Spring is the traditional season of rebirth and renewal. However my spirits are revived, not by budding flowers, but by flashes of yellow and red leaves and the touch of chill in the air that signals the arrival of fall.
Fall, of course, means the return of college football – and that means the return of football tailgating. In recent years, I’ve found myself growing less interested in what transpires on the field or the final numbers on the scoreboard. What really matters are the essential pregame rituals, for that’s where the real victories are won.
Peak tailgate season arrives in October, when the afternoons are still warm but it’s cool in the morning when you arrive at the lot and start erecting pop-canopies and setting out coolers and folding chairs.
What was the mystery seasoning that imparted such flavor? Did I use a special custom beef grind?
As I see it, there are three levels of tailgaters. The novices labor under the delusion that they’re there primarily to watch football. They may pack a cooler of beer and pick up a bucket of fast-food fried chicken on their way to the stadium, but that’s about as ambitious as they get.
In the middle category are what I think of as the journeymen, revelers with multiple seasons under their belts but a sense of moderation, too. They break out canopy tents and comfy folding armchairs, fire up portable charcoal grills for burgers and hotdogs and lay out the snacks and side dishes on folding tables.
Then there are the diehards, who spend the better part of the week procuring supplies and preparing to deploy mobile field kitchens to stadium lots. There’s crisp linen on long tables along with flatware, candelabra and elaborate flower arrangements (in the team colors, of course). For cooking, they roll out propane-fired griddles, Big Green Eggs and even full barbecue rigs. I will admit I do not fall into this last camp, but it’s great to have friends that do. The diehards don’t just cook up slow-smoked brisket or slabs of ribs. Many engage in the long-running Southern tradition of putting the rival team’s mascot on the barbecue pit.
That’s pretty easy to do when your team is playing, say, the South Carolina Gamecocks – just throw some halved chickens on a grill and give ‘em a good roasting. It takes a little more work when you’re playing the Arkansas Razorbacks, but barbecuing a whole hog at your tailgate is a surefire way to make friends.
Then there’s Louisiana State University, whose supporters are perhaps the most diehard of diehards when it comes to tailgate spreads. Each time the Tigers square off against the Florida Gators, you can be sure there will be a few whole alligators sizzling over hardwood coals in the tailgating lots.
While I respect that kind of passion, I do have to say that a barbecued gator looks pretty creepy, even when skinned and wrapped in bacon. (And, yes, it does taste pretty much like barbecued chicken, if more rubbery.)
Tailgating novices will rightly question whether all that work is worth it. We should admire the initiative of the diehard souls who scrounge up a whole pig or a fresh alligator in advance of the big game, but you don’t have to expend quite that much effort to have a successful tailgate. One October afternoon several years ago in Tallahassee, I broke out the portable grill and cooked burgers for a group of college friends. Everyone raved about them and more than one husband pressed me for my secrets. What was the mystery seasoning that imparted such flavor? Did I use a special custom beef grind? Was that my trick for getting the patties so juicy?
Nope. The seasoning “blend” consisted of a single ingredient: salt. The patties were commodity 80/20 fat-to-lean ground beef, procured that morning at the supermarket. My only grilling tricks were not to patty the meat too tight and not to overcook it.
The real secret is this: food just tastes better outdoors, especially when there’s a nip in the air and the second beer is kicking in and you hear the marching band in the distance striking up the fight song.
If you’re planning a big tailgate spread one crisp afternoon this fall, shoot me an invite and I’ll try to drop by. If you can score me a ticket to the game as well that would be great, but it’s not essential. I’m happy to stay behind and keep an eye on the beer cooler after everyone heads for the stands. I just hope we aren’t playing the Gators that week.
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