*Smmm-mokin’!

Shaolin Smoke Draft

My alarm went off at one AM. All was quiet, the air was brushed with smoke and I did my best to not

look like I had slept on the ground in a bamboo jungle, which I had, actually. I checked my

supplies and headed out to the rendezvous point. The scene down the alleyway was dark, hazy and

dotted with light from glowing lanterns. Voices from far off occasionally broke the serious

silence. An invisible, yet palpable tension filled the night. It was not a game anymore.

I met my contact as he emerged from a swirl of smoke. He nodded at me. I nodded back.

“Did you bring the stuff?” he asked.

I nodded again. He motioned me over to the source of the haze, a stream of smoke wisping from the

crack in the door. “Lets do this.”

Reaching into the dark cabinet, he looked left and right before placing the bundle in front of me.

On gleaming silver foil it sat, worth its weight in gold in some circles. He motioned for me to

begin.

I opened the container I had clutched to my side in effort to conceal it from anyone lurking in the

shadows. We both peered inside and silently gave mutual reverence for the glimmering crystals

within. Compounded from the substance that most of the country is addicted to, we set forth its

distribution without anyone’s general knowledge. It was hard to not feel dirty.

We worked without speaking. Each unit owas placed, infused, repackaged and set back for curing as

the night passed. Hundreds of pounds of product went through our hands, one after the other, the

value unfathomable. The shocking orange tint my fingertips I was acumulating was more than

disturbing. After a while, I felt less dirty and a whole lot more sticky.

As I pondered my place in the universe at that moment, I spoke of my observation to my work

partner.

“If you’d have told me five years ago that I’d be rubbing 300 pounds of meat with Tang at one in

the morning with a tall, handsome stranger, I’d have told you that you were outta your fuckin’

tree.”

And that is how it really happened.

As I worked with Chef Dave and his Cuisine de Jour posse, a mutual affection began to develop

between us all. Shortly before my departure, I was informed by my new friends that I was being

secured a new plane ticket, dated a few days after my already scheduled flight back to Arkansas, so

that I could be part of the team at the Central Point Battle Of The Bones BBQ competition. Trying

not to cry like a bitch at the gesture, I was honored to be asked to stay on. They told me that it

would feel wrong to not have me there, so close to the end of my externship, and to not let me go

out with a bang.

And bang we did! The guys did just about everything without me while I was busy elsewhere, but in

four weeks of time, they built a smoke box, killed hundreds of dollars of meat for practice and

tweaked sauces. Dave, the visionary genius and king of showmanship, cooked up a bunch of surprises

for the crowd besides food. As I finished up school business and was recovering from the flu up in

Portland, the guys were mobilizing the troops for an operation of legendary proportions.

In the weeks before the competition, Dave and I had drawn up the plans for a Pan-Asian themed menu

and appropriate styling of the site. There was a lotta evil giggling as I sketched the layout of

the design components he had in mind to procure.

Run Through The Jungle

Imagine this if you will… A grassy field gives way to thirteen tidy encampments. Portable awnings

make appearances, along with trailers of smoking equipment, coolers, portable sinks and folding

work tables. Row by row, they begin to form team bases that will be buzzing continuously for the

next 72 hours. Decorations are hung, a few hay bales here, everything short of pink lawn flamingoes

there, a rotating colored light from a disco starts to spin and blind people as the sun goes down.

At Camp Shaolin Smoke, the massive Cuisine de Jour mobile kitchen, is a lurking giant at the end of

the line of encampments. Sitting at spot number 13 and glimmering white and silver against the

setting sun, the huge trailer box is quiet and unmoving, solid and scarily present.

The whole Asian continent comes together in a 20′X50′ space over the period of a few hours. With

much breath holding, a massive thatched roof is transported from Dave’s garage across the park to

the site. With a few adjustments, an entire covered roof for the future temple of barbecue worship

is elevated into place, wired with paper lanterns and switched on. With a few oohs and aahs at the

initial drama, the crowd begins to change tone with the arrival of the massive, masterfully built

Torii gate, towering in front of the temple entrance. Jaws crash into the grass all around us and

we walk it off like it ain’t nuthin’ but a thing.

