A few weeks ago I found a small charcoal grill deeply clearance priced, probably because most normal people don’t think of rainy Fall days as grilling weather. I bought the grill and some mesquite chips, planning to surprise my family with mesquite-smoked steaks for supper.
As soon as the chips were soaked and ready, it started raining. Hard. So I did the only sane thing - forgot about the grill and ordered pizza.
Yeah, right. I’m not that sane. Instead I moved the grill into the garage and innocently threw the chips onto the hot coals. In case you don’t know, hot coals + wet wood = lots and lots of smoke. The smoke filled the garage and trickled into the house.
We had our steaks that night, but the smell of smoke infiltrated the house so badly that even the carpets smelled like a BBQ pit. The kids' clothes picked up the odor too. Packs of wild dogs, whipped into a frenzy by the smell of grilled meat chased my children down the street. Okay, not exactly. But that’s only thanks to the makers of Febreze.
As soon as the house finally aired out, I decided to give the grill another go. I put it outside this time and lit it. Only no sooner did the coals get hot than the rain started falling. We’re not talking those little delicate raindrops that made Gene Kelly grab an umbrella and burst into tune in the 1950's. No, this was the kind of monsoon sort of rain that sends sane people running for cover.
Sane? Me? Not quite. I put the lid on the grill and luckily the food cooked.
This morning, we woke to another downpour. It was raining hard enough that the sound of the rain beating against the window actually woke me.
“So are we grilling tonight?” Drew asked at breakfast as we discussed fun things to do on a Friday night.
Of course, we’re grilling. It’s the perfect weather for it.
(Here's a picture of the grill. If you ever need rain, just call me and I'll pull it outside and light it. We'll have hurricane force downpours the minute the coals get hot. I promise.)
