Posted tagged ‘Barbecue’

« home page
Newer Entries »

“It’s surprising how much of memory is built around things unnoticed at the time.”

June 22, 2015

The sun is in and out this morning trying to decide what to do. The air is still damp and a bit humid. Right now the sky is dark but the sun is peeking through. Rain is predicted for this afternoon so I’m thinking the sun will disappear for good a bit later.

It is officially summer, and it’s barbecue time. Bring out the ribs, the burgers and the chicken wings then add some sweet summer corn. My home-grown tomatoes are getting bigger on the vine and before too long they’ll be red ripe. July 4th is opening night at the movies. I have three possibilities on the ballot: Independence Day, Jaws and 1776. I’m leaning toward Jaws as it is celebrating its 40th birthday. “We need a bigger boat,” says it all. I have decorations and sparklers and I’m working on the menu. Red, white and blue will carry the day!

Memory is an odd thing. I have vivid memories of my childhood, but I sometimes hunt high and low for where I put my glasses. Some singular moments stand out from all the others, and I don’t know why. They aren’t particularly important moments, but they stay prominent regardless. One memory is silly. I was on the plane to Ghana and we stopped in Madrid. When we got back on the plane, my seatbelt was caught between the seat and the wall so I couldn’t use it. I pretended I was belted when the stewardess went around checking seatbelts. I don’t know why I just didn’t ask for help.

I sat in the back of the room when I was in the sixth grade, but in the front of the room when I was in the eighth. Neither really matters, but I still remember how the rooms looked from each perspective. I remember the candy counter at the movie theater. My favorite nickel bar of candy was a Welch’s Fudge Bar. They aren’t around anymore. My second favorite was a Skybar. You can still buy one of those. The fudge square was my favorite, probably still is. I remember how funny my feet felt in shoes after ice skating. My bologna sandwiches were misshapen because I had to cut pieces from a roll of bologna and some pieces were thick while others were too thin.

I can still close my eyes and see and describe places as they were. I don’t think of it as a trip down memory lane but rather as an adventure back in time.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 14 Comments

“Men cook outside. Women make the three-bean salad.”

June 9, 2014

On the weather front, today is warm but cloudy. On the tooth front, my dentist is out-of-town. The ice skate extraction from Castaway is beginning to have some appeal, and all the movies I’ve seen with crazed dentists are flashing through my memory banks. The worst is the scene in The Marathon Man when SS dentist Szell tortures Dustin Hoffman by sticking a probe into his teeth. I swear I screamed along with Dustin. Dentists are never heroes.

I have a former student who is an oral surgeon. I called his office, whined a little and mentioned the ice skates so they are seeing me at two, but I suspect I’ll have to wait until Thursday for any work because of the blood thinner I take. Okay, I’m done with the teeth talk. It’s creeping me out!

Today is quiet. The birds are the only sounds I hear. The neighborhood is deserted. I like it quite after the hubbub of the weekend.

During the summer, we didn’t have too many Sunday family dinners. The kitchen was small and keeping the oven on made the room swelter. Mostly we had barbecues, meat cooked outside but eaten inside. My dad would put his grill by the back steps so he could sit and read while the meat cooked. He used charcoal briquets as did most backyard cooks back then. My dad was a member of the use as much charcoal lighter fluid as you can school of thought. The height of the flames determined status. My dad was king.

When we moved down the cape and had a large yard, my dad would sit on a wooden lawn chair and tend his grill. He’d have a few drinks. Every now and then we’d hear the whoosh of the flames and knew fluid had been added then we’d check to make sure my dad hadn’t set himself on fire. He did that on occasion.

When they moved off Cape, the new house also had a big yard, and my father assumed his rightful position outside keeping an eye on the meat. He liked to use both a hibachi and a grill to accommodate the growing offerings as the menu had expanded well beyond hot dogs and hamburgers of my childhood. Now he cooked chicken, steak tips, Chinese sausages, kielbasa and even pork tenderloins.

What amazed me was that my father always cooked the meat just right despite the fires and the flames and the pops of his favorite alcohol passed to him through the open window. He was the backyard master of the grill.

 

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 28 Comments

“Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots and gillyflowers.”

July 23, 2012

The sun just arrived. The morning had been cloudy, and I was hopeful for some rain, but then I noticed the sunlight. The paper said low 80’s for today. If the breeze stays, though, it will be a lovely day. Last night was chilly for a while then the night breeze disappeared and the evening got warmish again. We dined on the deck. I barbecued a pork loin, and we had potato salad and fruit salad then finished with chocolate chip cookies made by my friend Clare. It was a perfect summer meal.

I don’t remember summer suppers when I was a kid. In the winter my mother cooked everything, meat, potatoes and a vegetable, but our kitchen was small and would get really hot on a summer day if the stove and the oven were used so I figure we had hot dogs or hamburgers and maybe ears of corn. We were big lovers of corn. My dad was the best corn eater, and we loved to watch him mow down the rows as if he were a typewriter. As he ate, small pieces of corn would fly in the air. That always made us laugh. If records for finishing an ear of corn in the quickest time were kept, my father would be high on the list.

