House and Hammock
Spring’s here, and the time is right for—no, not fighting in the streets, but grilling in the heat. A true rite of seasonal passage, grilling is more than just a manly excuse to wear an apron. It is an all-you-can-char smorgasbord of stuff guys love—a perfect storm where beer meets playing with fire, in close proximity to meat, flammable substances and shiny pointy things. It summons a plethora of summer delights: the aroma of wood smoke, the cool of the breeze, the merry camaraderie of the burn ward.
The fairer sex sometimes derides the backyard cookout as a chance for men to do almost nothing while making it look really important. “As if women don’t make a big production out of some minuscule chore,” I scoffed to my wife during childbirth. And yet only a true grillmaster knows the exertion—nay, the danger—involved in proper outdoor cooking. When the hibachi’s blazing at fever pitch, baby, the Tong Wars aren’t history. You’re fighting them.
Sure, grilling looks easy. But it doesn’t have to. By following the simple steps below, you can achieve a grilling experience that is time-consuming and hazardous enough to impress any guest. Just read the directions below and proceed as instructed, or do what I do: skip to the bottom, shrug and pop the cap on that first 64-oz. hogshead of Kingsford lighter fluid.
1) Select the meat. On the grill, as in life, not all meats are created equal. That much was evident after an early childhood mishap involving Spam. You need a piece of meat that is fresh and flavorful, but above all inexpensive. Any idiot can turn Chateaubriand into a boot heel (trust me), but a master of the grillinary arts can accomplish the opposite with just a little finesse and a flick or two of Tony Chachere’s. So avoid overrated cuts like “filet” or “sirloin” and look instead for terms such as “reject” and “biohazard.”
Note: Marinade covers a multitude of sins. That’s in the Bible. (You know, the one from Thomas Nelson, with recipes.) So don’t be afraid to jizzy up that shizzy, yo. Some backyard chefs recommend a spice rub or even a splash of Italian dressing. I’ve always had good luck with Clorox.
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2) Build the fire. Call me a purist—if purist is defined as “borderline psychotic unhealthily obsessed with flame”—but I much prefer the taste of food that is cooked over coals without the use of lighter fluid. On the other hand, only lighter fluid creates that hellacious mushroom-cloud-of-fire effect that lets every griller feel for 10 seconds like a member of Iron Maiden. So here’s a compromise: build the fire with sticks, bank the coals, then bust out the fluid. Yes, sticks take longer; yes, they can be scarce, damp, spider-infested, infernally flame-resistant and, OK, depending on the source, somewhat toxic. But the old adage is absolutely true: steak tastes better at dawn.
3) Assemble your workspace. Chefs call this working area the mise en place. I call it the lid of my 96-gallon Metro-mandated garbage can. It is spacious enough to accommodate tongs, beer, A-1 sauce, beer, lobster-claw oven mitts, a cell phone with 911 on speed dial, and a serving plate that doubles as a case of beer. Be careful not to let anything contaminate the surface where food is set, although sometimes I welcome a visit from the beloved neighborhood cat, Shitpaw.
Note: It has been suggested that these steps should be reversed—that you may want your tools in place before you start the fire, so you don’t have to run back and forth leaving an unattended flame. Apparently some cooks find this hazardous. Whatever. Go sip some International Coffee and have a good cry, then come see me about serious grilling when your testicles descend.
4) Get in your grill. It’s magic time—time to fill the entire neighborhood with sweet hickory smoke and the lulling whine of sirens. So wondrous is the smell of wood smoke mixed with my own man-musk that I’ve often thought of having it bottled as cologne—“Eau de Boeuf,” perhaps, or “Rendering Plant at Dusk.” Although I’ve long since given up nude grilling (see Step 1, under “not all meats are created equal”), the age-old mating dance of flesh and fire still arouses the primal beast in me whenever I fall asleep next to the hibachi.
One problem, though, is that every finicky eater prefers his meat cooked differently. Some want their steak well done or rare; others insist on removing the Styrofoam tray. Timing is tricky but every griller worth his tongs learns to set his own inner clock. For well-done steak, place the meat on the grill, go watch an episode of World’s Deadliest Police Chases, then return and flip. Voila! For rare steak, unwrap the cut of meat, whisper “Fire” over it in a soothing voice, then slither it onto the plate.
5) Present your meat. The finishing touch is the grill marks—the crosshatch pattern on the meat’s surface that denotes the kiss of flame. A Sharpie or Magic Marker will work just fine. Serve your entrée with an appropriate garnish: parsley, some caramelized onions, Tums.
Time, that flightless bird, is already on the wing, and grilling season will vanish as quickly as it has appeared. Before long, the first chill of autumn will rustle the last leaves of summer, and emergency rooms will stop ordering Vaseline by the caseload. So gather ye burgers while ye may. Strike the match, raise the coals, lower meat to metal, and hoist your apron and tongs aloft for one of the eternal rites of spring. And be sure to look really, really busy doing it.
