Guy Fieri's Flavortown Tailgate Was More Chaotic Than The Actual Super Bowl

In New Orleans for the Super Bowl, I arrived at Guy Fieri's Flavortown Tailgate expecting to be in and out, maybe stopping by the VIP area for a cocktail and some trash can nachos before the big game. There to take part in the recently relaunched Pepsi Challenge, I was promised three to five minutes with Fieri at most, and I suppose in the end that's what I got, but those few minutes were the culmination of over an hour of walking, talking, sweating, and being crowded by screaming fans dressed in Fieri merch (and some even as Fieri himself). Who would have guessed the Mayor of Flavortown was this popular?

Of course, I know people are fans of Fieri (if I didn't I'd be really, really bad at my job). His empire encompasses multiple TV shows, surprisingly good canned cocktails, 15+ restaurants, a Sonoma County winery, a line of sauces sold in stores like Walmart, and even a tequila partnership with Sammy Hagar. But my years of experience interviewing celeb chefs never prepared me for the devotion and outright frenzy of the residents of Flavortown. (Yes, that is Fieri's fans' official designation.)

After being escorted away from the red carpet — Guy Fieri opted to save that portion of the event for later — I waited around with his team while the chef posed for pics with Eli Manning, holding footballs in front of a Kings Hawaiian sign.

Another round of photos — this time eating sliders — and a blessedly short game of cornhole, and we were on to the next spot. Walking over from Kings Hawaiian land to the Dodge Ram chicken wing area (yes, everything in Flavortown is branded, and only some of the relationships to food are clear), I waited for my chance to speak to Fieri. That's when things started to go off the rails and the fans started flooding in.

I began to get a little antsy when I noticed just how many large men clad fully in black were standing around, creating a barrier between the rest of Flavortown and us. As we were shuffled to the Pepsi zone and then over to Taste of Paradise (sponsored by Carnival Cruises), more and more people started noticing Guy Fieri, calling out his name. My first attempt at asking the chef a few questions was swiftly blocked by eager fans, snapping selfies on the fly before being softly shuffled back outside the safe zone. About 20 minutes in (and in the kindest way humanly possible), the PR person shepherding me around suggested I be a bit more aggressive.

At the Sabra station, Fieri was presented with a football-shaped bowl of hummus, which he tactfully declined to accept. Departing the snack stand, I once again tried to push in, but was thwarted by an older gentleman (and veteran, if his hat was to be trusted) who collapsed from — presumably — the heat. Fieri showed genuine concern, stopping to ask if the man was okay. "You couldn't get this kind of press if you planned it," quipped one of the many people making up the entourage. Even on the ground, all the man was concerned about was getting a picture with Fieri, which the chef obliged.

Eventually, we made it to the Crockpot tent, where Guy Fieri signed a giant Crockpot, along with other normal-sized, working appliances. (Fieri signs everything in sight, which would seem pompous if people weren't genuinely so excited to get their hands on something he touched.) A woman gushed about how he should write a vegan cookbook, and he seemed to entertain the idea, though ultimately landed on a "no thanks." If Fieri wasn't a chef, I'd suggest a career in politics; I heard him tell people no more frequently than yes, but somehow they came away from the interaction all smiles.

Finally, I was directly in Fieri's line of sight, and was able to squeeze in a question about the Flavortown Tailgate. This was clearly how the rest of our interview was going to go, so I had to be strategic. While hustling to the next spot (a Bud Light bar set-up, offering a slight escape from the sun), Fieri explained to me the onus of the event: "The biggest thing is giving all the residents of Flavortown a chance to experience the energy of the Super Bowl. A lot of these folks won't be able to make it to the game, so that's how the Medium Rare team and I came up with this. Not everything has to have a ticket price. When's the last time you got anything for free?" Standing in front of a giant football helmet emblazoned with a cartoon of Fieri's face, I could tell he truly meant it.

While posing for pictures Guy Fieri took a swig from a bottle of Santo tequila, which miraculously appeared in his hands. (I have no idea when it got there or who gave it to him.) The chef continued to wax poetic about the event, explaining, "Hopefully my boys will take it over one day, but the Medium Rare team, I mean, they get it. To lend my name, my brand to anything is so dangerous, because if they mess it up, it's [on me]. When this closes tonight they'll start planning next year."

In front of a tent slinging GNC protein shake samples, Fieri handed me the bottle of tequila while he posed for even more pictures. "Here, try it." A consummate professional, I took a sip. "It's my brand," Fieri explained, sharing that he's a tequila purist, preferring it on the rocks, "no lime."

As we continued to be mobbed by fans screaming Guy's name, we chatted about his favorite game day snack. Dubbed "Trash Can Nachos," Guy Fieri's twist on the classic is made by layering the ingredients in a large can or pot. (You can buy a kit on Goldbelly if you're so inclined, but it's a pretty simple concept.) "I'll tell you what, it's so adaptable," Fieri explained, mentioning it was even possible to make vegan trash can nachos, subbing the "super melty cheese" with a sauce made of cashews and nutritional yeast. Maybe that vegan cookbook isn't so out of character, after all.

When another person dressed like Fieri attempted to get a picture ("Oh hey my cousin is here!" Fieri exclaimed while someone shot video for, I'm assuming, social. "Don't forget, you're supposed to be on the red carpet in half-an-hour for a meet and greet!") I took my cue to leave. Before I walked away, Fieri handed me a signed bottle of Flavortown sauce and a travel size Donkey  Sauce ("I never want you to eat something without flavor again," he quipped). I extracted myself from the throng.

Before meeting Guy Fieri, I wouldn't exactly have called myself a Flavortown believer; the whole schtick is a bit much and, to be totally honest, even while walking around trying to grab a few seconds of the star's time everything felt overly branded and manufactured. But, much like Jimmy Buffett's Parrotheads, there was a sense of absolute sincerity, humor, and enthusiasm in every interaction. People came from far and wide for the Flavortown — and Super Bowl tailgate — experience, and Fieri greeted them with open arms.

"What we do is we continue to bring in people and products and teams that have that same idea. Having a good time, throwing a good time," Fieri told me when asked how the Flavortown Tailgate has evolved over the three years since its inception. Exhausted, overstimulated, and covered in sweat and dust, I sipped a well-earned beer and stared at the teeming mass of equally sweaty, dusty people thrilled to even catch a glimpse of Fieri.

Walking out of the venue, I could hear the performing act, Cowboy Mouth, welcome Fieri to the stage. The lead singer told a story about how Fieri would bring free food to their shows, supporting them and their fans unconditionally since day one. While a layover in Flavortown was enough for me, I see why so many have bought in.