A massive cobalt blue, handpainted dragon kite is susprended from the gate, as if protecting all

inside from marauding enemy barbecuers. Tali flowing down the hallway, the color splashes a good

warning to all who enter that this ain’t yo’ daddy’s baah-ba-kyew.

While the construction is progressing, a team is assembling a 1000 gallon koi pond just within the

boundary lines of the site space. With railroad ties, a chain saw, a pond liner and some infinite

genius, we become the only team with a water feature and three massive koi, brilliantly shimmering

in white and orange against the black bottomed pool. With the gentle cascading curtain of water

running from the square filtration system, the sight and sound is very serene. The edges are

softened with tons of potted bamboo trees, oleander, ficus and smaller grasses surround every

square foot of the site. Each pot base is draped in brilliant tangerine orange cloth, a brilliant

contrast to the greenery, the gold of the thatch and the electric blue dragon.

With the fountain bubbling away, the sound of the Shaolin temple is rounded out by a three foot

diameter gong and a hidden sound system that will play the soundtrack from Crouching Tiger, Hidden

Dragon as we compete. The team seamstress, Chelsea, drapes the temple support poles with fabric,

helps place the stone lanterns, pair of Fu dogs and Buddha statues in the garden. As a finishing

touch, I place offerings to the gods at the feet of the statue- citrus, ginger and chiles. With all

but the monk in place, the look is impressive.

“Oh, god, we’re fucked.”

I had no idea what we were in for, honestly. We all were scheduled to attend the pre-competition

meeting for all the teams on the evening I returned to Medford, but found out we had missed it the

evening prior. Had I attended, I would have been less freaked out by what awaited us in the semi

trucks that delivered the meat. When the forklift pulled up with nearly 600 pounds of meat, I felt

a distinct mud flow emerging forth from my drawers. With 290-some pounds each of flat beef brisket

and pork butt and one chicken (!), the shock absorbers of the trailer compressed and did nothing

for my own case of dismay.

With a smoke box just one or two square feet larger than two high school lockers, I was a little

concerned over space and adequate smoke penetration of the product. When I stacked all of the

marinated, dry rubbed briskets filled up an entire 55 gallon triple-lined trash can, I was still

pretty convinced we were hosed. Still, Roldy, the pit boss, got his Little Smoker That Could all

sparked up and we dove right in. Paul seared the briskets, Dave shoved every single pound of that

meat into the box, locked it shut and we held our breath.

We entered a few categories in the competition: Beef brisket, pulled pork, chicken, sausage and

sauce. Begging for a huge favor from Brian, the Maitre’d Charcuterie from The Butcher Shop, he

gently coached us through a duck, pork and Kobe beef sausage scented with ginger and plums.

Actually, he told Paul and Dave to pull up their panties and just do it, but I promised I would not

tell anyone about that, so don’t say a word. The first day of competition was the judging of the

beef, sausage and chili, the second and final day was pulled pork, sauce and chicken.

Taking shifts through the night, Dave and Paul got first snooze. Roldy and I, as you read erlier,

took care of the crucial part of the cooking process. We took each brisket and reseasoned them with

kosher salt and Tang, that legendary, inter-galactic, sugary powder. With a proved method, we

wrapped them carefully, twice each, and returned them to the heat with the fat cap side up. Roldy

and I crashed out in for about two or three hours once relieved from duty. The show began at noon

with the chili that the guys made overnight. We were given a package of ground meat to use by the

officials, and my buddy Brian brought the extras. Its kind of gilding the lily to do it, but we

threw down chili with Kobe beef trim and Kurobuta pork. It was velvety and sexy for a pot of chili,

and well worth doing again at home when I get the chance.

The floor show began at noon, with Paul carving briskets like no tomorrow, myself, our Hot CHick In

The Red Cheongsam, Michelle and Roldy, serving it forth. At times, we had three of us handing food

out as fast as we could, and the line was thirty people long. As we filled little cups, we feigned

sadness at the way our meat fell apart with the slightest pressure. We we sauced, we dished, we

talked it up and played the crowd. We sweat our asses off in the 100 degree day, banged our gong

whenever a voter card was passed into our ballot box and we tried to keep our little monk, in an

adorably sewn costume, from over-gonging to the point of insanity.

