We went to a local festival and our noses began to twitch as soon as we got out of the car. We followed a trail of smoke to a large used-to-be grassy field where local cooks were preparing for a grilling and BBQ competition. Some of them had huge wheeled smokers that they towed in with their trucks. Western folksy looking tableaus were built around many of the smokers, featuring trophies the cooks had won at previous competitions. Ken started salivating, but it was clear that the meat would not be tastable for a few hours. And the judges would be tasting first. In the meantime, the cooks rolled out hunks of dough and made cowboy bread in their dutch ovens.
It was a windy day; it's always a windy day here. As we paused to sample some cowboy bread a gust swept some of the burning ashes into the air and deposited them on Ken's shoulder. They began to melt his sweater and worked their way though his shirt and when the heat hit skin, he leaped into the air. At first I thought that an insect had stung him, but the evidence of melted fabric made what had happened all too clear. What a shame. The only grilled meat Ken got was his own!