We had a barbecue to prepare.
Being guests from the colonies, we thought we'd repay our kindly English hosts by throwing them a little bash. Jeff and I would put our heads together and bring the best of our backyard party skills to the fore. I'd grill up some ribs and hamburgers and Jeff would do his famous cornflake potatoes, with some other side-dishes thrown in.
It sounded good on paper. How it actually turned out is something else altogether.
Adam took Jeff and I down to Morrison's (the big grocery store) the evening of the 17th to get all the ingredients we'd need...including the charcoal, and even the barbecue itself. Adam's mum didn't have one, you see. Living within spitting distance of the North Sea, she doesn't have cause to grill outdoors very often. They have that stuff out in England called rain, you see. I don't know exactly what it is, but I guess it has something to do with water coming out of the sky. I have a difficult time imagining such a miraculous phenomenon, but I can see how it would make fire-starting difficult.
So we picked up the goods, lugged 'em back to Adam's mum's house in a taxi, and set about getting the preliminary preparations done. I assembled the new grill myself, which I'm rather proud of. I'm not the most mechanically able, but give me enough time (and mulligans) and I'm usually able to work it all out. I got it done just before dark (at 11:00 p.m.) and we all sat around having a few beers and admiring the thing. It was the same shape as a typical tripod grill (wheels, tray, big black pot with a round lid, etc.) but about half the size. You had to stoop to flip anything grilling on it. It was about the size of the grill on the left in the picture below, here:
We had a marginally decent night's sleep that night. When you get the bunch of us together—A, E, Jeff, and me, not to mention E's friend M—well, we have a tendency to bounce of each other and egg each other on, and what was supposed to be "a few drinks" and "an early bedtime" turns into yet another late-night lesson in debauchery.
The day arrived, and after an eleventh-hour dash to Morrison's for some forgotten ingredients, all was in readiness. The ribs had been seasoned and rubbed, the charcoal was resting comfortably in the tiny grill, the burger patties were lovingly shaped and patted down. Jeff, with E's help, had already mixed up and baked his cornflake potatoes, the recipe for which I shall not include because it is a sacred H_______ family heirloom, and to divulge it would bring the wrath of all Canada down on my head.
Just kidding.
Anyway, Jeff's preparations were now done, and he joined the rapidly growing crowd of guests in their cans of Carlson while I flitted between the kitchen and the backyard.
Things were not going as planned. I had two five-pound bags of charcoal at my disposal. The first one burned far too hot. Seriously, the burgers were being instantly charred. That was all well and good if I'd been preparing only the burgers, but I was trying to put together a whole course of meat dishes here. I only had one extra bag of charcoal and this one was burning up too fast. I was only able to dish up about five or six burgers before the heat died completely.
British barbecue: 1
Postman: 0
Daunted by a fast burn and low heat retention (on the part of the grill itself), I was determined not to lose to the second bag. I readied the remaining burgers and ribs, lit the last load of charcoal and prepared for some heavy action.
None came.
The second batch was far too cool. The inferno of the first bag never materialized. The second bag was slow to ignite and when it finally did burn, it was cool enough that I could place a finger on the bare metal of the grill lid and not be burned. The ribs and burgers just sat there, not even cooking, as pink as they'd been at the supermarket.
I was eventually forced to move the uncooked meat from the useless grill and finish it off in the kitchen oven.
Oh, the humiliation.
British barbecue: 2
Postman: 0
I did get a consolation prize. Everyone enjoyed the burgers, and even more so the ribs. Though I was slightly dilatory in serving up the goods, the assembled guests complimented my grilling prowess, and even commiserated with me.
"It's a British barbecue, mate," said N (one of Adam's friends), as if that explained everything.
Jeff's cornflake potatoes were by far the most popular thing on the menu, but we won't talk about that. I can't have it said that a Canadian served up a tastier dish at a barbecue than an American, can I?
Way to upstage me there, Jeff old pal.
Anyway, we made a jolly night of it. Once the cooking was done I was able to sit down, relax, enjoy a burger and a beer, and yell at the TV along with the rest of the guys as the English World Cup team played to a somewhat embarrassing 0-0 draw with Algeria. (The ladies sat outside with a bottle of wine, sharing some much-needed girl talk. Jeff joined them, but we won't talk about that either.)
After the game we all got drunk and partied until the wee hours of the morning.
Pretty good day overall, I guess.
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