By Stan R. Kid
You may also have noted an abundance of men clad in absurd, pastel-colored outfits. These men are called "golfers" and they beeline to the golf courses in summer like swallows to Capistrano. But, by far, the surest sign of summer's arrival is the aroma of barbecues filling the air. So, as a public service, I will devote this month's column to educating the uniformed about some of the ins and outs of backyard grilling.
The word "barbecue" derives from the Spanish word "barbacoa," which has, for some bizarre reason, been inaccurately translated as "big bonfire for incinerating expensive cuts of animal flesh, making them inedible." In fact, the "barbacoa" was a tall wooden structure built by the Aztecs, from which they hung the bounty of their hunts and slow-cooked them over low heat and smoke for the purpose of preservation. From this practice, we get such wonders as smoked brisket, tender pork shoulders and ribs and pancreatic cancer. Montezuma would be pleased.
The modern-day barbecue bears no resemblance to the carefully controlled Mexican ritual that took many days and produced wonderful, mouth-watering meats. Today's barbecue begins with the eldest male member of the household -- women are genetically incapable of dealing with the intricacies of barbecuing, as they have been imbued with a healthy fear of infernos and third-degree burns -- filling a cast iron container with approximately 75-lbs of charcoal. While searching for the half-used bottle of lighter fluid leftover from last summer, he will consume at least two bottles of beer and half a bag of corn chips.
Once he has located the accelerant, our modern day caveman will
saturate the coals with it, adding that certain je ne sais toxicity to the surrounding air. He will then go off to find matches. While doing so, he will toss back at least one or two more beers, the other half of the bag of corn chips and a jar of spicy salsa (have no fear--the gaseous emanations resulting from this consumption will in no way be confused with those from the barbecue).
Having found matches, he will return to the pyre to add lighter
fluid and, if he still has any leftover from his tour of duty in Nam, a bit of C-4, ensuring complete saturation and sight-blurring fumes. The big moment has arrived. Og will now strike a match and toss it into this Molotov cocktail.
While off in search of a tube of antibiotic ointment to apply to his
newly scorched face, The Grillmaster will attempt to ease his pain with another cold one, sucked through gritted teeth. He will make a mental note to use just a tad less explosive next time. It's now time to kick back a bit and wait for the coals to reach optimum temperature, somewhere between 50 and 10,000 degrees.
At some point, Julius Child will remember that he has neglected to remove those gorgeous, two-inch thick t-bones from the freezer. As soon as junior arrives home from Associated with hot dogs and pre-formed burgers, Mom will toss them on grill, as Budweiser-boy will now be sound asleep.
After the firemen have departed and the paper plates and plastic knives and forks have been tossed in the trash, it's time to awaken Emeril, hand him some aspirin and antacid tablets and praise him for his prowess with the spatula and turning fork. Another successful barbecue has come to an end.
Feel free to clip these instructions and put them on your fridge, right next to the phone number for the Volunteer Ambulance Corps.
Stan R. Kid of Rockville Centre writes a montyly column for the Herald. You can e-mail him your comments at columnist@rvckids.us.
