Last year when I broke out this same post I had two birthday/bbq parties to go to and I couldn’t wait. My sister’s husband hates to grill so I put in my request early to man the grill in case any other people wanted to claim the Knightly task. I would bash him for being less of a man, but he is a warrior (literally an Apache) and everyone has their faults. He married my sis so for that he gets a pass. Since then I have become the God Father to his offspring so for that he gets a lifetime pass.
So without further introduction Let the grilling season begin….
I love to grill. I have purpose when I do. I feed people. I provide. I am the maker of the food. The comptroller of delectable currency. If the food is bad then so goes the party. Few talk bad of a party if the food is good they only remember if it was bad. If the food was awesome though, then the grill master will be rewarded with undue praise at future grilling events. He will be honored and praised for his abilities. A beer will be handed to him with honor, perhaps a cigar will be unfurled as reward or mere acknowledgment of his wondrous abilities.
Other grill masters acknowledge those who pride their handy work around the Lord’s Flame. They appreciate your finesse which to most novices go unnoticed. Like a novel by Vonnegut, it seems so effortless that what the grill master does must then be simple.
The grill and man must be one. This symbiotic dance of man and prehistoric ritual goes on silently, but celebrated with religious fervor. Fellow grill masters know they must not allow a party to be killed by burnt, dry or overcooked foods. One understands the importance of autonomy and the magnitude of scorched fare. Something clicks in the recesses of the mind when standing over fire and bloody read meat is in hand speared with 18 inch tongs. The blood drips from the plate and for a brief moment the grill master finds himself looking around like a 5 year old boy about to stick his hand in the cookie jar 10 minutes before dinner. He thinks to himself, “I can’t let that go to waste. Should I drink it? Sauce? Yes, sauce, make it a sauce…no, no, no sicko….baste with it…yesssss baste. You must baste.” As his fangs retract and the meat begins to sizzle the prehistoric pangs subside and his focus comes back to present day.
During this grilling season and Inaugural weekend All must bow, pay homage and praise the wonders of a man able to control, harness, dictate the power of FIRE. I will crank it high, then go low for a bit, in case the temperature has gotten too high. I do not need the thermometer (though it helps tremendously) I go by the singe on my arms, the hair on my knuckles then, my eyebrows if need be. I lift the lid to control heat, to release aroma and to enjoy the power I have of controlling mans most awesome discovery. Over time a hot spot may develop and a grill master knows where to cook what and what side will scorch faster than others.
I control FIRE AND FLAME! Burgers are no easy feat. Ground beef must be bought, it is illegal to buy pre-packaged burgers regardless of the size of the party. Would your grandmother buy a turkey breast for Thanksgiving!! I must become one with the burger meat, my hands must kneed the glorious prize. Breadcrumbs, garlic, salt, pepper, sugar, egg, and some other spices I will not divulge all are mixed in. Patties are sculpted with thoughts of Michelangelo’s David being recreated. My burgers are legendary and I have yet to perfect them. I go by feel, by day, by crowd, by my own mood. The 6oz’s of meat sit for hours as the dogs circle below the counter. Wondering why, WHY they can’t have any. Some chuck may fall to the ground and like Micheal Vick I have to break the beasts apart before one is killed over the other. Yes, even canines know what I a grill master am capable of and they will kill for it.
A hot dog is more of a challenge then people give them credit for. Kids are less likely to eat one that has the slightest char mark, one must navigate the grill to find the HOT DOG SWEET SPOT they are much trickier then even some experienced griller’s acknowledge. For messing up the hot dog can ruin a rug rats afternoon and ruining a rug rats afternoon ruins not only his/her but also the parents, there in lies the key to success. Dad’s will have to put down there beers to peel off the char, to cover it with catsup, to soothe the pain in the ass and let him know, “It is fine son, quit being a pansy”. Upon statements like that the lioness is quick to pounce and protect her offspring. She must defend her pride and then the lion king must sulk away to another part of the yard embarrassed and defeated and sackless. Bad things can happen to those that take the dog for granted. You have been warned do not take for granted the hot dog.
As the years have gone by burgers have become elementary. I have graduated to ribs, full racks, half racks, country style, chicken drumsticks are a labor of love, cooked to perfection, corn, egg plant, entire chickens with beer cans shoved in their orifices. A true grill master never allows “veggie” burgers to touch his fire harnessing apparatus…(unless he is married and hopes to get some action upon conclusion of said event)
During this time of year, I stand over the meat department aisle like a woman in the shoe department of Nordstrom’s. I make sure to not where my mesh gym shorts. I need to control my excitement and one time is enough to be hauled away while salivating and enhanced standing above the pork section. I relish going to the grocery store. I scour online for local meat sales, alerting other grill masters to my victorious discoveries, much like a pointer alerts a hunter of unassuming prey. I have built up a network that allows no meat special to go unnoticed. Texting has increased my reach. “yo. Superfresh. RackRibs 1.29. Wings at the G .89! Shrimp huge at ACME”
Costco has become my paradise and like a rare vacation to a foreign land, I relish the chances I have to participate in the glorious orgy of food. At the grocery store, I am in heaven, my own culinary utopia. I have a system. Starting with the Pork I work my way right to left….up and down the shelves searching for tenderloin, ribs, chops, managers specials…moving onto meats, steaks are ridiculously expensive but the right piece and the perfect occasion cannot be ignored….onto the chicken where on a pre planned drunken beer pong laden evening quantity becomes as important as quality one most look for the large family packs of drumsticks….one hand on the stick the other on the ping pong ball, the perfect food….down to the sausage, another grill favorite….ahhhhh be careful not to puncture them, the juices must cook inside until the burst like a teenager on his first night…..A hot Italian sausage……magnificent!
As I leave the store other men stare with awe and lust. My hunt was successful. Loin of Pork sticking out of my cart like a roll of french bread. Sausage hanging over the cart. NY Strip stacked so high my children have been assigned to hold it steady and don’t let it fall over! The drumsticks and wings are so plentiful they look as if I slaughtered an entire Perdue farm. I march head held high and proud of what I was able to gather. 3 cans of propane are waiting for me just in case I run out I am always prepared. The case of beer in the fridge barely needs mention, as it is assumed it is there. Fellow grill master’s may bring their own libations but there is a code one must adhere too and over the years I have been taught that code by other more vociferous men. The way of the tribe is to teach the inexperienced with defimation and embarassment. One only needs to hear it once to know Provide for the herd and provide for guests. No exceptions. No regrets.
I am a grill master! I bow to those that have taught me the way. The man with a grill INSIDE his porch, the other a kegmeister in his family room and the one that gave me my first Weber. I owe you my success and I thank you tremendously for it is this time of year that frees me from the confines of my Kenmore and to the openness of the Butane Flame.
Praise be JESUS….. let the BBQ Season Begin!!