Out of the Frying Pan & into the Fire

Chuckle # 459 | July 6th, 2011
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Meat rules. Grilled meat rules even more. And grilled meat that’s dominated by giant bones is as good as it gets. Think T-bones, ribs, sides of beef and Fred Flintstone. Forget about fat and calories. If something is going to kill you it might as well be a big juicy slab of carcinogen laden sirloin.

Just a few short decades ago, men were the indisputable masters of the grill. Guys kept the functioning of “the grill” a mystery from us women, like GPS and urinals. We didn’t quite know what to do with the grill, so we stayed away.

With the invention of modern safety devices, such as paraffin-based fire starters, women have begun to grill more. Before that we were wary of approaching a lighter fluid soaked pile of charcoal with a lit match. Letting the guys have first dibs on scorching off their eyebrows seemed prudent. The longer life expectancies were just a bonus.

Having a talented ‘grilling’ wife can leave a man feeling a bit emasculated. Lucky for him, fireworks remain a masculine domain, mostly because women lack the ‘maybe I’ll blow myself up today’ gene. Mothers also like to set a good example for their kids to follow, which precludes us from engaging in wanton acts of self-destruction. (Other than marrying our husbands.)

But while mom is busy acting like a responsible adult, “Dad” is usually off buying up the entire supply of bottle rockets from the roadside explosives stand. If it were legal to fire Katyusha rocket launchers from your backyard on July 4th, Dad would do that too. (Yet somehow Dad seems to get by just fine with no thumbs…)

But I digress. The best part about being “the griller” in the family is that you are freed from the mundane chore of side-dish preparation AND you get waited on hand and foot. When you’ve just slapped $80 worth of prime aged sirloin over an open fire, YOU are the most important person in the backyard. The guy who brought the three bean salad? Not so much.

‘King of the Grill’ beats ‘Corn Boiler’ any day.

And we ladies aren’t horning in on the grill just to prove a point, like gender equality (or superiority), we have skills. Women bring a certain “je ne sais quoi” to the grill. Actually, I’m lying. I know exactly what women bring: moistness, sauces that do not come from a jar, and attention to detail, like not torching 20 pork chops because I forgot where I left the tongs and Derek Jeter was at bat.

You think that didn’t happen?!

Once a guy has gorged upon his wife’s perfectly succulent grilled meats, he is usually quite willing to yield the tongs and become her Chardonnay slave. At least in the privacy of his own home. (FYI, some men object to the black bowtie as being overly derivative, but you could come up with a more original uniform.)

Things change, though, when there are other guys around. Don’t embarrass your husband. If you love him, swallow your pride and hand over the spatula so he can save face. Of course that’s assuming that you’ve planned ahead and bought the fattiest, cheapest burger you could find and a bunch of Italian sausage. You just can’t kill that stuff and you don’t want guests to starve.

As long as you avoid the grass fed, free range beef, no one will ever know that he hasn’t touched his grill in years…
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