There is music, there are talks, there are demos. With each stall serving one brand-new tasting dish only, the stakes were high (drum roll, cymbal crash, I'll be here all week- try the veal).
With the website containing such gems as "Q: WILL THERE BE ANY VEGETARIAN DISHES? A: Um… no." this is an unapologetically passionate love affair with meat, a full-on fiesta of flesh and fire. A carnival of carnivores, as Billy Bragg might put it. The brief at Meatopia is simple, disarmingly so: one dish each, with all cooking done over logs or hardwood charcoal.
Not just any old flesh, you understand: one of their six key promises is that "every piece of meat on offer will have been raised naturally, lived the best of lives and be totally and utterly hormone, anti-biotic and cruelty free." Another continues: "Our animals will all be native and rare breeds. Bred, raised and butchered locally to where they lived, and sourced from as nearby as possible."
Watching the hundreds stretching ahead is frustrating, but leavened by the sight of the masses snaking behind. Those lucky few with press passes and Early Bird tickets are regarded with much envy and a resolution to stump up the extra few quid next year.
This must have been how Moses felt after forty years' wilderness wandering as he approached the Promised Land. Unlike him, we were guaranteed to get in.
Once you're in, the deal is simplicity itself: collect your bracelet, trade in your cash for the on-site currency ('MeatBucks') and wander. And eat. And drink. And eat. And drink. Repeat to fade. Each dish is starter-sized and costs one MeatBuck (£5) so if you pace yourself, there's a good day ahead.
We began, as you do, at the beginning and stall number one. Hang Fire Smokehouse, no less, with Sam Evans flying solo, or at least sans Shauna. They had a great spec, nestled to the side of one of the demonstration stages where various luminaries like Gizzi Erskine, DJ BBQ or Jay Rayner did their schtick. As we arrived, Sam was still buzzing from just having met and fed the latter just before he opened the festival with a moving doff of the cap to his friend, the festival's late originator, Josh Ozersky.
Their festival special was lamb cooked 'dirty style'- directly on the coals- and then sliced and piled atop a doorstop of bread, with mandolined root vegetables and generous glugs of gravy to form their own 'Dirty Cawl'. The technical term for this bread-stroke-dish would be 'trencher' I suppose, a word that seems to bring with it visions of wenches both buxom and comely, and foaming tankards of ale. This is always A Good Thing.
Their festival special was lamb cooked 'dirty style'- directly on the coals- and then sliced and piled atop a doorstop of bread, with mandolined root vegetables and generous glugs of gravy to form their own 'Dirty Cawl'. The technical term for this bread-stroke-dish would be 'trencher' I suppose, a word that seems to bring with it visions of wenches both buxom and comely, and foaming tankards of ale. This is always A Good Thing.
The meat build up a wonderful charred crust crisp, leaving the centre a coquettish pink, and the deep rich gravy took the whole thing to another level. It was a wonderful way to start, but unfortunately seemed to cured Pete's hunger pangs.
This was no time to be experiencing satiety, however, so a stern talking to was in order. He's only had Hang Fire food a couple of times- we had a huge family shebang at The Canadian a couple of birthdays ago- but he still recalls that meal wistfully. We recommended their dish to any who asked- and there was very much a "that looks amazing, which stall did that come from?" atmosphere to the event. It was a master stroke to feature something so different from their usual menu at an event this prestigious- there must have been exhaustive trials in their nerve centre in the mean streets of Llantwit Major- but this was a triumph which was also proudly Welsh in concept and execution.
If the universe doesn't contract to the few inches directly in front of your mouth while you're eating this- you're doing it wrong. It's a special burger, this, a contender for best I've eaten, with its bone marrow oozing layers of intense beefiness into the fibres of the flesh. That it was only £5 was an added treat.
In the main bars, £6.50 for a pint of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale drink wasn't cheap, though over at Craftopia there were several brilliant breweries who were more than generous with free samples. Hic. Hats off to Siren, Beavertown, Lagunitas and Camden. Good work, chaps, with the added benefit of plenty of seating to take the weight off your slingbacks.
It was wonderful: melting beef and tart pickles, served with just a little too much for the roll so it ended up being gorgeously messy. Long, silken strands of sticky beef; what's not to applaud? As you'd expect from this Hawksmoor offshoot, it was faultless.
The twice-cooked flesh eased away in chunks. The liquor that remained was amazing- rich and intensely 'ducky', the kind of thing that would be preposterously good soaking into a mound of couscous.
This was no time to be experiencing satiety, however, so a stern talking to was in order. He's only had Hang Fire food a couple of times- we had a huge family shebang at The Canadian a couple of birthdays ago- but he still recalls that meal wistfully. We recommended their dish to any who asked- and there was very much a "that looks amazing, which stall did that come from?" atmosphere to the event. It was a master stroke to feature something so different from their usual menu at an event this prestigious- there must have been exhaustive trials in their nerve centre in the mean streets of Llantwit Major- but this was a triumph which was also proudly Welsh in concept and execution.
The 'Slaughter House pub' had a cockerney duo entertaining the punters with meaty puns- 'Don't You Want Meat, Baby?' and 'Every Time You Go Away You Take A Piece of Meat With You' should give you a flavour of their setlist.