It paid off. We won first place in the beef category as People’s Choice. When we counted in the

fact that there were at least five or six professional barbecue companies represented, our joy was

compounded. As is tradition, we snuck off in golf carts to shotgun Pabst Blue Ribbons to celebrate.

Even though we did not do as well in sausage and chili categories, we took the beef prize and were

pleased.

The next battle was the pork butt. With another overnight facing us, some of the team got a tad

wily and some of us focused on the task at hand. I was on my last legs, but managed to clean up the

trailer, season all the pork and get it ready for my relief, Roldy. Roldy seared the meat while I

passed out in a guest room, and Paul took the next shift. Dave took the final overnight watch into

the sunrise hours and kept going. As the talented dude that he is, he kicked out one hell of a

killer green tea and cherrywood smoked chicken breast glazed in Hoisin-based sauce. It was

gorgeous. Paul returned to whip up a batch of white BBQ sauce as I shredded the pork butts.

It was a long day, we tried to keep up the momentum from the day before, and we found slick humor

and irony in the mysterious appearance of two gongs in the encampment overnight. I could just

imagine the team dialogue going on in Central Point, Oregon that second morning- “SHit! We gotta

find us a gong, man!”. With some slapstick antics using a microphone, we hoped to intimidate our

competition with the image of a black curtained trailer kitchen and the sound of a chopping knife

firing like a machine gun emanating from the bowels within.

Feet and smiles flagging, we hauled ass until the judging was over. By 5:30 Sunday evening, we were

out of food, energy and stamina. We stood proudly in our customized chef jackets, bearing the logos

of those that helped make us great, The Butcher Shop and Tang, and our awesome sponsor- John L.

Scott Realty, as we listened to the results of the competition. We took second in pork shoulder by

a wafer-thin margin, had a nice second place in chicken, and won first for showmanship. As for the

whole competition, we took third overall- not too shabby among professional teams.

We went up against pros with rigs that looked very intimidating. One was a wood pellet fed smoker,

one was propane-to-wood. All of the pros had massive smokers made by specialized manufacturers that

must have cost a fortune. Team Shaolin Smoke had a handmade smoke box that put the builder out 45

bucks. Others had years of experience. Shaolin Smoke practiced for four weeks. Every other team had

un-tender meat. Shaolin Smoke had it down so well, we were accused of bringing in 300 pounds of

Kobe beef brisket and had to try not to crack up during the officials’ inspection of our rig. Dunno

how many of that local population had ever heard of or actually ever tasted Kobe beef before, but

the dudes from the Butcher SHop and the team estimated the cost of that amount of meat running well

over five grand. We were not insulted, we were hilarously flattered.

What I Learned

I learned a good deal about hospitality this summer, and not the commercial kind. Having a group of

people take you in, make you part of their team and consider you one of them is an honor. It does

not come before full acceptance into the fold, it comes after you prove yourself worthy. When you

are fully valued for your abilities, strengths AND your personality, a bond occurs, and that bond

is the beginning of friendship. To have been taken that seriously and offered the hand of

friendship so many times by the Cuisine de Jour family, I find myself more aligned with my center

of self than I did the rest of the time on externship.

I remembered my work ethic. The only thing I want to admit bringing from New York, I had to apply

the strong-arm attitude of “I got shit to do, get the fuck outta my way.” At crunch time, it helped

me help Dave get his product to the table. He was my Chef, I worked for him gladly. I got to help

bring his vision to life. I wish I could have done more.

I learned to Think Big. With Dave’s incredible expereinces with Trump and his gift of “Go Big Or Go

Home” attitude, he pulled off the craziest shit the town of Central Point has ever seen. We mused

toward the end that there would be a little different showing among the competitors next year, and

that we set the bar pretty high. I admire the balls it took to not be afraid to “bring it”. We

should all aspire for that kind of gonadal fortitude.

My alarm went off at one AM.

