I was one of five “celebrity” chili judges at Browns Valley Elementary School’s Hoedown Showdown at the Connolly Ranch last weekend.

Who wouldn’t accept that gig? An afternoon of chili, chili and more chili.

This is great, I told Cheryl. I’m going to blow out my taste buds. I’m going to eat rattlesnake and roadrunner and who knows what other exotica. Bring it on.

I fasted for six hours so I could judge with a ravenous appetite. When I tasted the best batches, I didn’t want to stint in my enjoyment.

Sixteen chili teams had set up in a pasture, their riotous booths laid out in a horseshoe pattern. Off to one side, a mechanical bull.

Before the judging, I surveyed the booths anonymously, pretending to be an average guy, not the powerful person whose palate would decide the champion. I was prohibited from tasting prematurely, but I could take in all the color I wanted.

Chili teams went all out, decorating their booths with heaps of chili peppers, bottles of Wild Turkey and Jack Daniels, Beano and Pepto Bismol. Women wore pink T-shirts that said, “I’m Big on the Pig.”

My fellow judges were a mix of food amateurs and professionals. One was Juliana Inman, a Napa councilwoman transformed by jeans and skull-tipped galoshes into a wild woman of the Southwest.

Another was Mark Ibanez, a Bay Area legend who has been doing sports for KTVU for almost 30 years. I was a bit awed when his TV eminence arrived at the judges’ table.

Rounding out our group, two professional chefs — Napa Valley Wine Train’s Kelly Macdonald and Sheamus Feeley of St. Helena’s Farmhouse, opening this winter.

As a judge, you don’t want to be brutally critical when spirited folks have cooked for hours to raise money for student computers and whatever. That said, a third of the entries were namby-pamby, leaving no fire in the belly. They could have been served to pre-schoolers before nap time.

Others were contaminated with beans. Most judges did not favor legumes in their chili. One all-meat entry was praised by Inman for being “not toxic with beans.”

I was open-minded. I didn’t mind beans. Batches that included kernels of corn were OK, too. Chili with beans and corn is a healthier chili, is it not?

To clean our palates between samples, we judges drank alcohol. I started out with wine, but observed that the professionals tended toward beer. They were right. Beer was better.

Two of the 16 samples came with accouterments. One team submitted miniature cornmeal muffins, another plastic cups filled with chopped onion, chopped cilantro and a white sauce of uncertain composition.

They might as well have tried to bribe each judge with a $5 bill. These enhancements counted for little. Judges wanted their chili samples to stand on their own feet.

Tasting cup after cup of chili is a bonding experience. We judges started off stiffly, everyone guarding his score sheet. By the end, we were baring our tasting souls.

Ibanez condemned one entry, saying it reminded him of pumpkin pie. Macdonald accused another of containing “canned tomatoes.” Feeley recoiled at a sample that had too much cinnamon, creating “that bitter mid-palate thing.”

Mid-palate thing? I pretended I had a mid-palate, too.

After an hour of tasting, two entries tied for first — one fiery and meaty, the other mild and meaty with the color and sweetness of dark chocolate.

Put another way: A chili from the depths of hell — children stand back! — versus a family-friendly chili that tickled the sweet tooth.

Provided with fresh samples, we held a taste-off. I went back and forth. I respected the hot, but liked the sweet. No, that wasn’t it. I had contempt for the sweet and admired the hot.

I soon realized my predicament. I didn’t know what I liked.

Our cumulative scores resolved my quandary. The chili with the no-holds-barred heat won.

The winning team, led by Jim Valenzuela, donated its $500 prize back to the school. As for his cooking secret, Valenzuela said, “I just eyeballed everything and threw it in there.”

When Cheryl and I met up after the judging, she gasped with alarm. My face was glowing red and beaded with sweat. All the evidence suggested I was burning up.

Don’t worry, I said. It’s only chili. Chili and beer. Chili and beer and wine. And more chili.

Kevin can be reached at 256-2217 or Napa Valley Register,  P.O. Box 150, Napa 94559 or kcourtney@napanews.com