I can barbecue better then you.

I am from Kansas City Missouri, BBQ capital of the world. I have the experience, talent and skill. I can barbecue better then you. I stake my reputation on it (har har). Many have challenged, none have surpassed. I have been bestowed with a new title.

stands tall, proud and serious

Whammo, Iron Chef - Barbecue

In your fucking dreams teflon boy.

Here…why don’t you two hold a cooking competition, and give the food for me to judge and compare. How’s that sound? Fair enough?

I stand by my equipment!

I would NEVER eat anything barbecued in your chainmail underwear!


I meant my 50 gallon steel drum smoker grill with the firebox on the side, my collections of barbecue sauces and cook books, my stainless grilling utensils, my…

I’ll bring my charcoal and meet you anywhere… anytime. Then we can see who the BBQ king really is.

You have to promise not to cry when I kick your butt…okay?

What else would you expect from an uppity fucking Canuck like me?

Alright that’s it…I hereby designate myself the official taste tester for the SDMB Cooking Competition. Please send food samples to me, and I will post my voting results.

Oh, and no one can even compare to my bread toasting skills…

Oops, my bad…anyone can cook. This is the SDMB BBQ Competition.

Ah, Demo and feyn. You guys are funny. I am actually chuckling at your audacity to challenge the Iron Chef.

Funny little boys. Now run along.

Beeg, fargin’ deal! You boast of being a great BBQ cook? Anyone can boast. BBQ has one problem. It’s too secretive. The chefs are too concerned with one-upping one another instead of sharing their techniques, ingredients, and insights. I tell ya, if the free exchange of information works for science, then it ought to work for BBQ, but yer all afraid someone else will find out that the secret ingredient to your “perfect sauce” is cigar ash or that the perfect way to cook a brisket is to keep the temperature precisely at X°.

Tell me about your cooking prowess when you’re willing to teach me how to become a better cook.


By the way, you da man!!!


Let’s see you boys out in the wilderness with no gas grills or anything considered modern.

< giggle >

Are you inviting us into the wilderness with you TC?

(please oh please oh please oh please…)

Don’t bother Monster… she lacks the Y chromosome that gives us guys the BBQ instinct. She cooks things like “kabobs” (in BBQ its the closest thing to the phalic symbol she can get) and bastes them in estrogen… she writes about it in a thread in the pit.

Another nice try though pats techchick68 on butt now run along honey this is mans territory.

Oh Whammy,

I pitty a man that can’t accept my abilities as a grilling machine.

< sigh >

Guess you will never taste my steaks, kabobs (men like those too) or my ribs.

Too bad.

< tehe >

**Place:**Kitchen Stadium, a television studio somewhere in Japan

(whole Iron Chef opening sequence, terra-cotta chefs & all)

(Chairman Kaga walks in, wearing sequined overalls and a ruffle & lace trimmed denim shirt.)

Kaga: If my memory serves me correctly, there was once a time and place when Whammo called himself “the Iron-Chef Barbeque.” Who else could stand to the challenge to take the title away from him?

(dramatic camera shot of Demo behind a very large grill and leaping flames, while Kaga blathers on something about “the soul of barbeque and the art of burnt meat”)

Demo swaggers in to Kitchen Stadium, and challenges the Iron Chef, Whammo for the battle. Whammo rises from the stage, surrounded by a wisp of hickory smoke and a bluegrass band, holding a beef rib.

Kaga unveils the secret ingredient:

Baby Back Ribs (dramatic music, close-up camera shots of both men looking intense)

do your work boys…

(Can I be the giggling girl on the tasting panel?)

Whammo…who said anything about a BBQ with TC in the wilderness??

I have to side with techchick.

Women can put out some mean barbeque, myself included.

My question is, do you even make your own sauce? Because if you get store-bought crap, don’t even think you’ve got one up on me.

And dressed-up ketchup isn’t sauce.

Whammo=Bobby Flay

This ain’t just plopping a slab o’ derma on the Kingsgford you started with a few gallons of lighter fluid.

Yes, I know it exploded. Yes, the pryotechnics were impressive. No, we won’t tell your neigbor why the lid to your Weber now adorns his satellite dish.

PUH-leeze. We’re talking finesse, taste, patience…Whammo? Restraint and finicking restraint are needed for truly excellent results. See, pure chance by way of residing someplace doesn’t make one a Food Icon. Many a consumer snarfs down excellent Ruebens, Krispy Creme donuts, Philly Cheese Steak sandwiches without presuming to exellence by propinquity.

So you choose the wood? Do you soak it, to snuggle on the embers so that time and care infuse the meat/whatever with redolent perfumes? Do you carefully craft the rub/mop to match the entree and cooking technique?

(BTW, Gates rules; Arthur Byrant’s is okay, but much too harsh in celery salt.)

Okay…bbq tools to the fore! Who else wants to smack Whammo for pure uppitynes?

Ready to get to serious grilling,