A man watching a football game while in charge of barbecuing is
a burnt offering to the charcoal god of briquettes waiting to
happen. Ever notice the abnormal bonding men have when it comes to
the task of barbecuing? When men get together, they boast of
seasons past and how they saved the hamburgers from turning into
crispy beef jerky. But you and I both know damn well who really
saved the meat.
A man watching a football game while in charge of barbecuing is a burnt offering to the charcoal god of briquettes waiting to happen. Ever notice the abnormal bonding men have when it comes to the task of barbecuing? When men get together, they boast of seasons past and how they saved the hamburgers from turning into crispy beef jerky. But you and I both know damn well who really saved the meat.
Think about how many times you have heard a man grunt like a caveman at the thought of lighting up the charcoal. Men believe the barbecue grill is their domain – as if it was a right of passage into manhood, which must have began when the first caveman simply tossed whatever he dragged home onto the fire.
The first time I tasted Jim’s barbeque pork loin, I thought I hit the jackpot. The man can cook a mean barbecue. But that was before football season. Preparing all the other foods to enhance your barbecue experience, like potato salad, coleslaw, beans, corn-on-the-cob and carrot sticks, is prepared in the kitchen, but someone must stand in front of the BARBECUE.
Jim insists it is his job to stand in front of the barbecue with a beer ready just in case the coals get too hot. Yet, in nearly five years of watching him, I’ve never once seen the beer go anywhere except into his mouth! It’s not that I don’t get to be part of the barbecue process because I do shop for the meat, marinate it, tell him when to put it on and am usually the one who has to franticly run outside yelling, “TAKE IT OFF THE FIRE!”
Now I ask you, how often do you ever see a guy standing in front of a grill not holding a beer? Especially during a football game? How a man can influence the outcome of a football game on the other side of the country, but have no control over the chicken, burning right in front of him is one of those mysteries of life that my mother warned about.
Jim’s son-in-law, a financial analyst for a bank, doesn’t own a tool box, but he has a mega barbecue grill with enough BTU’s to cook a pig. This piece of work is bigger by half of the stove I have in my kitchen.
Over the Labor Day holiday, we visited Jim’s family. Together, he and his son-in-law grunted as they drank beer and watched college football while testing out the mega grill. So there we were, his daughter and I in the kitchen, while Jim and his son-in-law stood triumphantly in front of this stainless steel monster. Both of them were dutifully holding beers in their hand to squelch any fire threatening to flair-up.
And you know what, his daughter still had to go out there and tell them, “TAKE IT OFF THE FIRE!”
Enjoy this heavenly weather while it lasts because soon the cool evening breezes will clear away the summer-scented atmosphere, bringing forth the flavor of autumn. But like a lot of die-hards out there, Jim would rather stand in a foot of snow breathing in the flavored smoke than pack away his grill until next season.
But just in case there is a snowstorm, you can bet there’s plenty of St. Pauli Girl on hand. Jim’s version of “antifreeze.” Oh, no. Here comes trouble. Jim has a fresh bag of charcoal and is heading towards the grill. “Step away from the grill!”
Linda Lee King is a Free Lance correspondent. She can be reached at wi*******@ju**.com