All was quiet, the air was brushed with smoke and I did my best to not look like I had slept on the ground in a bamboo jungle, which I had, actually. I checked my supplies and headed out to the rendezvous point. The scene down the alleyway was dark, hazy and dotted with light from glowing lanterns. Voices from far off occasionally broke the serious silence. An invisible, yet palpable tension filled the night. It was not a game anymore. I met my contact as he emerged from a swirl of smoke. He nodded at me. I nodded back.

“Did you bring the stuff?” he asked.

I nodded again. He motioned me over to the source of the haze, a stream of smoke wisping from the crack in the door. “Lets do this.”

Reaching into the dark cabinet, he looked left and right before placing the bundle in front of me. On gleaming silver foil it sat, worth its weight in gold in some circles. He motioned for me to begin.

I opened the container I had clutched to my side, concealing it from anyone lurking in the shadows. We both peered inside and silently gave mutual reverence for the glimmering crystals within. Compounded from the substance that most of the country is addicted to, we set forth it’s surreptitious distribution. It was hard to not feel dirty.

We worked without speaking. Each unit was infused, repackaged and set back for curing as the night passed. Hundreds of pounds of product went through our hands, one after the other, the value unfathomable. The shocking chemical orange tint building on my fingertips was kinda disturbing.  After a while, I felt less dirty than curiously sticky and smelling like a lollipop.

As I pondered my place in the universe at that moment, I spoke of my observation to my work partner.

“If you’d have told me five years ago that I’d be rubbing 300 pounds of beef with Tang at one in the morning with a tall, handsome stranger, I’d have told you that you were outta your fuckin’ tree.”  And that is how it really happened.

“They like me! They like me!”

As I worked with Chef Dave and his Cuisine de Jour posse, a mutual respect and affection began to develop between us all. Shortly before my departure, I was informed by my new friends that I was being secured a new plane ticket, dated a few days after my already scheduled flight back to Arkansas, so that I could be part of the team at the Central Point Battle Of The Bones BBQ competition.

Having rarely experienced this type of kindness in my hospital career, I did my best to not cry like a bitch in front of the boys.  I conferred with a desperately waiting Brian and we decided I should accept the gift. I was honored to be asked to stay on. They told me that it would feel wrong to not have me there, so close to the end of my externship, and to not let me go out with a bang.

And bang we did.

The guys did just about everything without me while I was busy elsewhere, but in a few short weeks of time, they built a smoke box, killed hundreds of dollars of meat for practice and tweaked sauces. Dave, the visionary genius and king of showmanship, cooked up a bunch of surprises for the crowd besides food. As I finished up school business and was recovering from the flu up in Portland, the guys were mobilizing the troops for an operation of legendary proportions.

In the weeks before the competition, Dave and I had drawn up the plans for a Pan-Asian themed menu and appropriate styling of the site. There was a lotta evil giggling as I sketched the layout of the design components he had in mind to procure.

Run Through The Jungle

Imagine this if you will… A grassy field gives way to thirteen tidy encampments. Portable awnings make appearances, along with trailers of smoking equipment, coolers, portable sinks and folding work tables. Row by row, they begin to form team bases that will be buzzing continuously for the next 72 hours. Decorations are hung, a few hay bales here, everything short of pink lawn flamingoes there, a rotating colored light from a disco starts to spin and blind people as the sun goes down.

At Camp Shaolin Smoke, the massive Cuisine de Jour mobile kitchen sits as a lurking giant at the end of the line of encampments. Sitting at spot number 13 and glimmering white and silver against the setting sun, the huge trailer box is quiet and unmoving, solid and scarily present.

The whole Asian continent comes together in a 20′X50′ space over the period of a few hours. With much breath holding, a massive thatched roof is transported from Dave’s garage across the park to the site. With a few adjustments, an entire covered roof for the future temple of barbecue worship is elevated into place, wired with paper lanterns and switched on. With a few oohs and aahs at the initial drama, the crowd begins to change tone with the arrival of the massive, masterfully built Torii gate, towering in front of the temple entrance. Jaws crash into the grass all around us and we walk it off like it ain’t nuthin’ but a thing.

