Time to get out the BBQ
here’s enough blue sky to make a pair of sailor's trousers. The month is May. That means it’s time for the first BBQ.
I’m not an idiot, I don’t get the patio chair out. We have a tiny garden but there’s enough space to sit out.
However, I know that the minute you get out any chairs for the summer it becomes the wettest May on record.
The BBQ is a different story. Clever people learn from their mistakes. Others, like me, forgot they made the mistake and simply repeat it over and over, year after year.
This spring is no different. I uncover the rusty health hazard that is our gas-powered grill.
Open the lid and see enough penicillin to win the Alexander Fleming Award for advances in medicine.
I’m not sure it’s an actual memory or something I created to justify what was on the gill.
I do vaguely recollect saying to myself about half a year ago that I must remove the grill pieces and clean them before I forget. That didn’t happen. Forgetting is probably connected to something five percent proof and made by Brew Dog. Even the forensic experts from CSI Miami would be stumped as to what it was on the grill.
A reasonable guess would be chicken.
This may sound revolutionary, however, I wonder how many people have the same issue and think, ’don’t worry I’ll just burn it off ’ - a confident tactic that must have some grounds for being a good idea.
High heat kills germs. If my BBQ was to get a Food and Hygiene rating sticker then I think it would have been zero.
I opted instead for removal and cleaning before anyone of a more sensitive disposition could see what I was about to use.
I was dreaming of a new ‘Out Door Grill Experience.’ I was collared by an eager salesman at a department store a few days ago who was as keen as mustard.
There was a special offer which brought grills down from the price of a Range Rover down to the price of a Vauxhall Corsa.
They were nice though. One of them had a grill and separate burners. This, I was told, allowed me to run a hot plate which could cook a saucepan of beans.
A saucepan of beans!
If I spent a million quid on a I’ll not be serving beans. My life isn’t one continuous children's party. I didn’t buy it. I made do with what I had.
Once my grill was clean(ish) I went for the first burn of the year. As it’s gas, if it ignites this is seen as a major moment. If it lights the first time it’s easily good for another year. It didn’t.
I had to resort to the famous ‘don’t try this at home’ tactic of dropping in matches.
You would think that flicking matches at something would be a strong indicator that something is not right. Not for me.
That’s simply all part of the Bear Grylls survival school.
It was great to smell the smoke, heat and burning penicillin fill the air again. It seems like, as it always does, that it’s been ages waiting. Finally, the leaves are on the trees.
There’s talk of free vitamin D and my grill is going to get a food hygiene rating of one star in about a week's time.
I produced the usual quality fayre of sausages before it started raining. Everyone enjoyed the carbonised festival of being British.
Strangely some asked for baked beans with theirs. Not on my watch.