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Grilling the Family for the Right Father's Day Gift

by Tim Herrera
Tim's Family room

There are only a few days that I consider truly great. On Christmas Day, we spend time with family raking mounds of shredded wrapping paper from the carper. At Thanksgiving, we gather with family and eat and stretch our sweatpants to the limit. And then there’s “Leave Any Trash Except Nuclear Waste on the Sidewalk for Pickup Day.” I always look forward to that annual day. If it came more often, we’d actually be able to fit two cars in our two-car garage.

This year we had to put our old gas grill, a very faithful and reliable appliance, out to pasture. What a sad situation. And just in time for Father’s Day too. (Note the subtle hint.)

My kids will tell you that I have nuked many burgers and chicken breasts on that rickety and rusty thing. The weather battered it pretty hard. The grease build-up made it a simultaneous health and safety hazard. No one ever got sick from anything that I cooked on it and somehow it never blew up. It did catch fire a few times, but we never had to call the Elk Grove Fire Department.

The grill was past its prime. I got the old barbecue as a present for my 40th birthday. Yes, kids, propane HAD BEEN invented way back then.

The other day, I rolled our corroded old grill to the curb and left it beside several cardboard boxes and an un-repairable treadmill that had outlived its warranty as well as our desire to use it. Truthfully, I was glad to get rid of the old grill especially so close to Father’s Day. (Note second subtle hint.)

I told my wife that if she and the kids DO get me a grill for Father’s Day (third hint!) that I hope it is already assembled. And I hope that it’s easy to operate… like where the food actually cooks itself, without any supervision. I also hope it comes with a special feature that prevents the flaming of food beyond recognition.

“Dad, this chicken tastes like a burger… or charcoal, I think.”

“Actually, son, that’s a briquette. But more mustard might help mask that charred taste.”

I come by my poor barbecuing skills honestly. I blame my late father, just like I blame him for my baldness and total lack of rhythm. Dad was a bad barbecuer, but never admitted it. He could take the finest steak and reduce it to the size and consistency of a chunk of Duraflame log.

“Dad, why did you grill just one meatballs?” I’d ask

“That’s a tri-tip steak,” Dad would answer.

“Who wants macaroni and cheese?” Mom would ask.

Come to think of it… my kids eat their fair share of mac and cheese too.

So, like so many men my age, I blame my father for my shortcomings rather than taking responsibility for myself. It is because of Dad that I am unskilled in the art of barbecuing. However, I am very skilled in picking up Chinese take-out or double meat/double cheese pizzas from Roundtable. They are survival skills that I learned on my own.

Maybe all it takes is the right grilling equipment. Maybe a brand new grill, with temperature control and a built in sprinkler system will help improve my barbecuing abilities. And if a new grill doesn’t do the trick, I will place the blame squarely on my father’s shoulders and then have some macaroni and cheese in his honor.

This article provided by the Family Content Archives



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