The hibachi sits defiantly on the brick patio. Now it begins, man versus fire: the gathering of twigs; the paper shredding, tearing up that day’s food section on tips for the discriminating Dad; and finally, the piece that resists, the lighting of the charcoal, the bloody charcoal.
It was the outside cooking thing to do at the time even though it defied logic. Why are you stooping to try to coax heat out of such a primitive idea? This squat tub of exposed cast iron was a minor step in the evolution of man’s quest for making a meal of a mammoth.
BBQ night always had an unhurried timetable. Meal planning easily added half an hour to the usual time coupled with a lot of guessing. ‘Looks about ready,’ became the right temperature in either Celsius or Fahrenheit and you learned to ‘touch’ the meat to decide when to turn it over to escape borderline shoe leather doneness.
And what a dance it was going in and out of the house at indeterminate intervals; not just to check on the burnt offering but also to stare down the racoons.
Enough! On to big brother. A real BBQ. On a stand. With a protective hood and a thermometer and acres of room to ruin an entire meal not just the meat. But again the charcoal, the bloody charcoal. Or briquettes. And just what are briquettes?
What do they add to the charcoal so that they can scrunch it into those funny shapes? Which glue am I vaporizing into the sirloin above? Is there a nutrition guide on the bag?
Contains 150% of your daily requirement for ingredients that are disturbing.
We finally decide to break away from the ‘back-to-nature’ limiting charcoal and go with gas; the ever-challenging tank of propane.
Who knew what an involved process this would be apart from the heavy lifting? Granted it beats charcoal at start up but at least a bag of charcoal doesn’t need a best by date.
‘Sir, see that barely legible date stamped on the bottom of your tank? You are a lucky man, you’re a day away from that thing taking you to heaven. And your luck doesn’t stop there, today our tanks are on sale. We recommend two.’
Say this for charcoal, you don’t have to seek out a charcoal filling station. And you know when you’re running low.
Our street has gas so after years of playing the we’re-out-of-gas game we decide to make a capital investment and hook up our inside gas line to the outside. A quick call to the certified, danger paid gas person and we welcome a steady supply of fuel to accurately manage the heat and eliminate all the clichés we used to counter, ‘That doesn’t look right.’
Now a gas line directly linked to the BBQ isn’t all sweetbreads and gravy. You’ve now invested in a piece of scientific furniture that could easily level every house on the street so it demands care. You have to give it an annual anti-spider clean out; replace those bits the heat has bored holes in; and regularly play checkers with the lava rock to make sure the dripping fat hits the appropriate chunk so that it gets completely zapped and wafts correctly back to the meal otherwise this whole exercise loses close to 100% of its raison d’être. But don’t tell that to the sensitive male burn maestro:
‘I even BBQ in winter.’
‘What drives you to do it besides an excuse to have a beer?’
‘Gotta have that real BBQ flavour.’
‘What is there about vaporized fat?’
‘Food just tastes so much better.’
‘It’s below zero and you’re setting fire to hot dogs. The only possible flavour I can imagine is carbon.’
End of story, right? No, this is a moving tale and we changed abodes from a no-holds-barred house to a control condo. We gave up the BBQ along the way but were prepared to start afresh. There’s a gas fireplace in our suite so we explored extending a line to the terrace.
‘No.’
‘You’re the manager, I presume?’
‘Still no.’
‘You’re not the manager or no …’
‘Yes and no you can’t run a gas line out to the terrace.’
‘How ‘bout walking a propane tank out to the BBQ?
‘Against the law to transport a propane tank up an elevator; rule 7 B Condo Act of Ontario 1967, Section iii: Obliterating a condo and everyone in it.’
The annual cottage exhibition introduced us to BBQs fired by wood pellets. Who knew? You feed wood pellets into a hopper which screw drives the little darlings into a pit that you electrically start on fire. And this environmentally sound idea can be a smoker as well as a BBQ depending on hot you get this baby to burn. Interesting idea.
‘You live in a condo, right?’
I nod supportively.
‘Do you have a balcony?’
‘Actually it’s a fair sized terrace,’ I proudly affirm figuring now we’re getting somewhere.
‘Anybody above you?’
‘Well, yes …
‘This hunk of hardened steel will not only smoke ‘em out but start a partial eclipse of the sun.’
So now what?
The electric BBQ.
It doesn’t even sound right. Isn’t that what you’re already doing in the kitchen? What does moving it outdoors bring? I’m thinking electrocution.
There has to be something else.
‘A kamoda grill is the best thing to happen to BBQing,’ quoted the football sized salesperson. ‘It’s ceramic lined so it retains an even heat; a few bits of charcoal and you’re set for the day.’
I peer down this deep pit created by its egg-shaped design. ‘How do you start it?’ I wonder. ‘Just throw some paper on top of the charcoal, toss in a lighted match, close the lid and stand back.’
‘Looks heavy,’ I counter, trying to get out of this potential $2,000 deal. ‘Hey Bill,’ calls football sized salesperson to second football sized salesperson, ‘Help me show this gentleman how easy it is to move this kamoda.’
I haven’t heard grunts like that since the finals in the Olympic weight lifting competition.
There’s a visible pause.
He reads me well.
‘Or, there’s this terrific hybrid at around $600.’
He has my attention. We move to a charcoal BBQ on wheels, table attached, that uses a built-in camping size compact propane tank, certified as a weapon of non-mass destruction, to automatically light the charcoal.
I’m hooked. ‘And the ashes drop into this metal container for easy cleaning.’
I’m being reeled in. ‘And this attached bucket here holds a bag of charcoal so you never have to touch it.’
I’m landed.
Charcoal. Bloody charcoal.