Here's What It Takes to Become a Certified BBQ Judge

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I Became an Officially Certified BBQ Judge — Here’s What It Takes

The few, the proud, the Kansas City BBQ Society members.

Published February 13, 2024

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Updated February 13, 2024

You may think you know what constitutes good barbecue, but has a BBQ governing body officially sanctioned you to judge its merits based on appearance, taste and tenderness? If the answer is “no,” then you are not fit to dine at my checkered tablecloth-covered table. If your answer is “yes,” then welcome, fellow Kansas City Barbecue Society member (commence secret handshake).

Yes, the rumors are true. I am now an officially certified barbecue judge, and my life is forever changed. Well, it’s at least changed for a year until my certification runs out. To learn more about how I gained this delicious feather in my cap, read on.

Hitting the Road with Jack

Early in the fall of 2023, Jack Daniel’s invited me to be one of its media judges at the next installment of “The Jack,” the whiskey brand’s massive international BBQ competition that ranks among the most prestigious in the world. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity to head to Tennessee and fill my belly with delicious slow-cooked meats — but there was a catch. To act as a judge in the competition, I would first have to become certified as a BBQ judge. Not really knowing what that entailed, I agreed.

The day after flying into Nashville, I was shuttled out to Jack Daniel’s home of Lynchburg, a tiny, unfortunately named town of around 6,500 whose population temporarily increases about sixfold the weekend of “The Jack.” Once in Lynchburg, I was taken directly to a small American Legion hall, which would function as my base of operations for the next several hours. The hall was set up with several rows of folding tables and chairs all facing the front of the room, where an overhead projector teased an upcoming PowerPoint presentation on a pull-down screen.

adults sit in a room looking at powerpoint presentation about meat — Slides during class describe different types of meat to be judged, among other things.

After getting signed in and informing more than one skeptical official that I hadn’t personally paid any fee because I was there on behalf of Jack Daniel’s and they were footing the bill (I’m assuming there must be rampant fraud on the BBQ judge certification class circuit), I was handed a thick course booklet and took my seat for what ended up being a four-hour class on the ins and outs of judging BBQ according to the hallowed laws of the Kansas City Barbecue Society (KCBS).

As I came to understand, the world of BBQ judging was not unlike the Wild West before the KCBS came along to bring order to the chaos in 1985. Founded by husband and wife duo of Carolyn and Gary Wells and their friend Rick Welch, barbecue fans all, the society set out to not only develop rules to govern BBQ judging but also to set up and promote BBQ contests around the country and, eventually, the world. Today, the KCBS counts over 16,000 members among its ranks and sanctions over 300 contests globally.

Finger Food & Prohibited Garnishes

Before class started, I was told to flip through my course booklet and familiarize myself with the basics. Some of it made sense. For instance, four official BBQ categories are judged in the main KCBS-sanctioned contests: chicken, pork, pork ribs and beef brisket. Judges are to assess this quartet of carne on three criteria: taste, tenderness and appearance. So far, pretty normal. But the booklet also contained a number of idiosyncratic rules, as well.

For one, there are no utensils allowed: You must eat with your hands. Secondly, there is a hard and fast rule, repeated throughout the booklet and in the class, against finger-licking. Do you know how hard it is to not lick your fingers while eating ribs, particularly when forced to eat with your hands? It’s basically impossible.

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The absolute strangest rules concerned the garnishes. Garnishes are divided into two camps: legal and prohibited garnishes. Legal garnishes include green leaf lettuce, green curly kale, cilantro, parsley… and that’s it. Prohibited garnishes, meanwhile, are basically all other leafy green vegetables. That includes all varieties of kale that aren’t both green and curly, along with endive, spinach, lettuce cores, etc. But wait, there’s more.

Even if a cook uses 100 percent legal garnishes in their presentation, it will still run afoul of the rules if said garnishes were used to build a little fence around the meat. Garnishes can only be used as a bed for the meat to sit on; they can’t be overly decorative or functional.

Garnishes are optional, and we were told to judge only the appearance of the meat.

And here’s the real kicker. Although appearance is one of the three criteria a judge is to consider, along with taste and tenderness, a judge isn’t actually supposed to judge the appearance of the garnish at all. Garnishes are optional, and we were told to judge only the appearance of the meat (i.e., make sure it’s attractive and there are enough pieces for the entire table of judges) as if the garnish weren’t there at all. The only aspect of the garnish to which a judge is to pay attention is whether or not it came from a prohibited plant.

I estimate that at least a quarter of the class was devoted to the rules governing garnishes — it was by far my biggest takeaway from the class. But why are the garnish laws so specific and strange? As far as I could tell, no one knows. Our instructor hinted that the Wells may have been a bit lost in the sauce (and I don’t mean BBQ sauce) while putting the rules together four decades ago, but I can neither confirm nor deny the accuracy of that hypothesis.

adults sit in a room looking at powerpoint presentation about garnishes — Don’t even THINK of putting endive on your plate.

As for the other two criteria, they were more sensical and straightforward. When judging for taste, you’re not supposed to base your scoring on your own personal preferences. Instead, you should look for a balance between the five flavors of sweet, sour, bitter, salty and umami.

Regarding tenderness, fall-off-the-bone ribs are a no-no — that means they’re overcooked. The meat should be moist without being mushy and should have an appropriate amount of give while being neither too firm nor too soft, and different meats can be tested for proper doneness in different ways. (Brisket, for example, should be able to be manipulated like an accordion, returning to its original shape when horizontally stretched rather than breaking or being too rigid to stretch.)

