Another One For The Grill

It's grilling season, which means that on any given evening you can find me standing over a dead carcass in my driveway.

Up until recently, grilling had never really been my forte. A couple of years ago, for example, Lisa came inside one day to tell me that our neighbor, Jack, had placed his Weber charcoal grill outside in honor of monthly "bulk trash day." She pointed out that it seemed to be in reasonably good condition and urged me to go and ask Jack's permission to rescue it from the garbage collectors.

"It's probably on its last legs," I told her.

"How bad a condition can a grill be in?" she responded. "Besides, Jack's always buying new toys and throwing out his old ones."

Lisa had two good points, so it was with this that I made my way to Jack's front porch to ask his permission to steal from his weekly garbage pile. Jack, always the friendly father figure type, told me that the grill was "really old" and he couldn't promise that it won't completely rot through the bottom. But he gave me his blessing anyway.

The next day, I decided to surprise Lisa with a meal of grilled chicken breasts. I dragged the Weber out to the driveway, doused it with kerosene and, after a few minutes, lit it up. This was the precise moment a huge, hellish flame shot directly upward. It looked as if one of Satan's own hounds was screaming toward the sky. I swear, the flame was as tall as a full grown man if it was an inch. I quickly grabbed the lid and place it on top, hoping to smother out the flames. Before I could get the little holes on top closed, the flames made their way through and almost singed my hand. In the chaos, I kicked over the grill and the lid fell completely off. By now, the actual grill had caught fire and it was beginning to spread around the sides as it rolled down the driveway. I ran over to the water faucet, turned it on and dragged the hose over with an attempt to extinguish the flames. As quickly as it had started, the fire was out. The coals were a distant memory and the Weber soon found its way back at the end of the driveway.

I've since then gotten my hands on a Weber gas grill. It's been about a month and, in this time, I've grown quite obsessed with grilling the perfect meal.

Early this morning, I arose at dawn in order to marinate tonight's turkey burgers. I threw the meat in a burlap bag, drenched it with two-parts Wishbone dressing, one-part tequila, one-part motor oil and a fistful of Mrs. Dash. Then I buried it in the backyard until about 5:00 pm. Then I dug up the bag, stomped the hell out of it with Jack's old combat boots (he'd left them out for Good Will) and then took it inside to empty its contents and form patties. Lisa says its the best turkey burger she's ever had.