DISH
Parking Lot Pros
with Maribeth Maloney
Neither tailgating nor football cross my mind often. For that I'm grateful. I don't like football and I've got just one memory of tailgating. It's a bad one, of course. Most people's minds go to fanciful thoughts of shirtless lunatics with painted faces, charred hotdogs and parking lots full of kegs. I think of my husband losing his wedding ring in a hibachi.

It was at a B.C. homecoming game and somewhere into the first quarter, Mr. Wonderful realized his ring had gone missing. Panic set in; he'd already lost it a year earlier in the deep end of a swimming pool in Mexico (was he trying to tell me something?). Following a grimy search and rescue mission, it turned up in a pile of embers. Seems it slid off while he was making hamburgers. To this day, he only buys pre-shaped burgers. I'm not sure if that's his idea of penance or romance.

Between that time and now, tailgating has gone from being a cold one in a cozy to an industry unto itself, and a wacky one at that. Over the last decade, the popularity of the blissfully harebrained pastime has reached an alltime high. An estimated 40 million people a year partake in ritualistic moveable feasts with a vengeance, a sizeable number of them not even bothering to leave the party to watch the game. There's no better evidence of that than the annual showdown between the University of Florida and the University of Georgia. Known as "The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party," over 100,000 people cram into the parking lot of a stadium that's able to seat only 73,000 of them.

There's even an American Tailgaters Association ("ATA") that can hook you up with anything from a cooler that converts into a table to a sprawling RV that transforms into a grill on wheels. Organized only in 2004, the ATA-whose tag line is "Tailgaters Do It in the Parking Lot"-is host to one of the biggest tradeshows in the country, with 25,000 expected to turn up at the Las Vegas Convention Center in November (the Alcoholics Anonymous conference is the same month; hopefully they won't cross paths).

The ATA's Web site also provides introduction to the tailgating clubs of other fan(atic)s, with the essential opportunity to marvel at photos of goofsters such as the core members of Louisiana State University's "Fifth String Tailgating." Yes, grown men, college graduates no less, with names like "Tuna," "Fro," "Fish-Fri" and "Spidy," each of whom looks exactly as he should. I recommend reading the bios. Only then can one learn that the beer-bellied version of Spider Man is legendary for having busted a blood vessel in his eye after a binge.

The roots of tailgating are firmly entrenched in the history of college football, given that the pro game didn't come on the scene until later. Rutgers vs. Princeton, in 1869, was the first intercollegiate game, with 1881 marking the earliest game south of the Mason-Dixon Line between Kentucky State and the University of Kentucky. The ferocious North-South football rivalries that still exist today are believed to harken back to the emasculation that Southern men suffered following the Civil War, the games being a chance to jump start their testosterone in new battles. But no matter what the outcome, players and supporters began the day with pregame feasts of wild game and fish.

Yale takes credit for bringing the party to the stadium in 1904. The mode of transport was the train and it took those Ivy Leaguers to finally realize that it would be a long hike back to the station to fetch refreshments. With that came the new custom of hauling stuffed picnic hampers directly to the site. In 1927, Ford introduced the Model-A station wagon with a fold-down tailgate, leading to the banquet on wheels and the first true incarnation of the tailgate party.

Then something happened to temporarily stall proliferation: Night football. The invention of gigantic electric lights gave way to the night game and during the late 1920s and early 1930s, fans chose to host all-day house-hopping parties as precursors to kick-off rather than freeze their bajeebies off for longer than necessary. The house

party remained all the rage for the

next few decades, rendering partying in a pick-up to be somewhat of a yokel pastime connoting social leprosy.

Yet the pendulum was to swing back again and the introduction of televised games saw the return of the day game, sounding the death knell for the house party. That didn't matter though, because the option of not partying was simply no longer an option. When the asphalt bash returned, it had morphed into supernova proportions. Day, night, college or professional are now all irrelevant. All that matters is what you're eating, what you're drinking and what color blood you bleed.

Fortunately, just to ensure that things don't get too out of hand, a selfappointed "Commissioner of Tailgating" stepped into the picture. Actually, he drove in. He's Joe Cahn and in 1996, he sold his house and his business (The New Orleans School of Cooking), bought a motor home dubbed "The JoeMobile" and hit the open road, with a cat named Sophie riding in the navigator's seat.

Since then, Joe's driven over 300,000 miles, tailgated at 114 colleges, all 31 NFLstadiums, and has served over 325 pots of jambalaya. For him, it's all about the food. He doesn't even care about football and only realized there was an actual game a couple years back when a parking lot cleared out and he noticed a stadium. The 44,000 gallons of diesel he's burned through are covered in part by such corporate sponsors as Doritos and CocaCola, the latter of which underwrote his unscientific, yet seminal, "State of the Tailgate" study.

Joe's findings reflect that what's eaten at these gastronomic road shows has everything to do with location. LSU is the standout in college tailgating, with gumbo, crawfish and etouffee making for some serious fare, whereas Kansas City Chief fans are the barbecue winners within the pros, not to mention those most friendly to "the enemy." Cities on both coasts earn kudos for having the most adventurous palates: "They're more likely to say 'What was that?' after eating something, rather than those in the Midwest who say 'What is that?' before they'll try it."

San Francisco 49ers' fans rank highest among the culinary elite, serving sushi, salads and veggie burgers, as well as opting for wine and cheese over beers and brats. It goes without saying that Da Bears have da brats covered, trailed only by Green Bay, Wisconsin, which Joe suggests should be renamed "Johnsonville." New York Giants devotees are noted as the best at pot-luck style and ethnic diversity, as opposed to the blandness of grid grub in Minnesota, where pepper is apparently a four letter word. Clemson Tigers are known for their Southern hospitality and fried chicken and the Cincinnati Bengals are infamous for their "4ways:" chili over spaghetti with cheese and onions. Patriots fans mix it up a bit with lobster, chowder and a touch of Little Italy, but perhaps nothing can rival the party at the Buffalo Bills' Wilson stadium. Forget about the white pizza and namesake chicken wings, it's the only place in the country with a parking lot just for limos.

So I'm considering giving tailgating another try. But as a tainted amateur, I could probably use the help of a pro. Maybe I'll ask Joe to toss Sophie into a kennel and see if I can ride shotgun with him for a while. After all, he's not married so there are no rings involved. I figure, quite literally, he's got nothing to lose.

I TAILGATE BLUES
Limo-worthy burgers; just watch your ring -
1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts
3/4 pound ground sirloin
3/4 pound ground veal
4 ounces Roquefort, crumbled
Salt and fresh pepper
4 Brioche rolls, toasted

Toast walnuts (stirring a couple times) on a baking sheet in a 350 degree oven for about 10 minutes; cool. Preheat grill to medium-hot. Combine meats, cheese, walnuts, salt and pepper until well blended and form 4 burgers. Grill until desired doneness and place on buns. Serves 4.