Teaching the boy to grill
I am tremendously excited about this weekend. King Daddy and I are heading to Knoxville to visit Noah over fall break and he has asked me to teach him how to grill. This is almost better than him asking me if it’s okay if he takes that $100,000 job in San Francisco and when can I move into his new mansion, complete with my own personal wine bar (that is an actual plan, by the way).
Of course, it’s tricky grilling at an apartment complex when you have no patio or porch. Noah wanted my portable propane grill, which would be fine except that he would have to store it in his living room and I’m still enough of a doting mother that I nixed propane right next to the Barcalounger. So the only option is the dreaded “community grill.” You can imagine how fastidious college students are with a grill. Even Noah was a little concerned and he’s the guy who told me just this week he finally cleaned out his refrigerator and found some broccoli that was “fuzzy.”
Grilling is my happy place. I love the heft of the grill lid as I open it to light the fire. I love the sound of the flames. I love the sizzle when you plop a steak on the grates. I love propane and I love charcoal. I am not a grill snob. If all I had to grill on was a hibachi, I’d still be happy. In fact, that’s how I got started – hunkered over a $26 hibachi on the back porch at 2505 East Fifth in Charlotte. Now I have seven grilling apparati, and I love them like children.
So King Daddy solved the community grill problem. I was checking out at my beloved Publix the other day when he ran up smiling like he’d just won the lottery. He found a portable grill rack that can fit over the germ-encrusted, rust-laden community grill. That King Daddy. He’s always thinking.
So I am heading to the Vol Nation Headquarters with a bag of lump charcoal (burns hotter and cleaner), a needle-nose lighter and some grill starters (no lighter fluid – EVER). I am sure The Bank (that would be me) will get hit up for some grilling fodder because I will ask Noah what he wants to grill first and he will say a steak. And that will actually be fine because I can teach him the touch method of knowing when a steak is perfectly medium rare.
It will look just like this:
It really will. Noah already knows how to make Hollandaise from scratch. Did I raise that boy up right or not?