WHEN JUDGING FOOD TRUCKS, IT’S HARD TO ESCHEW MEAT

We were somewhere around the chicken and waffles when the fullness began to take hold.

Two weeks earlier, it seemed like a delicious idea: volunteer to be a judge for the Bartari Food Truck Wars, the city’s latest food-focused festival.

A dream job, really, one that combined two of my passions: Free food and expending no effort while eating free food.

The event, held on the weekend, is rising in profile, having moved to the Riversdale district.

It’s kind of a street and sidewalk version of Taste of Saskatchewan, which self-identifies as “Saskatoon’s Flavourite Event.” (Far from one of my flavourite puns.)

The judging panel consisted of seven local celebrities from TV and radio.

And me.

How hard could it be,

I thought. I eat pretty much every day. Also, I’m a closet foodie. I know what a bouquet garni is. I recently spent six hours making French onion soup, not counting two failed expeditions for ramekins.

Also, I like to name-drop obscure varieties of kitchenware, like those little heat-resistant containers.

Also, I’m a big fan of food trucks. Kids today don’t know how lucky they are. There was time when hotdogs were as creative as it got for street food in this town. Now you can get cabbage rolls, lasagna, schnitzel and chicken cordon blue — from the same truck!

Needless to say, I want to see food trucks survive. It’s notoriously difficult to make a go of it, and if we don’t support them we’ll lose one of my flavourite parts of summer in the city.

I spent the final few hours before the Flavour Challenge meditating and eating celery. I had already added a bit of meat to my diet after five months of vegetarianism, which was probably a good idea, though not for the pigs and cows and chickens.

Yes, I’d be eating things that had parents. But did I mention it was for a good cause?

I showed up early, betraying my eagerness. The food quickly followed — some 15 entries starting bizarrely with a chocolate sundae. I deducted two points: no whipped cream on top, no maraschino cherry.

I was planning on being the mercurial Gordon Ramsay of the panel. But that ended when one of the chefs brought forth a slow-roasted beef brisket grilled cheese sandwich. Angels sang. Doves took flight. My heart skipped a beat (figuratively, I think). I longed to be alone with this sandwich, to get to know it a little better. But it was on to the next entry, and the next.

There was butter chicken, there were pulled pork tacos with homemade salsa. There were mini doughnuts with bacon bits. The bannock burger was a revelation — what a great alternative to the basic boring bun. There was deep fried bananas Foster. There was coleslaw and warm potato salad. There was Sriracha maple syrup. This was filling the dimples of a fluffy-crispy Belgian waffle topped with buttermilk fried chicken. Oh my, must try again on a meat day. And there was the eventual winner, a nicely spiced prime rib grilled cheese.

The verdict: food trucks make me happy.

But so much food. I tried to pace myself, I really did. By the last sample, a mercifully light shaved ice, I had that “why did I have three pieces of pumpkin pie after Christmas dinner?” feeling.

The winner, Dapper Dane, was crowned. The crowd dispersed. I jumped (?) on my bike, despite the risk of flattening the tires.

True story: recuperating at home several hours later, I grabbed two grapes. I could only finish one.

I have no regrets.