Babies in High Chairs, Beef Tomatoes and Grills

9 Aug
My lovely grill.

Babies in High Chairs, Beef Tomatoes and Grills

I’m still hanging tough. At dinner, I passed on a chocolate chip cookie and ate a Beef Tomato. You should have seen this thing. It was the size of a bowling ball. I sliced it up and added a dash of salt and pepper. It tasted perfect.

I couldn’t help but notice the aftermath of the Cookie Monster feeding massacre that my twin one-year-old babies had just created. They beamed at me with those chocolate smeared mouths. I smiled back and it was genuine. I was truly happy because the old Matt would have joined those babies in the feeding frenzy but I was content with my twelve pound, juicy Tomato.

My wife has been working hard at a garden behind our house and it has paid off. We are nearing the end of summer and the bounty is plenty. We have been grilling zucchini, squash, and eggplant. I even threw a tomato on the Weber the other day. I added a little olive oil, some garlic salt and threw that red, ripe, succulent, fruit? Vegetable? Pulpy editable item on the flames.

I love my grill. I’m not sure what I would do without her. And yes she’s a she. I’ve had her for about ten years now and I’ve grilled just about any meat, seafood, poultry and vegetable item you can think of. I’ve marinated, barbequed and skewered about every edible thing on this planet. No wonder I weigh the size of a baby elephant.

My Father N Law gave the eighteen and a half inch bright red charcoal grill to Beth and I as a wedding present. I was a new husband and I couldn’t wait to try her out and impress my new wife with my cooking skills. These were skills that I had yet to acquire. We had a couple brick meals but my wife never complained once.

Over the years that grill has received a few war wounds, minor dents and dings. She’s started to rust a little and her wood handle has started to crack. It all adds character. You can tell who’s a manly man by the condition of his grill.

I’m not a Master Chef by any means. I blame that on the beer. You see, whenever I fire up the gridiron I have a routine that invariably ends with me flipping foodstuff while precariously balancing above the hot blazing charcoal.

I like to drink when I grill. If I have a spatula in one hand in the other I will have a cold beer. I’ve even grilled the beer can. I placed it in the rump of a chicken over an indirect slow cook heat. Beer Can chicken is the best.

That’s one of my belly problem challenges I have not overcome, back yard culinary arts and beer drinking.

In a feeble attempt to compensate for my calorie inducing barley and hops binges I have started to cook healthier meals. The days of throwing an entire dead swine on the grill and slathering it in Honey BBQ Sauce are gone. I’ve replaced most of the dead mammals with vegetables and fish.

That doesn’t mean I don’t cook up a steak or chop from time to time. I’ve just cut back on the portions.

So here’s to you my metal framework used for cooking food over an open fire (whenever pressed for finding descriptors quote the Webster Dictionary). And here’s to you giant Beef Steak tomatoes and vegetables in gardens around the world.  And here’s to you beer can grillers and chocolate chip eating twin babies in high chairs. Without you I wouldn’t know what the hell to write about today. Cheers.


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