There’s something about BBQs that stimulates the inner carnivorous caveman within all of us (excluding vegetarians, perhaps). Whether it’s charring a baby lamb chop to the point of cremation for your fellow man’s culinary enjoyment, or consuming more protein in one day than the average bodybuilder munches through annually, the brilliance of a BBQ is evident in its primitive simplicity. Or so I thought; try hosting one, then it suddenly gets inexplicably more complex and painstaking.
Reason one: spiders. More accurately, daddy longlegs which appear to have been feeding on creatine rather than small houseflies and the like. When an entire army of the cute little critters tries to lay a cobweb on your face because you’ve disturbed their nest, kinda’ ruins the summery feel good vibe.
Reason two: the cleaning. After a couple of unfortunate years of inactivity, my once brand spanking new BBQ-a-tron 3,000 has been lying dormant like a volcano for some time. In addition to the venomous insects being housed within it, there seems to be some sort of stubborn pig cartilage clinging to my tongs.
Reason three: buying the food. I’d forgotten quite how violent hungry people can become when racing around Sainsbury’s on a hot, balmy day. Picture young mums wrestling over the last pack of Wall’s sausages and middle-aged men employing loaded trolleys as battering rams to escape the supermarket quicker.
Asides from these minor misgivings, I am most definitely looking forward to some dangerously undercooked chicken thighs, a few chilled beverages and the likely possibility of getting burnt to smithereens. However, as I continue to soak up the afternoon rays whilst scrubbing the utensils like a Victorian housewife on heat, the fun times seem just a smidgeon too distant to celebrate yet.
Until then, I’ll defrost an ever larger array of meat and attempt to banish the last of the tarantulas nesting in my hair. Patience, it seems, is most definitely a virtue.
Toodles as ever,
G
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