrawn from judging the Brisket category. Could I count on four of you to temporarily step into their shoes?”
Gillian put her hand to her breast. “I simply cannot come face-to-face with that much meat. I’m sorry, but I must refuse.”
James exchanged glances with the rest of his friends. They issued him subtle nods. “We four would be glad to help,” he offered.
R. C. exhaled in relief. “I do thank you. We’ll be reviewing the judging policies for the food contests in the morning.” He distributed schedules and a baggie filled with red tickets to all of them. “These tickets are for the food vendors around the festival. Each ticket is good for a single item. Should you need any more, just show the receptionist your name badge and she’ll refill your baggie. We have a small token of our appreciation for each of you as well, which we will present tonight at the Hog Queen contest.”
The head judge led them back to the main doors of the recreation center and then marched off to solve a dispute between two barbecue contestants who were both claiming the same parking spot for their campers.
“That guy’s gonna need a stiff drink before this day is done,” Bennett commented.
“I’m kind of parched myself,” Lucy said, shaking her bag of red tickets. “Let’s go spend some of these!”
“This is so much fun!” Lindy squealed as they approached the food vendors. “I feel like a kid who’s just gotten birthday money from rich grandparents.”
Suddenly, a deep voice boomed over a loudspeaker, welcoming all visitors to the town of Hudsonville and the commencement of the sixteenth Hudsonville Hog Fest, sponsored by the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce and Richter’s RV Sales & Rentals.
“As soon as the mayor cuts the pink ribbon at the entrance gates,” the male voice pronounced, “Hog Fest will officially be under way! Don’t forget to visit Richter’s RVs for the best motor homes this side of the Appalachians!”
James and his friends ceased paying attention as the announcer listed locations for maps, ticket sales, and restrooms and then began to warn visitors about which items were prohibited around the festival grounds.
“I’m getting some hot sausages with onions and peppers before the mob gets in,” Bennett said, pointing at a booth selling Italian sausages and all-beef hot dogs.
“Me too,” Lindy agreed. “But without the peppers and onions.”
Gillian twisted a strand of orange hair on her finger. “What am I going to eat at this place? I’m either going to have survive on a diet of greasy fries or starve!”
“Come on.” James steered her toward a nearby vendor. “It’s not all pig or fried foods. Just smell the aroma of roast corn on the cob.” James held out two tickets to a woman wearing a green apron. “Your corn smells delicious.”
“Thanks, hon. It’s roasted with enough butter to stop your heart from beatin’.”
James smiled at her. “Perfect. We’ll take two.”
The five friends had filled their empty bellies with sausage and corn and shared two elephant ears among themselves. After they dusted confectioners’ and cinnamon sugar from their pants, they decided to check out the area where the barbecue contests would take place.
The judging area consisted of a large white tent erected on a section of grass that would normally serve as part of the park’s soccer field. The two tent openings were cordoned off using thick pink twine. A sign taped to the twine warned that admittance was granted to contest
officials only and that should contestants enter without permission, they would be instantly disqualified.
“This barbecue contest is so serious!” Lindy exclaimed. “I had no idea.” She shifted through the schedules in her hand. “Does it say what the prizes are anywhere?”
James pointed at an orange sheet of paper as he tried to suck fragments of corn from between his back molars. “The festival champion gets the biggest prize. Anyone who wins that title gets five thousand dollars, a new commercial trailer cooker—valued at almost nine thousand—and a contract with Heartland Foods. You heard Jimmy at lunch. That contract’s worth a lot of money.”
“Who’s Jimmy?” Gillian frowned, poking at a piece of corn caught in her lower teeth with her fingernail. “Did you have lunch with a barbecue aficionado?”
“You could say that.” Bennett sniffed. “Mostly we watched as he inhaled enough food for three people.”
“That’s because half of it ended up on his shirt, the tablecloth, and his beard,” Lindy scoffed.
“He’s one of the contestants,” James explained to Gillian. “He has, ah, a rather large personality. Calls himself The Pitmaster.”
“According to this schedule, everyone competes in teams.” Lindy studied the orange paper. “Jimmy’s team is called the Pitmasters, but there are five other teams competing.” She grinned. “You guys are gonna love these names. The other teams are the the Thigh and Mighties, an all-female team called Adam’s Ribbers, the Marrow Men, the Tenderizers, and the Finger Lickers. Each team has a leader, or spokesperson, and theirs is the only name listed in the program. They’re the ones who’ll be turning in their team’s food to the judges.”
The group climbed a small hill leading to the cooking area. “I guess it makes sense to cook as a part of a team,” Bennett said. “Then you can enter every category and have a better chance at winning. Besides, according to this rule sheet, most of these guys will have to take turns staying up all night. Some of these entries, like barbecued brisket, take more than a day to cook.”
“Looks like they’ve already started.” Lucy gestured at the campground area spread out in front of them.
The five friends paused, taking in the view of hundreds upon hundreds of RVs parked alongside one another in remarkably straight rows for what seemed like miles. Striped awnings had been unfurled, and lawn chairs and folding tables had been unfolded and decorated with cloths and cushions. Boom boxes competed with one another, though most played country music, while American flags or banners representing favorite sports teams flew from camper roofs. Some of the travelers had even spread out rolls of outdoor carpet in order to make their temporary parcels homier.
But above all the other pieces of equipment, there was one outdoor fixture that formed the centerpiece of each campsite: the grill. There were grills of all shapes and sizes. James spotted tiny camping grills; full-sized backyard grills with propane tanks; space-age, egg-shaped cookers; and enormous, cylinder-shaped cookers that required their own trailers and were no doubt used by the professional barbecue teams.
“Those things are so big they’ve gotta be towed behind the RVs,” Bennett stated, looking at the closest professional cooker. “Shoot, I’ve seen European cars smaller than them. You could hide two grown men in one of those grills.” He inhaled blissfully. “Ah, yeah! Folks are cooking some meat, all right.”
“You just ate,” Gillian pointed out. “How can you sound so enticed?”
“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t eat some more later, woman,” Bennett replied pleasantly. “You know, they’re gonna have chicken barbecue here, too. You don’t have to eat corn and hush puppies the whole time, unless you’re goin’ full-scale vegetarian on us this weekend.”
Gillian stared at the grills and curtains of smoke suspiciously. “That is certainly my preference.”
“Hey! Let’s go check out what the teams look like,” Lucy suggested, hoping to divert Gillian. “I’d like to see what the all-female team is
up to.”
James hesitated. “Are we supposed to fraternize with the contestants?”
Lucy shrugged. “We haven’t been given the food-judging guidelines yet. As of now, we’re just tourists and, I’ve got to admit, I find this all pretty fascinating.”
Gillian put her hands on her hips and gave her toes inside her Birkenstock sandals an agitated wiggle. “I would prefer to view the sand-drawing event.” She held a map in front of her face. “It’s in Area C. I find the combination of flowing sand and graceful motion very soothing. Would anyone care to join me?”
Receiving no offers, Gillian told her friends that she would see them later on at the Hog Fest beauty contest.
