Wait! before you fold that precious aluminum foil into a hat, consider wrapping it around some raw meat and grille yourself somethin' tasty!
Today is Memorial Day, and although this holiday commemorates the valiant efforts of brave troops who sacrificed everything to procure our way of life, for many, it also kicks-off the summer grilling season.
In recent decades, the propane grille brought convenience, speed and economy to grilling. As a result, grilling has become so routine, that many people grille several times every week! Propane grilling has successfully brought grilling to the masses, but in the process, it has also forfeited some intrinsic grilling romance.
Let's face it. Grilling with propane is simple. Crank the knob, press the igniter button, and within a few minutes, the grille achieves a constant, ambient temperature, and sustains it for as long as you need it. Where's the art and risk with that?
With the possible exception of the one time the regulator on my propane grille broke and the entire thing blew up (lost some damned good chicken in that battle), grilling with propane has always been boring to me. Things were different when I was a kid, though.
Back then, we grilled three times every year - Memorial Day, 4th of July and Labor Day. Dad would wheel the grille out from some dark corner of the garage, line the basin with newspaper, fill it with coals, and then wait, sometimes for several hours, before the grilling could commence. And, as is always the case with charcoal cooking, if he missed his window of opportunity by so much as a minute, we would be broiling our meal in the electric oven in the house.
By no means was dad a grille-master. The man couldn't cook toast, but for whatever reason, he and mom recognized that outdoor cooking was somehow his domain, much like that of the cavemen who preceded him. Regardless of his culinary acumen, the aromas emitted by his grille are never to be forgotten. That aroma is one of the great benefits of charcoal grilling that propane cooking will never achieve.
When we were kids, we could tell when one of our neighbors was grilling. As soon as that first slab of meat seared against the metal grille, playing came to a screeching halt, no matter what we were doing or where we were doing it, and we all stuck our noses in the air, closed our eyes and guessed who was grilling and what they were having. No matter what our moms were cooking that night, we envied the family eating carcinogen-infused meat.
And the romance of charcoal grilling didn't end with those nose-tantalizing fumes. No sir. Danger also played a key role in every grilling adventure.
What kid didn't, at some time or another, run through the yard and trip over one of the grille's tri-pod legs, tipping the grille over and filling the air with flaming hot nuggets of charcoal? Who among us didn't touch the side of the grille at least once to see if it was really all that hot? Whose father didn't burn off at least one of his sideburns and eyebrows after tossing a match into the lighter-fluid soaked brickettes? Those were the days, my friends, and propane has stolen these precious experiences from our children.
Well not on my watch, damnit!
This year, I have made the commitment to return to my roots. Although I maintain my propane grille as a back-up, I have begun to venture down the path of charcoal grilling. For now, the food tastes of lighter fluid, and my eyeballs are scorched from smoke and recirculating flames, but that's okay, because I'm doing this for my children, so one day, they can tell their children why they hate grilled food. No, wait. That wasn't the point. ... No, I want my children to tell their children of the aromas they'd smell when the neighborhood winds shifted just right, and how the other kids would envy them when the reality struck them that my kids were going to enjoy some seared meat, and possibly a trip to the hospital after knocking over the grille and burning themselves with flaming embers!