Another lamb dish, another standout: James Walters' (Arabica Food & Spice) Anatolian style lamb roll. Something to make you misty-eyed, this: crusty crispy bits of animal wrapped in bread sound simple enough, and it is: but the simple expedient of cooking that bread on the same grill as meat lent it a superb depth of flavour. The rich, smoky fat from the breast of lamb got sizzled into the soft bread to make it all the more indulgent and evocative of far-off bazaars, to make something very good into something truly memorable.
And so to Hawksmoor (Spitalfields Bar), the longest queue in the place. Their burger was always going to be a certainty: any card- carrying carnivore worth their sweetbreads and chitterlings will either have been, or be planning a trip, to one of their branches.
In the words of Jane Austen: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a great burger." Now, history tells us he may have been a huge Yorkshireman with a beard like a rhododendron bush, but he spoke the truth. A good burger makes the world seem a better place; a great one alters the fabric of space-time.
In the words of Jane Austen: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a great burger." Now, history tells us he may have been a huge Yorkshireman with a beard like a rhododendron bush, but he spoke the truth. A good burger makes the world seem a better place; a great one alters the fabric of space-time.
If the universe doesn't contract to the few inches directly in front of your mouth while you're eating this- you're doing it wrong. It's a special burger, this, a contender for best I've eaten, with its bone marrow oozing layers of intense beefiness into the fibres of the flesh. That it was only £5 was an added treat.
The prospect of Ibérico ribs (Jacques Fourie) is enough to get a dead man's juices flowing. The accompanying coleslaw was a little watery for my tastes, though its flavours were excellent, with the walnut in particular a highlight. The meat, though, could perhaps have benefitted from longer direct contact with the flames, since it lacked caramelisation and not unlocking the maximum flavour from such special meat.
Maria Tapanakis (Heddon St Kitchen) was the only stall serving seafood. Their tomahawk steak and prawn 'Surf and Turf' was hugely popular, not least because some lucky diners nabbed the carved bones and were wandering around with the kind of thing last seen in an episode of The Flintstones. Their menu was served on a bed of smoky barbecue beans cut through with peppery watercress, a quietly excellent touch.
On to Foxlow and their short rib sandwich. Meat and pickles laid along a brioche finger roll. Sriracha mayo was standard: extra chilli sauce a welcome blast of heat to perk up the taste buds and stave off satiety.
It was wonderful: melting beef and tart pickles, served with just a little too much for the roll so it ended up being gorgeously messy. Long, silken strands of sticky beef; what's not to applaud? As you'd expect from this Hawksmoor offshoot, it was faultless.
Flamin' Liberty and your Fistful of Pig, oh, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways:
I salivate at your name, because you will be all that is good and great about this noble animal. I love your herby little shoulder patty, the perfectly rendered base for its brothers. I adore your tiny brioche roll; I swoon at your crisp croquette of pigs' head in your centre, and I am undone by your thick slice of smoked jowl atop the whole thing.
I salivate at your name, because you will be all that is good and great about this noble animal. I love your herby little shoulder patty, the perfectly rendered base for its brothers. I adore your tiny brioche roll; I swoon at your crisp croquette of pigs' head in your centre, and I am undone by your thick slice of smoked jowl atop the whole thing.
This one-stop shop for the best bits of the pig was a little miracle. If the rest of the day's food hadn't proved so enticing, you could easily imagine lining up three of four of these compact little beauties.
Cabrito Goat's Kid Shawarma looked impressive on the dockside in the sunshine and an interesting menu choice, the generous serving of meat proving a little tough for some visitors near us. I had no such complaints and it was easily the best goat I've had in the last few years, Nigerian wedding included.
On to Flesh and Buns; duck is not the first meat which springs to mind when BBQ is on the menu but it was yet more evidence of the various crews dressing to impress. The richness of the meat was cut through by the citric tang of the pineapple and shiso salad, which brought with it some heat among the cooling sweetness.
The twice-cooked flesh eased away in chunks. The liquor that remained was amazing- rich and intensely 'ducky', the kind of thing that would be preposterously good soaking into a mound of couscous.
Lee Bull's pork belly sandwich up next, as waistbands tightened. A slab of wobbly, oozing meat teamed with tart pickles, a classic counterpoint to the fatty, luscious belly.
The bread could have done with a little more lubrication- perhaps a dab of mayonnaise- but the meat was faultless. This is the sort of food which captures your whole attention and it took a gargantuan effort to not make Bedroom Noises. The fresh mint I could have done without. But I quibble: this was fine eating and rightly popular.
The end was nigh. My notes for our last port of call babbled on about cooling yoghurt
and baba ghanoush, Anatolian steak and seasoning, but is best explained by the last word I dashed into my phone: 'stunning.'
Hus Vedat's thickly sliced steak was a triumph and it meant we ended on a high note. I'm not ashamed to admit I walked back to the stall and shook him by the hand.
On pain of death I'd struggle to order each dish in some meaty league table. In the day since, though, as you mull over the entire experience, several things kept bobbing to the surface with some insistence.
On pain of death I'd struggle to order each dish in some meaty league table. In the day since, though, as you mull over the entire experience, several things kept bobbing to the surface with some insistence.
If Hang Fire Smokehouse had anything to prove against the big city big boys, they did so with room to spare. Their lamb dish was so good that- despite it being our first- we were still talking about it and recommending it at the end. In short, it was spankingly good, with great technique and imagination on display, and can join Hus Vedat and Flamin' Liberty in a victory lap of the entire festival.
Now, how many days is it until Meatopia 2016..?
Now, how many days is it until Meatopia 2016..?
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