Testing, Testing

During the four-hour class — which did, thankfully, include a couple of breaks — we were led to believe there would be a test at the end where we could potentially fail to qualify as a judge. This, thankfully, turned out to be a bluff. There was no real test, and as far as I could tell, no one in the class (there were a few dozen of us) failed to become a judge at the end of it. What we did do at the end of class was apply what we learned (again, largely concerning garnishes) to judging actual BBQ that had been prepared for us.

In my class simulation, just as in an actual KCBS competition, there are six judges to a table who are lorded over by a “Table Captain” — a veteran judge not taking part in the judging – whose responsibility it is to distribute the meat for judging, collect the scores and answer any questions that arise. Judges are not permitted to speak or use their phones while scoring is taking place, and photographing the food is a big no-no. Judges are encouraged to share their thoughts with one another between rounds, however.

rectangular paper plate — The judge’s plate is a piece of paper with spaces for six pieces of meat. Scoring is done on a separate sheet that’s handed in after each round.

Tasting is done blind, meaning judges do not know who prepared what. Meats are grouped by category, with all six judges at the table judging the same six random cooks. For example, during the chicken round, the Table Captain will present the six judges at their table with chicken entry number one, followed by numbers two through six (the assigned numbers vary, but there are typically six cooks per round per table).

The judges then judge each entry in the order in which they received them, according to the three previously discussed criteria and they do so independently — they’re not supposed to compare meat to each other. Judges are encouraged to cleanse their palate with provided water and oyster crackers between each entry. This same process is then repeated for the pork, rib, and beef categories and any ancillary categories specific to certain competitions.

It’s Not Chicken

Meats are scored for taste, tenderness and appearance on a scale of 1 – 9 each. So, for example, you may give a rib a 7 for appearance, an 8 for tenderness and a 9 for taste. 9 is the best score, and 1 is a disqualification, which requires permission and confirmation from a KCSB representative to issue. For unknown reasons, there are no 3 or 4 scores. The full breakdown for the scores can be found below.

9: Excellent
8: Very good
7: Good
6: Fair
5: Poor
2: Inedible
1: Disqualification

For our simulated judging in class, the instructor let us know that she would be trying to trick us on a few cooks, so we were to keep our wits about us. During the first round, one guy at my table thought he’d outsmarted the rest of us.

“How many gave an appearance score of 8 or 9?” our instructor asked. Most hands, including mine, went up. “7?” A smattering of hands. “5 or 6?” A couple hands. “2?” No one raised their hand. A man sitting to my right grinned. “Anyone give it a one?” His hand shot up.

“Why did you score it a one?” she asked.

“It’s not chicken,” he replied with more confidence than I’d ever seen anyone exhibit before.

The instructor’s eyes widened in surprise. “It’s not?” she asked.

He shook his head smugly. The instructor smiled.

“It’s chicken.”

The man did a double-take at his plate, where his piece of presumptive pork had somehow transmogrified into poultry, and laughter erupted in the classroom. Yes, we all had a good time at the Lynchburg American Legion Hall that October afternoon. (A word of warning to the competitive cooks out there: This person is now an officially licensed BBQ judge, so make sure your chicken is chickeny enough.)

The eventual trick, of course, ended up being a few leaves of dreaded, prohibited spinach used as a garnish in one of the dishes. For shame.

The American BBQ Way of Life

After the tasting was completed, there remained the Rubicon we had to cross before receiving our official judge’s badges. We had to raise our right hand and recite the KCBS Official Oath. The oath is, in a word, hilarious — I was required to swear I’d uphold truth, justice, excellence in barbecue and the American way of life, as if Superman had suddenly gotten really into smoking his brisket. Judges are also required to recite the oath before taking part in actual KCBS competitions and judging from the silly vibe I got when I took the oath at “The Jack,” I’m pretty sure everyone is in on the joke.

BBQ Big Leagues

On the day of the actual competition, some of my training proved more useful than others. Knowing to judge taste based on balance rather than my own personal preferences (I’m not afraid to say I like my BBQ with a good amount of sweet n’ heat), and having a good idea of what ideal tenderness looked like (the accordion trick saw plenty of use) were big difference makers.

Less useful was all of the drilling I received on legal and illegal garnishes. It quickly became apparent that no one really cared or paid much attention to the garnishes, which is probably how it should be anyway since they’re optional. Also, “The Jack” is a major international competition, with professional teams competing from all over the world. The winner gets $20,000. The runner-up earns $10,000. Placing highly earns cooks bragging rights that can help their businesses. These competitions are these people’s livelihood, and I probably (and rightfully) would have been chased out of the judging tent with pitchforks if I had tried to disqualify someone when a purple, straight piece of kale appeared in their presentation.

I also learned, rather quickly, that judging “The Jack” is a privilege. A lot of judges were surprised, even dismayed, that I was judging the illustrious competition as my first competition. It’s considered the crème de la crème, and judges typically spend years working their way up through the ranks for a chance at judging the Lynchburg competition. Some never make it.

The competition also had a strong sense of tradition and a friendly atmosphere that I wasn’t really anticipating. One tradition that I found particularly charming was the signing of the aprons. Prior to the start of the competition, everyone gets a branded Jack Daniel’s apron, and it’s tradition to go around to as many tables as you can and have people sign your apron while you sign theirs. It felt like I was running around with my yearbook in high school and was a great way to meet some of my fellow judges and get over the overstimulation of being in the tent.

Due to the blind judging, I don’t know if I tasted food from any of the winners, but that’s not really important. What matters is that my officially licensed palate judged all of the BBQ I ate fairly and truly. And, of course, that I appropriately upheld the American way of life… which does not include spinach or purple kale, FYI.