Last night was starting a fire. This, much like peeing in a bottle in a moving vehicle, is a skill that requires practice from time to time. Okay, maybe the peeing in a bottle or cup is a guy thing, but I am sure there are plenty of things you do rarely that turn out to be skills. Trust me on the pee thing, practice that and if you are the father of boys, teach them how to do that early on. Nothing like a golden shower and screaming in a moving vehicle; ah memories.
Back to the fire. Up until last night, Barb had been making the fire and up until the night before the night before last night, she had been creating fireballs. Honestly, the flashes of light didn’t register with me until she came in and announced that letting the charcoal sit for a few minutes after applying lighter fluid did not create the fireball. So there I was outside embracing my inner cave person or pyromaniac, creating fire. No fireball, just a tower of flame that slowly collapsed into a great cooking fire.
Onto the grill, burgers and brauts. Which quickly forced me to remember all of the lessons about food and fire, mostly, shit leaks and leaks lead to flare ups and flare ups lead to char or burn or crispy or…I think you get the image of me rapidly rearranging food over my most awesome fire trying to keep everything from burning to a crisp or burst the casing spilling sausage everywhere. I would love to tell you I was successful.
I was successful!
See, I loved to do that. Being successful as a cook is measured by more than keeping everything from burning. It is measured by how much people enjoyed the food…although, after last night not burning the food to a crisp should be part of that equation, “Oh you didn’t like the food, did you notice I did not burn the food to a crisp? I feel that should count towards your enjoyment. Don’t you?”
Maybe owning a restaurant, which is not a dream of mine thank you Mr. Bourdain, is not in the cards for me because at times I do not take criticism as well as I could or should or maybe they should keep their thoughts about my food to themselves. Damnit!
That’s right, the food was great. The picker eaters of the family, read children, devoured burgers and brauts without complaint.
Sorry about the sudden break…seems a writer is never respected while writing. I love that, anyone else doing just about anything is doing something, but a writer, writing with headphones is worthy of interruption, do they realize how difficult writing is? No. Of course not, much like singing competitions on TV, anyone can open their pie hole and make noise, thus they must be a singer, everyone has to write something, thus everyone is a writer and because of that interrupting a writer is something you must do, just like jam on the button for the elevator or doorbell or bitch about the burned food.