A Few Words About: WAX Chili Cook Off @ The Bywater, Asheville, NC
In the end, I knew a sacrifice had to be made. Unfortunately, it was obvious that I was the one who was going to have to make it. Kind of. After all, it was the missus who had put all the labor and care into the crockpot that I was now carefully packing into the insulated, lime green bag before me. But the damage had been done under the cloak of midnight, the previous evening, when unbeknownst to the chef I sprinkled a lethal amount of fresh lime juice into the white beans that were brewing on the stove. I put just enough so that the acidity would arrest the development of the beans, never quite allowing them to become 100% tender. Everything else would be perfect; moist, soupy strands of breast meat, backed by a lashing of fresh, fire roasted Hatch green chiles, poblanos and jalapenos, which would hit you on the back end of the spoon. Yes, it would be a flawed masterpiece, quickly overlooked for the glaring wart on its forehead. This was the plan. Because we all know there is no way in hell that the people were gonna accept that the guy who was announcing the winners, could possibly have won the thing himself. Chairs would be thrown, bowls would be shattered, children would scream in terror at the general mayhem that would inevitably ensue. I was not interested in inciting a riot. With all of this settled in my mind, I picked up the bag and made for the scene.
The event started at 6:30 and I was entirely unsure whether I should arrive there at that time, or perhaps a little while thereafter. I opted for the latter and because of that, had to battle a family of hedgehogs in an adjoining field for a parking spot. Incredible. Once inside, it took me about 11 minutes to make my way from the bar to where the tables housing the various entries were on display. I counted at least 630 people, not including myself, before throwing in the towel. It was safe to say that we were dealing with a full house.
I managed to find a spot to set up at the end of the second table. While doing so the soundbites of self promotion began filling my ears, and my nose; with the aroma of what lurked below the glass lids of a wide and varying collection of crockpots. One couple had made t-shirts; "Vote for #7, It's Made in Heaven", in bright red letters on a lofty white American Apparel brushed type of deal. I suudenly had a button pinned to my breast by a faceless stranger; "#3 Tastes Best To Me!!". But the real dirt began after I half-heartedly propped up my ladle and left the pot to its lame duck fate.
I had just rustled up my brown Pyrex tasting bowl and my handy camping spoon, when the "samples" began coming my way. Just as quickly as I would begin to scoop a little chili in my bowl, I would be taken by the shoulder and brusquely confided in; "Here, I made you a bowl already, TAKE IT." My hand was pried open and cups and bowls with varying degrees of garnish were placed inside. #5 had taped a five dollar bill to the bottom of the bowl. She has jested into my ear, with the wink of an eye "Easier to remember that way, right?" #10 had pulled a similar fast one, even writing "#10" on the bill itself "Don't forget us!" they had said in a kind, but menacing way. I looked at my empty glass that had not so long ago, housed an entire beer and realized I needed to get my act together. So after a quick visit to the bar I fought my way through the maze of faces to a table all the way in the back.
Once seated, I began to regather myself and slowly take in the name badges of the people within eyeshot. A few of them harried a flicker in the ill lit foreground of my mind, but I found that it was easier to blur their faces a little and draw on the squint of what I recalled of their profile pictures, "Oh yes" I thought, that's 'two teenage children, sitting on a rock'. He's pretty funny. Isn't that 'Silly white cat, dressed like Bob Hope'? Indeed, it was, and she looked much better in person. Somehow, I even recognized the girl who'd written the post asking if anyone had a diaphragm that she could borrow for the weekend. And on, and on. When memory allowed, I introduced myself and shot the shit with the lot of 'em, between bowls and bribes, making notes on my ballot and trying not to extinguish my beer too quickly.
After every pot had been sampled from, I began to debate my favorites, receiving plenty of advice from my constituents. Many of whom were the spouses and partners of the contestants themselves, masquerading as completely innocent bystanders who there to simply lend a kind observation. After some deliberation I ran into a problem; I had picked 5 winners in a three winner race. So, in an attempt to narrow it down, I went back to the sources to secure more samples. Without realizing it, I had walked right into these peoples most desperate hour. You could see it in their wild eyes, jetting around, trying to corner some meek soul into casting one of the few remaining votes their way. The pots were running dry and money was now openly being shoved by the handful into voters pockets and bowls. More than one rabid looking soul had set upon me and asked "We can count on you, right?!" I tried not to make eye contact, leaving them set on my bowl, mumbling; "Oh, of course. Let me just get over here for a sec" before making my escape. I sat down with my final three re-samples. I was able to quickly disregard the first one, what had I been thinking? I then set upon the last two. The first was indeed, a strong entry, but once I got a taste of that other one, it was over. I quickly filled out my score card and gave it to the keeper of such things, making sure it was thrown in with the rest of the lot, unmolested.
Without attracting any attention, I walked over to the crockpot I had brought and peeked inside like a curious bystander. It had been hen pecked, but was still mostly intact. Things were going exactly as planned. Once I got it home I could add the magic healing juice to it and it would be right as rain. But I was getting a little bit ahead of myself. Best to keep my blinders focused on current events.
