I’m ready for my close up

“Stand back all you boring normal people. You are dealing with a celebrity.” Gee, that was a bit over the top. Let’s try something else; “Of course you recognize me. I’m the charming and delightful Mr. Ohh!. No, I can’t give you an autograph, I’m out of the pictures my assistant signed.” Hmm, that still might not be right. How about this; “The other day, the mayor of a nearby suburb called me, and I was totally shocked she remembered my name.” Yea, that’s about right.

 Actually, the third one is true, but when something like this happens, your brain shifts into idiot mode, and you start thinking like the first one. Normalcy and my unassuming nature go right out the window. Thank heavens I have a wife. She keeps me grounded.

When I told my wife about the mayor’s call her response was, “That’s nice, now take out the trash.” Not even Taylor Swift can feel special while hauling a bag full of greasy paper products, and coffee grounds to a can on the curb. On the other hand, she probably has folks lined up begging to let them take away her leftover chicken parts, and beer bottles. I have to admit, that would make me feel superior. But I digress. Perhaps I should explain what really happened.

Most of you know by now, I used to be a comedian, and I currently work entertaining children. If you didn’t, read back one sentence ago and you’ll find the information there. Don’t worry, I’ll wait. Hmm, hmm, hmm, la la la. Okay, now that we all know I’m a part-time entertainer, we can continue.

City lights

I have worked for the city of Restis, for about eight years now. I perform at school demonstrations, community events, and basically embarrass as many teenagers as possible, with costumes, really bad jokes, and forcing them into pictures their parents will undoubtedly use for blackmail later. But all that’s not important. What’s important is that the mayor called me and asked me to be a celebrity judge at their local Octoberfest.

I was shocked. Apparently, in Restis I’m a big deal. Well, at least a medium-sized big-deal. You see for this event there were three contests they needed judges for; The cookie bake, the chili cookoff, and the local home-brewers beer tasting. They got a TV weather girl for the beer, the principal of the high school for the cookies, and I got the chili. They insisted this was quite the honor, and I let them believe, I believed it. But as always, it’s terrible being in the middle.

Don’t get me wrong, I like a good bowl of chili. However, I’m certainly no expert on it. I’m no expert on beer either. But at least beer has a tendency to make you feel like an expert. Chili just makes you bloated and gassy. Imagine, standing in front of the entire city, as well as thirty-six hopeful home cooks preforming a flatulence concert, while trying to proclaim the winner. I guarantee you won’t be a celebrity in that town very much longer.

Okay I’m in

Reservations aside, I accepted the honor bestowed on me and arrived at the appointed time. I was immediately sequestered with eleven other judges, none of whom knew what the hell was going on. Apparently, the city council wanted everything to be completely fair and didn’t announce the names of the judges, so we couldn’t be influenced.

What is this, the academy awards? It’s a local cook-off, with a prize of a hundred bucks, a cheap plastic trophy, and bragging rights for about an hour and a half. Also, what would they give me to sway my vote? It boggles the mind. Either way, we did as we were told and hid ourselves away from the crowd, and proceeded with our orientation.

Each teams sat at an eight-foot table. We were given a pad, pencil, water, and a tin of espresso beans. You heard right, Dark-Roasted Espresso Beans. One of the chefs on the cookie team insisted on this. Apparently, sniffing these beans cleanses the nose palate like a sorbet between meal courses. Again, who do these people think they are?

Do they really believe that?

The worst part came in when we were instructed in the use of these beans. We were supposed to sniff the beans, sniff our sample, sniff the beans, taste the sample, drink a sip of water, and sniff the beans. Then repeat this process for every sample. I don’t know if you’ve ever inhaled espresso beans before. but I have. It’s like taking a quick hit of speed. If I did that for thirty-six chili samples, I wouldn’t sleep for a month. But, yet again, I smiled and listened.

Next, we were told to take notes individually, but also discuss our opinions with the team. I don’t know about the beer and cookie teams, but we had thirty-six samples. If we spent just ten minutes discussing, we’d be tasting chili and inhaling espresso for six hours. Ancient Asian dynasties would have killed for a torture like that. I was ready to hand over government secrets just thinking about it.

The thing is, orientation never prepares a person for what actually happens. Which is completely baffling because that’s what orientation is supposed to do. Our first bit of confusion happened when home cook number nineteen insisted the judges had to also eat their home-made cornbread. The chili just wasn’t perfect without it. We actually had to vote on the admissibility of this.

Let’s put it to a vote

It all came down to this; Should we eat a sample of bread with each chili, or none at all. I voted, “No.” After that many scoops of chili, I would have exploded if I added cornbread. Imagine the mess. Four bodies with gaping holes in their abdomens, would certainly be off-putting to those sampling cookies. The beer people probably wouldn’t care. Alcohol does that to a person. But this is beside the point.

Finally, the bowls arrived, and I want you to imagine the scene. I sat a table, labeled as the celebrity judge, with two local chefs, and some fat guy named Al. I don’t know how he got the job, but there he was. We were surrounded by one-hundred-forty-four taster-bowls of chili marked with sample numbers. Al took one look at this bounty and took off, consuming samples one through eight before taking a breath. As for the discussion phase, Al’s comments were simple, “It’s pretty good. Can I eat more now?”

But it’s all right now

I was completely focus on the task at hand, until sample twenty-three. I really wanted to know that one’s recipe! It had meat, beans, a zesty tomato base, and enough hot-sauce to cause the extinction of three species of antelope. My tongue exploded in a nuclear mushroom cloud. No amount of sniffing espresso beans was going to cleanse that palate. And I barely tasted a thimble full. One of the chefs ran screaming from the room. While the other passed out cold. Perhaps he died.

On the other hand, Al scarfed it down, licked the bowl clean, then wanted to discuss it. His comment was predictably concise. “That one was a kind of spicy.”

No Shit Sherlock!!