My dreaded barbecue
Summer supper. Steak and salad. My decision: to avoid barbecuing, for as long as possible. Some of you swear by the method; I swear at it. Let’s look at the specifics.
I know the basics, and there is a simple contraption on the deck, purported to meet the need. I disagree. Have for years. Unless you spend an impossible amount, the average home food burner is purchased at a local hardware store, and the shipping box contains some iron and some hardware. Nothing too complex, although assembly over a carpet is recommended. To catch the nuts and bolts that obey gravity rather than intention. The last two or three times, I’ve completed the “follow the numbers” game inside of the allotted time, and have received the accolades of other, less industrious family members.
Once the contraption has been moved outside (they usually take up space on a deck or balcony), the requisite gas leak tests are completed. Since none of us are trained, beforehand, in the methodology, the goal is to avoid an explosion. I’ve seen footage, on YouTube. Yes, you can burn the house down. Not a way to inspire confidence. With the new cooking surface come new lava rocks (although pretty much any rock will do, with the exception of coal). The new grills are placed, and for the first season, reasonable results are within expectation.
It’s the next year, after snows and storms, that the situation degrades. The gas cylinder may be “approaching empty”. The magical piezoelectric igniter doesn’t. The grill surfaces get grotty. The rocks get greasy. The burner assembly leaks. And the sum experience is one of food that doesn’t cook evenly. Not much fun. I’m at that point in the cycle, and if I get my way, the next time around I’ll go for something different. After all, there has to be a better way.
