There’s no better way to cook meat, in my opinion, than outdoors over a charcoal grill. (Is there a better way to cook anything? Soup, I suppose, is better handled differently.)
Lots of people act weird at a barbecue, though – lots of men, I should say, as the behavior I’m about to describe is particularly male. Something about red meat on a grill brings out the worst, most domineering, blow-hard, control-freak qualities in certain men. You know the stereotype: a Flintstonesque fellow, standing front-and-center at the Weber with a spatula in one hand and a massive set of tongs in the other, talking loud and proud about matters of technique. Perhaps he even wears a T-shirt or an apron or a baseball cap emblazoned with “Grill Master”. He is the Grill Master. He has very strong feelings about the food preparation today. This thing should be this way, that should be done that way. No one else is allowed to touch anything. Honey, bring me another beer, will ya?
No offense intended if you are such a man. I mean, I think you look sort of silly, like a caricature of a person from the past, or Ron Swanson from Parks and Recreation, or something out of the first few seasons of Mad Men (when it was good). But that doesn’t bother me so much. Go for it. Grab the wheel, take the reins. You’re the boss.
It’s not my bag, that macho trip. I am always happy to cede responsibility. I’ll go sit in the shade, or lie in a hammock. Or play whiffle ball. I love playing whiffle ball and I don’t even so much care who wins. I just love playing the game. I’m easy like Sunday morning.
I’ll even bring you another beer, and I will do so gladly. Just don’t fuck up my food.
I trust that you won’t. You are an expert. You are the expert. You hardly need a list of reminders about the proper way to prepare food for human consumption. But, you know, just to make sure we’re on the same page about the important stuff ...
Start with the coals. Simple is fine. We don’t need artisanal mesquite chips, hand-carved and imported from Joshua Tree or wherever. There’s a reason that Kingsford Original has an 80% market share in the charcoal game: it works every time. But, you know, let’s not poison ourselves with that Match Light crap. No one likes the taste of lighter fluid.
The hot dogs should be Sabrett. Nathan’s Famous are good, but I prefer to enjoy them at the original stand out on Coney Island. (I’m sure you agree, because you are an expert.) Oh, and do not slice the hot dog down the middle before grilling. What are you, an idiot?! No, no you are not. Surely you know that doing so will let all the delicious juices escape down into the grill, and not into my mouth. We’ll end up with a drier dog, lacking in the famous “snap” that Sabretts are so famous for.
And don’t you dare bring ketchup anywhere near my hot dog. I am not a child; I am a man. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, and I liked ketchup on my hot dogs because ketchup is full of sugar, but when I became a man, I put away childish things. Mustard only, please – French’s Classic Yellow or Gulden’s Spicy Brown. You choose. I’m not picky.
If you happen to have pickled your own sauerkraut, I’ll try some of that, too.
Press the hamburger patties flat before you start grilling them. As you know, they should be about half-an-inch thick – well, 4/9ths of an inch, really, but who’s counting – and slightly wider than a Martin’s bun (Martin’s Potato Rolls are by far the most delicious product available upon which to serve hot dogs or hamburgers) at the start of the cooking process. But pressing down on a hamburger while it’s cooking is like slicing a hot dog down the middle; once again, I want those delicious juices encased within the slightly crisped outer layer of burger, so that they end up in my mouth when I bite into it, and not on the coals beneath the grill.
Rare, please. I trust that you’re serving me quality beef. You are the Grill Master.
Same for the steaks – the bone-in rib-eye you bought at the most expensive butcher in the area, seasoned with salt and pepper and nothing else. I know you’ll stoke the coals ’til they’re raging hot, with flames leaping through the slats in the grill, so that the meat will char very quickly, leaving the inside bloody and delicious. (Or “bloody delicious!” as they’d say “across the pond”.)
There should be a vegetarian option at the barbecue: chicken. But only chicken legs. White meat is dry tasteless garbage and should be thrown in the garbage. I don’t even know why it exists, frankly. (I’m sure you don’t either.)
I’m just kidding about chicken being vegetarian, though I’m deadly serious about white meat – it’s intolerable. But by all means, grill up some vegetables. Oh, you know what’s the best? Scallions. Have you ever grilled scallions? They’re fantastic! Bursting with flavor! But it’s flavor that’s been softened by the cooking, so they don’t overwhelm, as they tend to when they’re raw. You don’t get “scallion-mouth” from eating grilled scallions. I’m telling you, get like 20 bunches – make a special trip to the market so you can fit them all in your car – because you cannot have too many scallions at a barbecue. Once everyone at the party tries some, they’ll just keep eating more and more and more. They’re the perfect side-dish. Scallions are the only vegetable worth grilling at all, in my opinion.
But again, I’m not picky. This is your show. I’ll be off to the side, lying in the hammock, listening to the annual countdown of the 500 greatest classic rock songs of all time on the radio. I wonder if “Stairway to Heaven” will come in at number one this year? Just kidding again: “Stairway to Heaven” always comes in at number one.
What time should I arrive? I’m really looking forward to seeing how you barbecue.