That's my 'cue.

I've been sitting here for the better part of 20 minutes trying to think of a way to even remotely encompass the awesomeness that was my day on Saturday in Madison Square Park at the 7th annual Big Apple Barbecue. I am at a complete loss.

I have concluded that I'm going to have to invent some adjectives, because the ones that already exist truly fail to describe the greatest thing ever - and that's exactly what the Big Apple BBQ is. The greatest thing ever.

But aside from being the greatest thing ever, the Big Apple Barbecue is essentially a block party, revolving around BBQ. The country's best pit-masters come from far and wide to converge here for two days a year of nothin' but barbecue. Vendors line the perimeter of the park, luring customers with smells of award winning recipes, and inside, there's a beer garden, a bluegrass band, and hundreds of picnicking carnivores.

I ended up there, because finger lickin', meat lovin', model American, Robin O'Malley visited New York from San Francisco this weekend, and happy days were here again. In an effort to revolve our entire weekend around food and drink (obviously), my friends and I had "Saturday Day = Big Apple Barbecue" locked into the schedule the moment that Robin booked her flight. The fortuitousness of these two occasions colliding was truly the perfect storm.

So - long story short, we woke up with a hangover. We knew this would happen. I actually kind of wanted it to happen for two reasons:

1) When I am hungover, I have an insatiable appetite. Insatiable appetite means trying as many BBQ stands as I possibly can, and then still having room for beer and a Mister Softie ice cream cone.
2) When hungover, I'm severely dehydrated, and therefore hardly ever have to pee - which is a genius approach to an outdoor festival.

I went in STARVING and totally dehydrated. Perfectly played.

Let me paint this picture with my barbecue brush: Chris and I got off of the R/W train at 23rd Street, and I was like Pepe LePew - my nose turned up, my eyes shut, and my feet lifted off the ground. The smell of barbecue had wafted down into the station, leaving a visual scent trail that went directly into my nose - just like in the cartoons. I floated up the stairs, across the street and to the entrance. When I finally came to, I was flabbergasted.

Just when I start to think that I, as a carnivore, am an endangered species, I should attend a BBQ Festival. This weekend, Madison Square Park was a vegetarian's worst nightmare - people as far as the eye could see, gnawing on ribs like cave-people. It was glorious!

There were 6 of us, and a Yorkie named Miles - it was like the Wizard of Oz. "Ribs, and sausages, and Mint Juleps, OH MY!"

We virtually skipped through the crowds of the Barbecue Brick Road, following the colored flags to the end of the line of the next vendor. Pulled Pork so tender, it literally dissolved in my mouth. Sausage a foot long, served with pimento cheese and peppers. Ribs, falling off the bone and into the gaps between my every tooth. It was a virtual smorgasbord of deliciousness, and for a good hour, I was in a meat trance so severe that I had quite literally forgotten that I was in New York - but was convinced that we had been beamed to some kind of heaven, where the streets are paved with meat, the rivers run with barbecue sauce and Mint Juleps come out of water fountains. Looking around, I could see that everyone was there with me - in Heaven.

But now, having been there, I know what Hell is: the 363 more days before next year's Big Apple BBQ.

Until then, I'm going to work on my adjectives so that next year, I may be able to articulate properly. For now, I have but one word to describe my Saturday - barbephenomitastic.