Before we attended the annual Duck Gumbo Cookoff in her hometown of Stuttgart last Saturday, my friend Allana advised me how to get my ducks in a row.
Dress in layers. Have my ID handy. And bring $20 (on top of the $20 for an entrance armband).
"This is a weird thing," she wrote, "but you can bring cash to purchase admission to the 'golden porta-potty.' Apparently it's worth every penny."
Sadly, there was no such golden porta potty ("I'm not sure why they didn't do it this year," another friend wondered), but there were still plenty of gems to report on.
This was my first time attending Stuttgart's legendary Duck Gumbo Cookoff, held in conjunction with Thanksgiving weekend's World Championship Duck Calling Contest and Wings Over the Prairie Festival. It lived up to its lovably "fowl" reputation.
Held in a large enclosed tent that gets warm once the cookers fire up and the bodies file in, the Bud Light-sponsored event is basically one big cigarette-smoky, country-fried frat party where everyone from college kids to grandparents puts on camo, flannel and boots, then mingles.
Technically the event is about gumbo. And people do take that seriously. There are strict rules, such as "Each team is required to cook 3 quarts of gumbo and 50 percent of the meat used in the recipe must be duck." There's a waiting list to enter. The spot occupied by our friend Susan's posse -- the Mutha Pluckin Gumbo team -- has been in the family some three decades.
Teams with names like Seriously Breaux?, Dirty Delta Duck Gumbo and Redonculous Gumbo get ready for the event by hunting (where else do you think duck comes from?), having a chop party to prep the ingredients, and building and decorating their booths, many of which are sophisticated multilevel structures. Cooking starts at 10 a.m. Drinking starts well before that. And judging takes place at 2 p.m.
Because the judging happens later, food -- except for meat and cheese snacks that some booths offer -- is in short supply for a few hours. But that just fuels drinkers' buzzes and intensifies the party atmosphere. No one seems to mind.
No one except this girl. After reaching my limit of two Bud Lights (after visiting a non-golden portable toilet, I was not going to do that again) purchased with "Duck Bucks," I was ready to eat. "Is it ready yet?" I kept pestering Mutha Pluckin's head cook Justin, who was far more focused on quality than quickness as he stirred his roux (but not too much; he says over-stirring won't allow it to properly cook to that desired "cockroach brown"). He cautioned that good gumbo can't be rushed. Any gumbo that was done early isn't worth its okra.
Either I'm just not a gumbo guru, or I was so hungry I wasn't particular, but the event's first gumbo, available about 11:30 a.m., was downright delicious, spicy and ... YOW!
As I took my first bites, I felt a smack -- and not from pepper. One of the members who had lured me over with promises of food smacked my fanny with one of their stickers. I just encountered one of Duck Gumbo's giddiest traditions: "Hens" must come prepared to be playfully swatted and stickered. There also are Mardi Gras beads, blinking rings and blinking crowns that some booths give in exchange for, uh, shenanigans. We never witnessed anything too suggestive in our four hours there. But Susan, who stayed until the end (and no, their wonderful duck, sausage and crawfish gumbo made from a roux of Kerrygold butter and almond flour did not win a trophy), says she saw a few things "not rated for the paper."
We left with stickers on our rears, smoke in our hair, heartburn in our chests and smiles on our faces. And we felt just ducky.
jchristman@arkansasonline.com
Spin Cycle is a smirk at pop culture. You can hear Jennifer on Little Rock's KURB-FM, B98.5 (B98.com), from 5:30 to 9 a.m. Monday through Friday.
Style on 12/04/2016