Ah, Memorial Day weekend. For those of us here in the States, it’s a magical three-day extravaganza — a day of hope, and love, and juicy grilled meats. Mostly the meats. And the love is for the meats, generally. And the hope — well, personally, I’m usually hoping that the grill isn’t going to explode, after a winter of sitting in the back yard. So yeah — it’s a meat thing.
(I know, I know — ‘just like a man‘. It’s always about the meat for us, one way or another. Color me Neanderthal.)
In keeping with tradition, we took the opportunity today to soak dead animal parts in various juices and park them over charcoal for eating. Cow parts, chicken parts, other ground-up pattied cow parts — you name it. Turkeys were spared, as far as I know. And we resisted the urge to throw the dog onto the grill, no matter how tasty her drumsticks looked. Or how many times she tried to lick the steaks. We let her lick a grilled asparagus, just to teach her a lesson. That got rid of her.
And the meal turned out okay, which is always a relief when I’m wearing the apron. Me grilling is a lot like me having sex: there’s an awful lot of smoke, it’s all over before it probably should be, and by the end, you just hope that nothing’s bloody and no one gets sick.
(Really, I’m not quite that bad — either at the grill, or in the sack. And I almost never wear the apron to bed, unless there are some tasty barbeque sauce stains on it that I want to finish off overnight. Disturbed yet?)
So, we had a nice little picnic, with no salmonella to be seen. As far as I know, anyway — I guess that takes a few hours to really kick in. But I didn’t taste any salmonella, so it’s probably fine. Unless salmonella tastes like chicken — and everything else fricking does, so maybe we’re still screwed. Who knows? I don’t know from food poisoning.
Meanwhile, I’m sliding into a mostly cow-induced food coma, so I’m signing off to enjoy the rest of this Sunday evening. Let’s chat again tomorrow, shall we? Oh, yes — let’s, indeed. Cheerio, folks.Permalink | 1 Comment