When we got married eleventy nine years ago, we got a Ronco rotisserie from the Goin aunties and uncles. I was confused, mainly because it was 9 am and I was running on six hours sleep (note to future brides: have an after party or a gift opening. Not both). Why, I wondered, would my dad's siblings decide to buy something from As Seen On TV? Did Auntie Verena order it out of insomnia-induced insanity and decide to regift it? As it turns out, I come from a family of geniuses. The rotiz, as we call it, is amazing! Other than the whole set it and forget it thing (which is true), it really does keep the meat super juicy and tender, plus the sight of rotating pork chops is nothing if not mesmerizing to a tiny kitten. Sadly, it just can't compare to cooking on the open flame of a charcoal grill.
The thing we most looked forward to when looking for a house was finally being able to grill. That, and I was excited to live in a place I owned where no "city ordinance" could tell me I couldn't smoke on my deck. Damn the man! Anyhow, I'm pretty sure we went straight from the closing to Home Depot, where we bought a shiny shiny gas grill. It looked so pretty on our deck, all gussied up with a U of M grill cover, which quickly became pointless when the city of Fridley said grilling on the deck was a fire hazard. Because meth labs aren't flammable. Gotta shut those down, City of Fridley. Damn the man!
So we happily grilled with propane for a while, until Noah got a bug (likely a mosquito) up his ass about getting a charcoal Weber. "I am real man," he said. "Real man grill with FIRE!" He then roared mightily, changed into his best loincloth, and went back to Home Depot for his precious Weber. I'm sorry, you can have a smoker box of hickory chips on a gas grill all you want, but nothing compares to a nice steak that's been coddled over Royal Oak charcoal. You can't top that smell. The wafting scent of grilling meat is, for me, every beautiful night in the summer, riding bikes with the neighborhood kids, soaking up every bit of wonderful until Labor Day. It's hanging out on the deck at the cabin, watching the party barges and the loons float by. It's sitting in the driveway with the neighbors, having some laughs, having some flaming assholes (don't ask), happy that we finally met each other. Will Smith was right, the smell of a grill does, in fact, spark up nostalgia.
After a while, it was decided that our smaller Weber wasn't big enough to grill for the neighborhood. So after both sets of neighbors moved away, we got the biggun! The grill big enough to handle a Benjamin party (cousins only) (no significant others) (I have a big family)! And it has served us well. Being able to control the level of direct and indrect heat has been a gamechanger, and everything Noah makes turns out perfectly! Obviously we don't bust it out when we're having hot dogs, but it's great for when the family's over, or when we're trying out something ridiculous we saw on Primal Grill.
Oh, speaking of Primal Grill? Watch it when it's back on PBS. Steven Raichlen is a pretentious douchenozzle who loves grilling almost as much as he loves overpronouncing words. Team Oberg may be the only couple in the world for whom "herbs de Provence" is a running joke. But it's entertaining and informative, and you can feel good about watching public television instead of another Teen Mom 2 marathon.