A massive cobalt blue, handpainted dragon kite is susprended from the gate, as if protecting all inside from marauding enemy barbecuers.  With the tail flowing down the hallway ceiling, the color splashes a good warning to all who enter that this ain’t yo’ daddy’s baah-ba-kyew.

While the construction is progressing, Chad and his team are assembling a 1000 gallon koi pond just within the boundary lines of the site space. With railroad ties, a chain saw, a pond liner and some infinite genius, we become the only team with a water feature and three massive koi, brilliantly shimmering in white and orange against the black bottomed pool. With the gentle cascading curtain of water running from the square filtration system, the sight and sound is very serene. The edges are softened with tons of potted bamboo trees, oleander, ficus and smaller grasses surround every square foot of the site. Each pot base is draped in brilliant tangerine orange cloth, a brilliant contrast to the greenery, the gold of the thatch and the electric blue dragon.

With the fountain bubbling away, the sound of the Shaolin temple is rounded out by a three foot diameter gong and a hidden sound system that will play the soundtrack from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon as we compete. The team seamstress, Chelsea, drapes the temple support poles with fabric. Chad helps place the stone lanterns, more plants, a pair of Fu dogs and Buddha statues in the garden. As a finishing touch, I place offerings to the gods at the feet of the statue- citrus, ginger and chiles. With all but the monk in place, the look is impressive.

“Oh, god, we’re fucked.”

I had no idea what we were in for, honestly. We all were scheduled to attend the pre-competition meeting for all the teams on the evening I returned to Medford, but found out we had missed it the evening prior. Had I attended, I would have been less freaked out by what awaited us in the semi trucks that delivered the meat. When the forklift pulled up to our trailer with nearly 600 pounds of meat, I felt a distinct mud flow emerging forth from my drawers. With 290-some pounds each of flat beef brisket and pork butt and one chicken (!), the shock absorbers of the trailer compressed and did nothing for my own case of dismay.

With a smoke box just one or two square feet larger than two high school lockers, I was a little concerned over space and adequate smoke penetration of the product. When I stacked all of the marinated, dry rubbed briskets into an overflowing 55 gallon triple-lined trash can, I was still pretty convinced we were hosed. Still, Roldy, the pit master, was undaunted. He got the Little Smoker That Could all sparked up and we dove right in. Paul seared the briskets, Dave shoved every single pound of that meat into the box, locked it shut and we held our breath.

We entered a few categories in the competition:  Beef brisket, pulled pork, chicken, sausage and sauce. Begging for a huge favor from Brian, the Maitre’d Charcuterie from The Butcher Shop, he gently coached us through a duck, pork and Kobe beef sausage scented with ginger and plums. Actually, he told Paul and Dave to pull up their panties and just do it, but I promised I would not tell anyone about that, so don’t say a word. The first day of competition was the judging of the beef, sausage and chili, the second and final day was pulled pork, sauce and chicken.

Taking shifts through the night, Dave and Paul got first snooze. Roldy and I took care of the crucial part of the cooking process. We took each brisket and reseasoned them with kosher salt and Tang, that legendary, inter-galactic, orange flavored sugary powder. With a proved method, we wrapped them carefully, twice each, and returned them to the heat with the fat cap side up. Roldy and I crashed out in for about two or three hours once relieved from duty.

The show began at noon with the chili that the guys made overnight. We were given a package of ground meat to use by the officials, and my buddy Brian brought the extras. Its kind of gilding the lily to do it, but we threw down chili with Kobe beef trim and Kurobuta pork. It was velvety and sexy for a pot of chili, and well worth doing again at home when I get the chance.

We entered the arena with Paul carving briskets like no tomorrow, myself, our Hot Chick In The Red Cheongsam, Michelle,  and Roldy serving it forth. At times, we had all three of us handing food out as fast as we could, and the line was thirty people long. As we filled little cups, we feigned sadness at the way our meat fell apart with the slightest pressure. We we sauced, we dished, we talked it up and played the crowd. We sweat our asses off in the 100 degree day, banged our gong whenever a voter card was passed into our ballot box and we tried to keep our little monk,  Juan, in an adorably sewn costume, from over-gonging to the point of insanity.

