Home Beautiful

Unsung icons: Barbecues It’s time to fire up the grill!

COMEDIAN DAVID SMIEDT TAKES AN IRREVERENT, BUT APPRECIATI­VE, LOOK AT THE CLASSIC THINGS THAT DEFINE YOU-BEAUT AUSSIE LIFE

- Illustrati­on MATT COSGROVE

The breezes are getting warmer and the days are getting longer, which can only mean one thing: barbecue season is upon us once again! But a barbecue doesn’t just happen. Time-honoured rituals are involved, and by that we mean the acquisitio­n of shiny new implements that necessitat­e a trip to the local hardware chain or kitchen speciality store. In what is generally a staggering reversal of domestic workload, blokes feel that the barbecue is their domain, the searing of flesh a sacred art best practised by those not making the salads. It’s utter nonsense, of course, but those usually saddled with most of the cooking are usually more than happy to indulge King Backstrap if it means sharing the load.

As the barbecue itself (festooned with spiderwebs and the unctuous oozings of long-deceased lamb chops) was wheeled out after its winter hibernatio­n, the first wave of equipment was called for. Depending on the vintage of the sirloin flipper in question, this would involve either newspaper (which imparts a deliciousl­y inky flavour – “love that op-ed taste”) or specialist A4-sized wipes with ridges and bumps. Both of these methods provided the irresistib­le opportunit­y to despatch his progeny to the shed to pull out the tin of elbow grease. Good one, Dad.

Combined with lemon juice, a slop of beer and chemical cleaning sprays, which would probably be harmful if ingested, this cleaning method often had limited success. At which point the scraper was called for. A small flat blade that could also be used for removing ice from windshield­s and paint from window frames, it peeled back the layers of grease into satisfying little piles of charred crud.

Before any actual cooking took place, it was time for the donning of ceremonial garb, AKA the novelty apron. Because you wouldn’t want to ruin those paint-splattered, barely-holding-on-at-the-waist King Gee shorts! The more conservati­ve chefs went for banal ‘kiss the cook’ motifs, whereas those who wanted to add a bit of zing to proceeding­s opted for a saucy ‘bikini-clad model’ print whereby he seemed to be practicall­y naked from the neck down. Which wasn’t at all uncomforta­ble for anyone with a sensitivit­y towards objectific­ation.

As far as implements were concerned, tongs were a non-negotiable. Mainly because they allowed you to show off: placing an index finger just below the hinge where the two limbs met, it was possible to then twirl the implement as a gunslinger would a Smith & Wesson. Bonus points for those who could turn a regular tool belt into a barbecue holster and strut like the sheriff of Chartown. If you were in control of this implement, you were invariably accompanie­d at the hot plate by uninvited experts who would opine on which of the snags needed turning when. This was known as speaking in tongs.

As with so many other areas in life, too many accessorie­s were never enough. Under the influence of reality-television cooking shows, home barbecuers now invested in meat thermomete­rs that were used twice a year max. Ditto plastic-handled, nylon-bristled basting brushes and straight-outta-the-dentist’s-surgery syringes with which they would douse and impregnate dishes while using words such as “caramelise”. Naturally, these gadgets contained/ were doused in a proprietar­y sauce created in the sort of secrecy

“BEFORE ANY ACTUAL cooking TOOK PLACE, IT WAS TIME FOR THE DONNING OF THE ceremonial GARB, AKA THE NOVELTY APRON”

that’s usually reserved for Middle East peace negotiatio­ns in which the mystery ingredient – duh – was Worcesters­hire sauce.

Combine this phalanx of essential hardware with the requisite heat and enough flesh (or vegetables/tofu if that’s your vegan jam) and you had what continues to be a quintessen­tial Australian meal. One to be enjoyed to such a degree that any thoughts of cleaning up the cooking surface afterwards disappeare­d like smoke into a bright summer sky. Because, when the time did eventually come to actually do that job, you already had just the tool for it.

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