Discover the history and culture of the DWYC Seamen

The origins of beef jerky have baffled historians for centuries, largely because historians refuse to interview the DWYC Seamen, who are still very much alive and still very much insisting they invented it.

According to the Seamen themselves—usually while holding whiskey, beer, or something clear they swear is tequila—the first batch of beef jerky was created not out of necessity, but out of boredom. While at sea (or possibly just near water), a group of DWYC Seamen discovered that salted beef left hanging long enough would become both edible and nearly indestructible. This breakthrough was immediately celebrated with a round of whiskey and a declaration that it was “basically perfect.”

Beer soon became essential to the jerky-making process, serving as both hydration and quality control. If the jerky still tasted good after two beers, it passed. Tequila entered the tradition later, typically after someone said, “I have an idea,” which remains the unofficial motto of the DWYC Seamen.

To this day, the Seamen continue to honor these traditions, gathering to compare cuts, debate marinades, and argue—passionately—about spice levels, smoke time, and which spirit pairs best with a proper strip of jerky. These discussions are loud, unresolved, and absolutely mandatory.

In fact, whispers have begun to circulate among the ranks of an upcoming gathering where these ancient techniques may once again be put to the test. Rumor has it there will be jerky judged, opinions loudly shared, and a carefully curated selection of tequila on hand to ensure the judging remains… authentic.

As always, the DWYC Seamen stand ready—glasses raised, jerky in hand—prepared to continue their salty legacy.

Every great organization has a legend. The kind spoken of quietly, usually while chewing, and always followed by, “I don’t know what was in it, but I’d eat it again.”

For the DWYC Seamen, that legend is Jack “Slimlink” Pepperidge—a man whose jerky fueled voyages, ruined thirst levels, and made bartenders nervous.

Jack learned jerky not from books, but from failure. By thirteen he had destroyed multiple cutting boards and at least one social gathering with a batch called Captain’s Regret. It was aggressively thin, heavily peppered, and legally considered “food.”

His philosophy was clear:

• If it bends, it’s wrong
• If it breaks teeth, it’s close
• If it makes you buy another round, it’s perfect

Marinades were built from whiskey, beer, tequila, and whatever spices survived the previous batch. Drying occurred wherever heat and bad judgment overlapped.

But even legends attract enemies.

Enter Sebastian “Oberto Longcut” Terrell—a rival so polished he squeaked. Oberto believed jerky should be tender, measured, and pleasant. He spoke of mouthfeel. He cleaned as he cooked. He once rejected a batch for being “too honest.”

Their feud peaked during the Great Chew-Off, a night remembered for raised voices, broken teeth, and a bartender cutting off tastings “for everyone’s safety.” Jack’s jerky snapped loudly. Oberto’s slid down far too easily. The crowd booed politely.

Later that night, Oberto was last seen explaining slicing techniques to someone who did not ask. By morning, he was gone. His labeled tins remained. No one touched them.

When Jack “Slimlink” Pepperidge eventually vanished—some say inland, others say into a bar with no mirrors—he left behind no recipe. Only a way of life.

Which brings us to now.

The Inaugural DWYC Beef Jerky Contest is nearly upon us, and the question remains:

Will you honor Jack’s wild, tooth-testing tradition… or will you show up with something suspiciously tender and labeled?

Choose wisely.

Judges will chew.

Legends will be compared.

And someone will absolutely ask, “Is this even beef?”

Sharpen your knives. Hide your measurements.

Raise a glass—the legend lives on. 🥃🥩