One of my favorite things about warm weather is bringing out the grill and fixing everything that can be grilled on it as much as possible. In my family we take our grilling very serious. You don’t just grab a frozen burger patty and slap it on there to cook - there is much more to it than that.
My dad was the CEO of the grilling in our family. He had very high standards when it came to lighting up the Kingsford Charcoal and he didn’t hesitate to tell you to step back and let him handle it. He grilled a hamburger that would make any restaurant envious of the taste and pondering on what technique he used to make it so good. In dad’s opinion a good burger was based on whether it was cooked in a way that the juices from it ran down from your hands to your elbows when you ate them.
Looking back now I almost giggle sometimes thinking about how he would prepare and marinate whatever he was going to grill or smoke on the smoker for the day. He would keep his back turned to us and we never knew what he really seasoned half of the stuff that he grilled for us. He would reach and snatch things out of the cabinet so fast your head would spin just to keep us from seeing what he was using. His seasoning ingredients and recipes were better protected and kept more secretive than most of the operations at the CIA or Homeland Security. All I do know is that whatever it was that he chose to use as his flavoring of the day for that particular victim of the charcoal was so good that you couldn’t get enough of it.
He would stand by that grill as if he was guarding the gates of the White House and would give his undivided attention to what was sizzling beneath the lid of that grill.
He very seldom ever used a meat thermometer – he knew exactly how many minutes that he was required to wait to turn it over and he knew just by the looks of it how close to perfection that it was.
His grilling was definitely the highlights of warm weather and there wasn’t a person that tried his burgers that ever walked away not thinking it was one of the best things they had ever eaten. Like I have said before, if the truth be known that was the main reason that most of my family came to visit from Ohio – just to have a Kenny burger.
I remember one time that I was brave enough to think that I could take over the grilling for that day. I carefully and humbly approached Dad and asked in an ever so timid tone “can I grill the burgers today?” He studied the concept of that for just a minute, looked at me ever so seriously and said in a voice that would have intimidated Colin Powell – “I’m not sure if you’re ready for that yet Sis but I’ll give you a chance ONLY if I supervise.”
(See I told you he took it seriously).
When the time came I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen with him behind me. I washed my hands that were trembling with the anticipation greater than that of someone on Iron Chef preparing to go into battle against the likes of Bobby Flay. By this time Dad had found his place at the bar stool seated perfectly to observe my preparation and seasoning techniques. In a little while I was ready for the most important part of the test – to put the burgers on the grill. (I might add here that my father didn’t believe in the simplicity of a gas grill – it had to be charcoal and there was no using the pre-lit kind, it had to be started with a canister and newspapers crumpled underneath it so that it was a pure charcoal taste with no additives) I checked the charcoal briquettes and they were just the right combination of black with gray around the edges, I pulled the handle and released them into the perfect pile. Under his watchful eye I placed the patties on the grill and closed the lid. I waited for the appropriate amount of time; I lifted the lid, turned them over, closed the lid and waited once more. Then when I was within merely minutes of passing the test I did something that I KNEW not to do! I took the spatula (the golden grilling essential part of the process) and I pressed down on the unsuspecting patty. It was like one of those moments in an intense filled dramatic movie where the actress looks over her shoulder slowly knowing that she is about to be caught for doing what was obviously the unthinkable. I heard him sigh, and it was if without even turning around I could see him silently shaking his head in disbelief. He came to me, reached out his hand and as I hung my head in shame I handed over the spatula. He said – “Sis – it’s not time – you aren’t ready to take this job over yet. You know that you never – ever – press the juices out of the burger. We’ll try this again when I think you are ready.” I respectfully conceded to my mistake and walked the walk of shame back into the kitchen. It was a turning point in my life as an outdoor cook and I learned a very valuable lesson that I would carry with me each time I walked to a grill every time after that.
Eventually Dad passed the spatula onto me with confidence and even though he didn’t think I saw – I always noticed him peeking out the kitchen window observing me from a distance – just to make sure I was following the proper etiquette of grilling. In fact I can’t help but laugh when I catch myself peeking out the window at poor Patrick when he’s trying to grill something and most of the time he just willingly gives me the spatula for the sake of not being scolded by me if he does something wrong.
It’s funny how the simplest things turn into some of the most precious memories. There is never a time that I go to the grill that I don’t take my dad with me and imagine him standing there beside me watching me ever so carefully as I turn the burgers and resist the temptation of pressing down on them with the spatula.
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