My family has owned some form of a grill, from the compact, rectangular, perfect for a small apartment balcony style, all the way up the line to the heavy duty smoker/grill that now sits, big and intimidating, on our back deck. I've enjoyed years of marinated chicken, smoked ribs, and grilled corn on the cob, watching my husband learn to master the grill. I'm a big fan of the smokey, umami flavors achieved only by cooking food on a charcoal grill, and yet, never in my life have I dared to cook on a grill myself. The grill was always Jacob's territory, and I was happy to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labors. I am pretty ignorant of the ways of the grill. The miniscule amount of barbeque knowledge I do posses comes from observing my husband over the years, and an occasional barbeque cooking show on PBS.
This challenge ranks pretty high up on the uncomfortable meter for me, mostly because it involves fire, and the real possibility that I could start my house, or myself, on fire. If this sounds like I am
being overly dramatic, I'm not. The giant cloud of swirling smoke pouring out of my grill yesterday, as I attempted to ignite the charcoal was very dramatic. I was pretty sure that billowing smoke wasn't a normal part of the process, so I panicked, and called my husband at work for moral support. By the time I reached my husband, and I finished my frantic plea for help, the smoke had dissipated, at which point there was a brief moment of leaping flames, and then, nothing. The charcoal looked exactly like it had before I sent the smoke signal message around my neighborhood that an amateur was at the grill. I was pretty sure I was doing something wrong. Jacob reminded me that it took a little time for the charcoal to ignite, and to keep encouraging the coals by giving them some oxygen. I took a deep breath, hung up the phone, and began my diligent tending of the coals. I hovered over those coals, like a worried mother over her sick child. I was so afraid that the tiny glowing embers would die out completely, and that I'd have to start all over with the billowing smoke and leaping flames. Finally, after much persistence, the coals were ready.
It turned out that the worst was behind me. Once I got the behemoth barbeque up and running, the cooking part was, by comparison, a breeze. I chose to try grilling fish, instead of a giant rack of ribs, or a pork tenderloin, because I knew it would cook relatively quickly, and it was one step up from just throwing on some hot dogs. I seasoned the Tilapia well, and took it out to the grill. At this point, my cooking confidence began to rise a little, fueled perhaps by those PBS barbeque tips that were returning to my mind. I remembered, for instance, that fish tend to stick to a grill, so it's important to oil the grill before cooking the fish. My cooking intuition kicked in, and I thought that some lime juice and honey, combined with garlic and herbs would add moisture and flavor to the fish. This wasn't bad. It was kind of nice, actually. Out in the sunshine, smelling like a campfire, meat on the grill...this was the full grill master experience. Well, it was my only experience, but aside from the smoke and flames, it wasn't so bad!
The fish turned out great, and the one child I could convince to try my first grilling attempt, loved it, even though she's not a much of a fish fan in general. Success!
Today's a new day, let's make it purposeful!
Kara
No comments:
Post a Comment