They are words to strike dread in any dinner party guest’s heart: “as it’s not raining, Mike thought he’d strike up the barbecue. It’ll be just a little wait. No fuss.”
But, of course, there will be fuss, and we will wait ages, while everyone gets trollied. There will be the donning of the crass slogan apron and wielding of giant tongs, amid humble-bragging over marinades, debating whether or not it’s “hot enough” or “too hot”. Oh, and then a last-minute panic over what to serve the vegan friends, whose food preferences have been known since uni a decade or more ago.
But, God, we Brits love a barbie. As National Barbecue Week ends, the remarkable numbers are in. Due mostly to our worryingly warm and dry spring, sales of grills are up 46 per cent year-on-year, accessories some 24 per cent.
The sun came out and the great British public flocked to garden centres and hardware stores like moths to a smoky flame. But why does almost every barbecue still disappoint? Given all this enthusiasm, might we actually learn to cook over fire? No, instead we endure the annual ritual of burnt sausages with raw centres, dryly blackened chicken drumsticks, and veggie burgers that resemble ice hockey pucks.
square LIFESTYLE How the health experts do BBQs and picnics
Read More
We are living in a golden age of grills. There are shiny six-burner gas behemoths, and there are the sleek, cult-status charcoal ovens that cost as much as a family holiday. I nearly bought a Big Green Egg, seduced, like many, by Instagram dreams of pulled pork and perfect brisket. But, in a rare moment of restraint, I walked away with a basic Weber charcoal kettle and the quiet resolution to actually learn how to use it.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: for many men, the barbecue is the only place they cook. Indoors, they still behave as if the kitchen is someone else’s domain. But outdoors? Open flames, slabs of red meat, the primal call of smoke – it all gets terribly, stereotypically, “masculine”. Those tongs become tools of honour. Yet, behind the bravado, very few of us actually know what we’re doing.
You see it at every barbecue. The host hovers anxiously, poking at food that doesn’t need poking, flames licking higher as fat drips from another sweaty sausage. Someone always insists that “gas is cheating”. Someone else will swear that “charcoal gives the proper flavour”, before serving up something indistinguishable from a beer mat.
Barbecue culture is oddly performative. We fetishise the kit, the rubs, the cider-soaked wood chips, but we rarely focus on the fundamentals. Cooking times. Resting. Keeping the lid closed. Arguably, most of the great pitmasters are patient, methodical people. Not something you often find in a British back garden after three pints and two hours of sun.
So this summer, I’m on a quiet mission. No theatrics. Just learning, slowly, how to barbecue well. Not “Instagram well”, but edible well. I may not master brisket by August, but perhaps a sausage that doesn’t require a warning label. Maybe that’s the real spirit of barbecue season: not a shiny grill or the macho posturing, but the joy of learning something new. Preferably without poisoning your guests.
Read More Details
Finally We wish PressBee provided you with enough information of ( Why is food always so bad at BBQs? Allow me to explain )
Also on site :
- Authorities investigate after 8 injured in Colorado attack by man they say yelled ‘Free Palestine’
- Country Icon, 63, Cancels Show at Last Minute Amid Health Issues, Leaving Fans Irate
- Meta wants to replace its human workers with AI to review privacy and societal risks