As you’ve read here and elsewhere, cooler temperatures today have helped firefighters with the Hayman blaze and others.
I started my own fire tonight in the backyard — had to give the new grill a test run before Rick (my nearly brother-in-law) and his ever-so-lovely girlfriend Lisa come over for dinner Sunday. It’s a Weber. A real Weber. Black as the charcoal it burns, and shaped like a giant apple. The one small concession to modernity is storage — a nice little shelf, tool hangers, and a wire rack to hold all your stuff.
No dials, no gas, real grilling. Two blood rare ribeyes, liberally slathered with Budweiser on the grill and garlic butter on the table. Simple salad, some french fries, and a bottle of cheap Beaujolais.
The best part? Cool as it is this evening, we turned off the A/C and left the back door open while I grilled. Melissa kept the cat herded inside. Thanks to that open door, the whole ground floor of the condo still smells like charred dead cow.
That scent is what real grillers call dessert.