Mephisto.jpg
You, too, can sell your soul to this demon in return for brilliant cooking skill!
Burning Beast is a gathering of Seattle's finest chefs for

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Jason Wilson Sells His Soul to the Burning Beast (Part One)

Mephisto.jpg
You, too, can sell your soul to this demon in return for brilliant cooking skill!
Burning Beast is a gathering of Seattle's finest chefs for an outdoor cookout of epic proportions. This takes place at the Smoke Farm, an arts facility in Arlington, which the proceeds of Burning Beast benefit.

The area is wooded and grassy and so pastoral I expected to see an elf drinking dew from an acorn cap. It's quite charming--in the middle of a big field, each restaurant involved sets up camp and cooks an assigned meat (or seafood). A bell rings, then you get in line and choose what you'd like to eat.

First up for us was goat meat, cooked by the crew at Crush. I was expecting this to be the best motherfucking goat meat I ever tasted, but I was sadly disappointed because it was bland and dry, though happily the accompanying wedge of watermelon was like a liquid candy shot of summery sugar. I was NOT disappointed, however, by the manner in which Crush's chef/ owner Jason Wilson was dressed: shirtless, clad in only an apron and shorts, he strutted around, dismally cocksure, a huge smoldering stogie hanging from his mouth. Bikini- clad hoochies prowled about, basking in Wilson's manly aura.

How could one man have it all? As it turns out, Jason Wilson sold his soul to the Devil!

Wilson was packing his clothes Friday night, wondering what to wear to Burning Beast. A puff of smoke and a whiff of brimstone announced the appearance of MEPHISTO, a powerful Prince of Hell.

"Jason Wilson," cried Mephisto, "let ME choose your wardrobe for the weekend!"

Wilson's shoulders slumped. "Not this time, please? I have to look good for Burning Beast."

Mephisto was taken aback. "But our contract!" He spoke in a shrill, lilting Elizabethan accent.

"I don't CARE about that fucking contract," Wilson snarled as he tossed clothes into his suitcase.

Mephisto removed a scrying glass from his beneath his vest. "My Lord," he whispered into the glass, "a mortal resists our lawful command!"

A cold breeze and an ominous whisper filled the room. LUCIFER, the King of Hell, the Prince of the Air, the Father of Lies, Son of the Morning Star, drifted in on gossamer tendrils of despair. He was the most beautiful thing ever seen: seventeen feet tall, with alabaster abs, and purple eyes, winged with feathers of hammered gold, and with robes blinding white, but his aura was black and runny and spilled about him like India ink.

"JASON WILSON," Lucifer said, his voice booming. "Did you not trade your soul to us?"

Wilson paused his packing, but did not speak.

"Did we not agree to provide you with the greatest cooking skill in the WORLD, and give you the most successful restaurant in Seattle, and the power to bend the lusts of women to your will, and a blonde bombshell for a wife, and also lots of white chairs, in return for the right to choose what you wear?"

"But--"

"YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL!" roared Satan. The tree outside Wilson's window died instantly. "WE DEMAND RECOMPENSE!"

"Yes, Master," Jason Wilson mumbled in acquiescence.

"I knew you would see it our way," Lucifer smiled, his voice suddenly warm. "Now, Mephisto will render his verdict." And with that, the Devil disappeared.

Mephisto rubbed his hands in greedy anticipation of the mayhem he was about to unleash. "You may pack no shirts! And," he pulled from his pocket a gigantic phallic cigar, "this cigar may never leave your mouth the entire weekend!"

"Awww, man!" Jason Wilson cried. "I'm going to look like such an idiot with--"

"Your sunburned man boobs and your smelly cloud of smoke and your tough, flavorless goat and your uninspired presentation are what I demand in return for the power I grant you!" Mephisto cackled. "I certainly hope it was worth it."

And so that's how Jason Wilson came to wear such a ridiculous outfit and serve such lackluster fare at Burning Beast.

Mephisto's curse definitely came true: I expected Wilson to blow the fuck out of my mind, especially given that he owns arguably the best restaurant in Seattle, but that goat meat was just fucked up. Granted, goat meat is one of the more difficult meats to prepare, but I thought for sure if anyone would be up to the challenge it would be Jason Wilson.

He wasn't!

Rating: 4 Faustian bargains out of 10

Jason Wilson normally serves excellent food at his restaurant, Crush. For more information about Smoke Farm, click here.

This is the first in an epic, three-part serial about Burning Beast 2010.

Check out a slideshow of images from Burning Beast.

 
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