It paid off. We won first place in the beef category as People’s Choice. When we counted in the fact that there were at least five or six professional barbecue companies represented, our joy was compounded. As is tradition, we snuck off in golf carts to shotgun Pabst Blue Ribbons to celebrate. Even though we did not do as well in sausage and chili categories, we took the beef prize and were pleased.

The next battle was the pork butt. With another overnight facing us, some of the team got a tad wily and some of us focused on the task at hand. I was on my last legs, but managed to clean up the trailer, season all the pork and get it ready for my relief, Roldy. Roldy seared the meat while I passed out in a guest room at Dave’s Dad’s house, and Paul took the next shift. Dave took the final overnight watch into the sunrise hours and kept going. As the talented dude that he is, he kicked out one hell of a killer green tea and cherrywood smoked chicken breast glazed in Hoisin-based sauce. It was gorgeous. Paul returned to whip up a batch of white BBQ sauce as I shredded the pork butts.

It was a long day, we tried to keep up the momentum from the day before, and we found slick humor and irony in the mysterious appearance of two gongs in the encampment overnight. I could just imagine competing team dialogue going on in Central Point, Oregon that second morning- “Shit! We gotta find us a gong, man!”. With some slapstick antics using a microphone, we hoped to intimidate our competition with the image of a black curtained trailer kitchen and the sound of a chopping knife firing like a machine gun emanating from the bowels within.

Feet and smiles flagging, we hauled ass until the judging was over. By 5:30 Sunday evening, we were out of food, energy and stamina. We stood proudly in our customized chef jackets, bearing the logos of those that helped make us great, The Butcher Shop and Tang, and our awesome sponsor- John L. Scott Realty, as we listened to the results of the competition. We took second in pork shoulder by a wafer-thin margin, had a nice second place in chicken, and won first for showmanship. As for the whole competition, we took third overall- not too shabby among professional teams.

We went up against pros with rigs that looked very intimidating. One was a wood pellet fed smoker, one was propane-to-wood. All of the pros had massive smokers made by specialized manufacturers that must have cost a fortune. Team Shaolin Smoke had a handmade smoke box that put the builder out 45 bucks. Others had years of experience. Shaolin Smoke practiced for four weeks. Every other team had un-tender meat. Shaolin Smoke had it down so well, we were accused of bringing in 300 pounds of Kobe beef brisket and had to try not to crack up during the officials’ inspection of our rig. Dunno how many of that local population had ever heard of, purchased or even actually tasted Kobe beef before, but the dudes from the Butcher Shop and the team estimated the cost of that amount of meat running well over five grand. We were not insulted, we were hilarously flattered.

What I Learned

I learned a good deal about hospitality this summer, and not the commercial kind. Having a group of people take you in, make you part of their team and consider you one of them is an honor. It does not come before full acceptance into the fold, it comes after you prove yourself worthy. When you are fully valued for your abilities, strengths AND your personality, a bond occurs, and that bond is the beginning of friendship. To have been taken that seriously and offered the hand of friendship so many times by the Cuisine de Jour family, I find myself more aligned with my center of self than I did the rest of the time on externship. I find myself wanting to spend more time with these people because of the quality of their values, not just their talents or assets.

I remembered my work ethic.  I had to apply the strong-arm attitude of  ”I got shit to do, get the fuck outta my way.” – the only thing I want to admit bringing from New York . Never ladylike or sugarcoated and oft-misunderstood, it helped at crunch time.  With that momentum, I was able to help Dave get his product to the table. He was my Chef, I worked for him gladly.  I got the pleasure of helping to bring his vision to life. I wish I could have done more.

I learned to Think Big. With Dave’s incredible expereinces with Trump and his gift of “Go Big Or Go Home” attitude, he pulled off the craziest shit the town of Central Point has ever seen. We mused toward the end that there would be a little different showing among the competitors next year, and that we set the bar pretty high. I admire the balls it took to not be afraid to “bring it”. We should all aspire for that kind of gonadal fortitude.

For images of Team Shaolin Smoke’s

2009 Battle Of The Bones competition,

please click HERE.

Sorry, no scratch and sniffs.