The Delicious Life Cookbook-A-Day Giveaway
BBQ Bash and Grilled Pizzas & Piadinas
Regardless of whether you reck-a-nize Memorial Day weekend just before June as your premature evacuation of Spring, or you stubbornly cling to the "officially observed" seasonal transition during the Solstice in the middle of June, or you wait for the last day of the semester at the end of June -- whether you acknowledge the beginning, middle or end of the month, the fact is the entire month of June signifies The Start. The Start of...what? Summer? Vacation? Summer vacation? Whatever it is, June is definitely the start of something.
In June, you want to be starting something. *furrows impossibly perfect brow *
You have got to be starting something. *cocks head to one side*
I said you wanna be startin' somethin'. *huh?*
You got to be startin' somethin'. *oh-em-gee*
Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma MA coo sa. (Capitalization to indicate em-PHA-sis)
Before my body starts twitching in sequin glove-sampled conflict under my Cinder-brella (if you "get" that statement, we should be friends), let's give away two books that pay homage to June as the start of something gastronomically known as "Grilling Season": BBQ Bash: The Be-All, End-All Party Guide from Barefoot to Black Tie or Grilled Pizzas and Piadinas.
At this point, you should know the
grill drill, but since you insist on this illusion of consistency via repetition, I will say it again. Leave a comment on this post. What you say in your comment will, in no way, affect your chances of winning in a random drawing. However, the winner may or may not be selected in a random drawing, so you might want to consider your favorite Michael Jackson song. If you don't have a favorite Michael Jackson song, you don't really have a chance of winning, now do you?
I may get lynched for such gross stereotyping (of which I seem to do lot anyway), but "grilling" and "BBQ" have long been been associated with men. No matter what their skill level or actual experience has been at the grill, men love to grill, and it has nothing to do with the joy of cooking. Grilling has everything to do with the primordial hunt.
Must hunt meat.
Must set on fire.
Must eat meat.
It’s a peculiar phenomenon, what overcomes men when they sense fire. Like heat-seeking missiles, men are magnetically drawn to the fire of a grill. Fire and meat together are like a screeching sirens's love song that rips through every man's flat-front Dockers and periwinkle pique polo, beckons the caveman that's been domesticated under thousands of years of Schick Quattro and quiche, and releases the inner primordial pyromaniac.
Suddenly they are half-naked, a circle of squirrel pelts around their waists, beating their hairy chests. Mentally reverted to tribal warrior-hunters, grilling is some final after-the-hunt ritual of throwing the sacrificial rosemary-marinated pork tenderloin on its funeral pyre. If the food on the grill requires only one person to cook, it doesn’t matter. Even if they have never ever before even so much as stepped foot in a kitchen, nor ever once before "manned" a grill, it’s like an animal instinct – the way a newborn shark just knows it’s supposed to swim and start looking for Nemo.
But the "GR" is disappearing from grilling, and though I'd love to get all up in your Run DMC, what I'm really saying is that what was once just a ceremony of fire and animal carcass is now...
..a cocktail party.