“Come and get your meat!” It’s probably not what you’re thinking. Actually, it’s not at all what you’re thinking. Unless what you’re thinking of is a meat raffle.

The phenomena of the meat raffle is sweeping across the state with ever-increasing intensity – via local taverns, pubs, bars, and supper clubs. Patrons pony up one dollar, and they stand to win a slab of the best meat in town … but only if they’re lucky.

Before beginning my quest to uncover the mystery that is “meat raffles,” I decided to ask around UW-Eau Claire. A college campus loaded with academic brainiacs who also happen to be deer hunting northerners simply must know about these cultural affairs, right? If you answered anything other than “wrong,” then you are, well, wrong.

“A what?” was the most frequent response. And the occasional, “Oh, is that where you go to win a hottie for the day?” apparently confused with bachelor/bachelorette auctions. So much for academic braniacs.

But I suppose I can’t be too upset with the academic community. After all, I was the clueless one. Eventually I would realize there’s but one way to find out the truth. I must actually attend to a meat raffle.

It was a Thursday evening when I found myself sitting within a crowd of middle-aged-and-up meat rafflers at Jake’s Supper Club in Menomonie, greedily snatching up raffle tickets at a buck apiece. Only 30 tickets a round were sold, and in this crowd of meat-hungry gamblers, if you snooze, you would most definitely lose.

As I waved my crinkled dollar bill in the air, I felt the excitement of what was about to happen. There was a slight tingle running down my arm and it reverberated through the rest of my body. Maybe it was my ancient, ingrained hunter instincts kicking in after a long period of sub-conscious dormancy. Or maybe I was hungry, and the thought of a nice, thick ribeye had become a thrilling prospect. Or maybe I had been holding up my arm for too long. We may never truly know.

But I was there, the drawing was about to begin, and I was pretty psyched up. One singular thought raced through my mind as I awaited the announcer to call the first lucky winner: I should have brought more cash.

The announcer’s grizzly voice let loose like a professional baseball pitcher, “Ticket holder … 654986,” then followed up with, “Come and get your meat!”

The winner came, and they got their meat – a frozen pack of protein. Wow, I thought, so this is a meat raffle. Now I get it. The appeal. The glory. The simplicity. Where’s my wallet? I’m sure I have another dollar in there, somewhere. And this one better be lucky. I got my eye on that T-bone a-comin’ up.

Beyond the thrill of the win, there’s also a sense of camaraderie about the whole thing. Even though I came to this thing alone, I found myself in great company throughout the night. Like a crowd of strangers who just discovered they all back the same football team, and therefore, are lifelong buddies. These meat rafflers were extremely sociable, and unified by one commonality.

Meat.

Excluding the awkward anxiety I felt whilst first walking through the door, I never once felt fearful of making a meat raffle faux pas. My new aquatints willingly offered their experienced knowledge throughout the night. “Hold your dollar higher in the air so they see it,” one sagely instructed. “Lay all your tickets out in a row so that you can read them easily,” another advised.

As the meat raffle came to an end, my beginner’s luck proved fruitless. I couldn’t even win a package of quarter-pound brats (one of the lesser raffle prizes). But, walking to my car, I was not discouraged. The experience actually had me bristling with Wisconsin pride. And that, for me, was the biggest prize of the night.