Subtitle: My first clue that the Dems were screwed
A few weeks back I stumbled across one of pamindurham's diaries, which in turn led me to an entry in her blog, Pam's House Blend, headlined "I am not kidding -- the head of the Alabama GOP is named Twinkle."
"Wait a minute," I thought to myself, "I met an RNC operative in DC 12 or 13 years ago. She was also from Alabama, and her name was also Twinkle. How many active repubs in Alabama could there be with that name?"
Well, to make a long story short - it's the same Twinkle indeed. Small fucking world, eh?
More on the other side...
I encountered Miss Twinkle (why call her anything else?) serendipitously surrounded by heaps of ribs and buckets of beer. I had come down from Boston at the invitation of the organizers to work as a judge at the first annual
National Capital Barbecue Battle, and to write about the event for my now-defunct barbecue newsletter, Tips From the Pit.
It was a decent gig - more free food than I could eat, more free beer than I could drink, and a chance to also spend some time at my favorite area barbecue joint to see my good buddy John Snedden.
In the middle of that craziness, I got word that the RNC and DNC staffs had been lured into their own cookoff, kind of a contest within a contest. I wrote up that event, and didn't much give it any more thought until Pam's diary, when it all came flooding back to me.
So, I dug up the original issue and painstakingly re-typed my account for your light-reading pleasure.
You'll note the clear difference in how I was treated by each team as a credentialed and highly-respected member of the working barbecue press. The Dem staffers, with the exception of the mailroom clerk/pitmaster, couldn't have cared less, while the repubs were all over me like sharp peppered vinegar sauce on a pile of pulled pork.
And it was the first sign to me that, even with Bill Clinton safely lodged in the White House, all might not be well with our party.
Originally published as
`Important Opinions'
FromTips From the Pit
Fall, 1993
That wise old barbecue philosopher, Dr. Remus Powers, once suggested we replace the quadrennial presidential election with a cookoff sanctioned by the Kansas City barbecue Society. The nation's highest office should go to the person best able to put out a quality slab of ribs, he said.
I agree. The cold war is over, along with the need for cold warriors, and the world economy can limp along on its own. Why not hand the White House keys over to someone on the basis of his or her ability to stay up all night with a cooler full of beer, tending the pit and turning out fine barbecue? We've elected folks with less useful skills, and look at where that's gotten us.
Well, meaningful government reorganization came one small step closer to reality this past August, when staff members from the Democratic and Republican national Committees squared off for the first time in a head-to-head rib cookoff held in Washington during the National Capital Barbecue Battle at RFK stadium. We should take heart in such signs of progress, however small they may seem.
Just as in last November's election, the Democrats narrowly defeated the Republicans. "Neither one was very good," a source involved in the judging complained. Maybe so, but that's not the whole story.
The Democrat's winning effort was led by North Carolina native Elbert Suggs, who runs the mailroom at the DNC. "I make up some barbecue, macaroni and cheese, things like that, every once and a while for the folks here, and for my boss," the soft-spoken Mr. Suggs explained as he piled ribs onto a plate.
Suggs demonstrated his techniques for preparing wet and dry babybacks, and gave me the recipes for the two barbecue sauces he favors. "One has ketchup, brown sugar, and butter," Suggs noted as he swirled a pair of large plastic jugs. "The other is made with tomato sauce, vinegar, and white sugar."
Suggs' wet ribs were terrific accompanied by the silky butter-based sauce. The vinegar sauce had a sharp, pleasant tang, but the dry ribs were not as good as the wet. Mr. Suggs has surely pleased many family members with his capable cooking.
With the exception of Mr. Suggs and his assistant, most of the Democrats were huddled around small, messy tables in the hot sun. Several didn't speak, instead gazing absent-mindedly at the crowds near the music stage. None paid much attention to my attempts to explore the historical links between barbecue and national politics.
By contrast, the Republican team was bursting with youthful enthusiasm and well-heeled hospitality. Anne Gavin, the RNC's Communications Director, had a ready smile and a hearty handshake as she invited me in under the shade of several large umbrellas.
I babbled for a moment about Abraham Lincoln's great love for barbecue before admitting that my sainted dad had threatened to claw his way up through the dirt to haunt me if I ever voted for a Republican.
Anne just handed me a cold beer, and turned to another young, attractive member of the team. "This is Twinkle. She's our sauce person from Montgomery, Alabama."
Twinkle Andress dipped a spoon into a large pan of red sauce that was warm and full of chunks and pieces. I asked her what was in it.
"Oh, it changes just about every time I make it," she replied. "This one has tomatoes, raisins, cognac..."
"A barbecue sauce with cognac!?" I interrupted. "That sounds like something you'd get at a country club."
"Well, this IS the Republican National Committee," Twinkle said with a smile much like her name.
The team's pitmaster was Brian Kelley, a campaign consultant who works for the RNC's Strategic Information department. He brought over more icy cold beer as he joined us, and our talk turned to rib cookoff strategies.
"If I was back in Jackson, Mississippi, I'd be cooking these over apple or pecan," he said. "Right now I'm using charcoal, with some oak and hickory chips for flavor."
Brian showed how he marinated slabs of ribs in salad dressing before grilling them, over the coals. We agreed on the need for a hood or cover for the open grills that the contest organizers had rented, and the lack of a closed pit was an oversight that may have doomed the GOP.
"You need another beer," Brian said as he escorted Anne and me back to the shaded tables. "I'll bring you something to eat. Would you like your corn in the husk, or in foil?"
He brought over a plate heaped with ribs, roasted corn on the cob, and beans spiced with Twinkle's "Grand Old Sauce." Brian laid out the food, napkins, utensils, butter, and still more beer with the unobtrusive efficiency of an experienced host. The ribs were a bit chewy, and while they could have benefited from longer, slower cooking under cover, that didn't stop me from finishing them. Twinkle's sauce had a nice bite, and the simple roast corn added the final touch to a very competent meal.
Our talk turned to politics, and to the nature of life inside the Beltway. We didn't agree on much, but neither did we try very hard to change each others' minds. We had already reached consensus on the important subjects - slow-cooked meat and cold beer.
Maybe this cookoff was meant to show how political opinions are a lot like barbecue. We've each got our own way of looking at things, and we all like to feel that our way is best. Maybe someday we'll find out that everybody's right. Or, we might find out that everybody's wrong, except for one of us. If that happens, I want to meet that person, just to try their ribs.