After we moved to the cape and had a big backyard, my father barbecued most weekend summer nights. We had your usual menu: potato salad with hot dogs and hamburgers, and for the first time my mother added chicken with barbecue sauce. My father used to take orders for cheeseburgers. My mother made great potato salad. Those were always the best of summer meals.

When I was an adult, my parents no longer lived on the cape. If I visited them in the summer, my father always barbecued. He would sit outside on a lawn chair with a highball in one hand and a cigarette in the other and keep watch on the meat. Over the years the meat menu had changed. My father would barbecue sausages, including Chinese sausages, or steak tips and once in a while pork and chicken. One thing didn’t change: my mother still made her potato salad. I remember those dinners when the table was filled with food and the meat was cooked perfectly. After dinner, we’d sit around the table and play cards, usually High-Lo Jack, until it was really late. I remember the kitchen filled with cigarette smoke, glasses on the table and my father dropping his trump with a flourish and a grin. “Made my bid,” he’d say.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , ,

Comments: 8 Comments

“The will of the people is the only legitimate foundation of any government, and to protect its free expression should be our first object.”

July 4, 2012

It’s raining but a summer rain which is almost gentle. I’m watching The Green Slime, a science fiction movie from 1968. The credits were accompanied by a wonderfully bad theme song. The plot is simple: astronauts have to blow up an asteroid on its way to Earth, but unbeknownst to them, they bring back the slime which turns them into crazed killers.

Today is, of course, the 4th of July, a day we celebrate the anniversary of declaring our independence. My memory is filled with celebrations for the 4th of July. One year, when I was little, I sat on the back steps and watched the fireworks bursting in the sky from the next town over. Starting when I was twelve and continuing until I was sixteen, I marched in the Wakefield parade. I was a member of St. Patrick’s Shamrocks drill team. Most years it was really hot, but the longest street was tree-lined which gave us a reprieve. Later, when I was an adult, I’d go up to my parents’ house, and we’d go watch that same parade. We’d set our chairs under one of those trees. On the morning of the parade, the street resembled a science fiction movie where all the people had disappeared leaving behind them empty chairs: they were there to reserve the best spots. After the parade, we’d have a barbecue. My mother made her deviled eggs and potato salad while my father tended the grill. The last few years I’ve spent with friends who would also have a barbecue with deviled eggs, and they’d get creative and serve interesting drinks. One year the drinks were blue, in keeping with the occasion of course. When I was in Ghana, we celebrated the American holidays. The 4th of July had no fireworks and no barbecue, it had friends getting together, a perfect way to spend the day.

This rain has me staying home today, but I’ll watch my traditional 4th of July movie: Independence Day. Usually Jaws is part of the double bill but this year it’s 1776, a favorite movie of mine. I’m going to barbecue but, alas, no deviled eggs.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: 15 Comments

“Grilling, broiling, barbecuing – whatever you want to call it – is an art, not just a matter of building a pyre and throwing on a piece of meat as a sacrifice to the gods of the stomach.”

July 3, 2011

The sun has already disappeared though I expect it will peek back in every now and then. Rain, thundershowers, are predicted, and the rain will be heavy at times. I look forward to the storm. It hasn’t rained in a while, and I love a rousing bit of thunder. It will be nature’s way of celebrating the 4th.

Houses are all decked out in buntings and flags. The 4th has become a huge celebration again. For a while, back in my college days, celebrations were muted. Flags were burned and worn as shirts or cut into pieces for patches on pants. The flag no longer held the reverence which should have been accorded to the symbol of our country, but over time those feelings changed. Patriotism, love of country, has returned and is celebrated. I put bunting on my fence and happily and proudly wave our flag.

I always think of the 4th of July as a family holiday. Everyone in our neighborhood had a cook-out, and you could smell and almost taste the charcoal fluid in the air. My dad loved his charcoal fluid, and often we would hear the whoosh of a fire as he lit the fluid drenched briquets. That was often followed by stomping as my dad tried to put out the fire on his shoes and the bottom of his pant legs. He’d take a lawn chair and sit by the barbecue and tend the meat. He’d have a beer and a few pops, shots of whiskey, as he cooked. It was tradition.

My dad cooked the meat just right. It was always still juicy and tasty. When we were young, it was hot dogs and burgers. When we were older, it was steak tips, chicken, ribs and sausages. My mother always made her potato salad, and, if we whined enough, we got her deviled eggs. Once in a while she’d cook peppers and eggs, still a favorite of mine. The kitchen table would be heaped with food, and after dinner, we’d all groan about how full we were and how great the food tasted.

Later, that night, we’d sit at the table and play cards until late into the night. July 4th with my family was always the best of days.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , ,

Comments: 14 Comments

Newer Entries »