I needed some air, so after quietly packing up my virtually ignored chili and utensils, I went outside and found a vacant picnic table to rest my laurels upon. The night air was crisp and the tongues of fire shooting from the fire pit were almost like a primal foreshadowing to the mayhem building inside. Which got me wondering if the final results of the ballots might cause the less scrupulous of us to be cast upon those roaring flames, delivered by the bitter hands of the mad and betrayed. Good lord, what an ugly idea. Did someone slip something into my drink? Where was the moon?
Luckily I was rescued from these thoughts by a pair of familiar faces who asked if I'd like to take a walk with them. Being a lovely night for a stroll, we set out upon it. At least a hundred yards, to the other side of the train tracks to a spot almost entirely engulfed in darkness. It was only then that I realized we were there to reap the devil's harvest.
When it was passed over to me, I drew far more than my due diligence and immediately realized I had just screwed myself over. Slowly, a small glass cage began to engulf me and the sparrow's wings began fluttering in bold strokes that I recalled from other waking nightmares. I began to catch snippets of the river's drunken ramble, just below where we were sitting, begging for an offering of the most unholy kind. At least the company I was keeping was on the same plain that I was, so no worries there. But what about when I had to return to the light? To the public forum? To announce the winners? The winners. It wasnt them that I was worried about. What about the non-winners, whose money I had taken with no regard to life or limb?! How could I manage to get through it without being dismembered or even worse; unliked. What if there was a full scale revolt and I awoke in the morning to find the entirety of the likes on my FB page was down to just myself, the wife and that guy in Romania?
Yes, Los paranoias was creeping in with it's strange lyrical pairings, filling my doubt centers with it's oily tune. I had to get a hold of myself. I went to stand up, but quickly realized that I already was. It was just then, that I heard a disturbance in the force. It was the master of ceremonies, calling us in for the announcement of the winners. It would have been easy enough to simply slip away and walk down the tracks a few miles. Surely they would've found a suitable replacement for the duties that were waiting inside for me.
Of course, this was never a real option. It's not the McStyles way to submit to cowardice or fear. Especially since my car keys and chili were still inside. So I took the walk, the longest yard, as they call it, to the imaginary podium, where I was handed the results on a sheet of paper to digest. Turns out third place was a tie. So there was the first complication. The ladies then began trying to explain in jumbled unison how the prize would be split in half and I nervously looked for my beer, which obviously was in hiding, wanting no part of what was coming. Once I feigned understanding well enough that they believed me, order was called. Thanks were expressed to the group for the evenings offering and the general greatness of the common good, which was met by heaps of applause and cheers from all involved. Then, all eyes were on me. Right out of the gate, I fell on my face; "And the first place winner for last 3rd place is.." People looked at each other in confusion; "Huh?" One of the two 3rd place winners came up to collect her half of a costume, but I'm pretty sure the other party didn't really understand what was going on. In the end she came on up and accepted her wings, which I admit (for all the obvious reasons) I envied at that particular moment in time. When I announced 2nd place I at least got the name right, but due to some strange line and circle placement on the sheet, I called out the wrong accompanying number.
My plan, so far, was working. A tremor of turmoil and puzzlement was slowly spreading through the crowd and participants, and those who'd been imbibing somewhat heavily for the last three hours were particularly perplexed. Once the 2nd place winner had collected her crown, I knew I was almost home free. With much fanfare, I announced the Top Dog. I called out the winning number wrong again, somehow, but I think by this point people may have been just been cheering for good sport. The important thing, was that all the currency that had changed hands earlier, monetary or otherwise, had been completely forgotten. At least for a moment. Just long enough for those of us who were the beneficiaries of these acts to get away unscathed, our stuffed pockets, intact. I graciously handed the gentleman his prize; a gift certificate for something peaceful, and as nonchalantly as I could manage; began to slip away.
By a stroke of good fortune this actually turned out to be much easier than I ever couldve hope for, as the crowds attention was now focused on the two ladies who had been the biggest braggarts over the final weeks leading up to the competition. Seeing as how neither of their chilies had even placed, they had been brought up to the front for a lighthearted shaming. But after some choice words had been exchanged between the two them, in the blink of an eye things turned surprisingly serious and they began pulling each others hair out and clawing at one anothers eyes; much to the mixed delight and horror of the crowd, many of whom were being to fully realize the spite in their newfound losses. It didn't take long for a minor altercation over an old post about left turn signals to turn the thing into a full blown bar brawl. I had sensed the change in the climate coming and had worked myself in behind the back table, safely out of the reach of the scrum. With eyes fixed on the action I slowly picked up my bag, made my way past the newly overturned crockpots and slipped out unnoticed through the back gate, into the safety and anonymity of the parking lot. I heard the first scream, right around the time I opened the door to my truck. A couple children ran past, howling into the night; parents nowhere to be seen.
My final haul ended up being seventy eight dollars and change. Not bad considering all the free food, cold beer and friendly banter that accompanied it. One can only hope that the next one of these can live up to the legend of the first. No easy task, considering the elasticity that the truth often feels the pangs of, even now, in this short hind site.
