Letters From a Silverware Thief

Yesterday I did my first cook-out for this year. I am happy to report that it did not end in disaster. It was, I think, my most successful solo outdoor cooking exercise to date. I say solo because last year I took part in another grilling “expedition” over my fire that I think ended up even better . . . actually, that time I mostly watched. But hey, it was the outdoor fireplace that I constructed, and I was the one who made the fire, so I get at least some of the credit.

Cooking yesterday was the first time I did steak over a fire. Previously I’ve done spiedies but this is the first time I’ve done marinated steak. Don’t ask me what kind of steak this was. Do I look like a chef or something? All I know was that it was red, thin, and some pieces were a bit tough. I’m sure it was cheap steak (relatively speaking) because with over eight pounds being grilled anything truly succulent surely was too expensive.

Whatever kind of steak it was, it ended up being my easiest cooking experience over the fire yet. First, because I’ve become a little better at making my fires. I’m still no Boy Scout, but I can get a good, even heat going. I don’t even have to obsess over it all afternoon like I used to. Second, since my new and improved fire pit (still to be improved yet even more when I somehow find the time) is a little easier to cook over. Third, the long sheets of meat that made up the steaks were easier to flip and cook than spiedies and other things I’ve done. The thinness of the steaks made them cook quickly. Four, Mom just recently bought me some nice long handled cooking instruments so I can now have a little longer reach. I suppose this particular fact didn’t exactly make me cook better but it saved me from running around the fire yelling “Ow! Ow! It’s too hot!” or being required to wrap my hand in tin foil to deflect the heat so that I could get stubby little tongs close enough.

Practice is definitely making me a better outdoor cook, but I still have a ways to go. I feel more in control of the situation, but when the meat is actually thrown on the grate I still feel that it is something of a gamble. Will the food end up underdone, just right, or overcooked? This adds a certain element of stress, especially when cooking for guests. (Nothing like trying to act like you have everything under control whilst imagining oneself carrying back a blackened plate of once edible stuff.) This time I managed to get pretty close to just right, but I did go a little bit into overdone. Another minor problem this time was I didn’t have the coals perfect so the fire was a bit smokey. This made the meat taste a bit smoked . . . which was good or bad, depending on your taste.

The worst part about cooking outdoors is managing the hectic atmosphere. What I have going is not some wimpy little charcoal fire . . . I get a nice collection of red hot hardwood coals. This makes food cook fast (there are times when I probably had stuff a little too hot) and brings the danger of things burning. Nothing ruins a good mood so well as frantically trying to flip pieces of meat over as you watch them blacken and catch on fire. That didn’t happen this time, but even without dinner igniting there is always the problem of everything needing to be done at once. Usually someone is complaining about things taking too long, and even if nobody else is mumbling about Rundy maybe ruining everything, I’m certainly thinking it. This everything-needs-to-be-done-at-once panic is the first thing I would like to remove from outdoor cooking. I like to be in control and as soon as things start pinwheeling out in pandemonium I get very . . . er . . . snappish. I’ve said that I wouldn’t mind doing more cooking outside if other people took care of all the various other things so that I could just stand in front of the grill and watch over the meat.

I am, certainly, part of my own problem in this regard. I am getting a little better, but yesterday I got myself off to a poor start by getting a late start. I got a little caught up in my writing and by the time I stopped, the afternoon was an hour past when I should have started the fire. That was the first note of panic. I start the fire but since this is the first cook-out of this year I have various maintenance things I need to do. I work and tend the fire at the same time (this is okay because a watched fire doesn’t burn any faster, but there is a bit of stress because I am trying to do several things at once which makes me frazzled).

It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, the fire is going, and I go back in the house. The phone rings. I pick it up.

“Hello, this is Joe,” the person on the other end says. “Your neighbor. Can any of you guys do some haying?”

A little bit of stunned silence on my part. “Right now?”

“No. I’m going up to check it now and ted it. If it’s ready to bail I’ll call back around five to hay at six.”

“Um, okay.” My brain is furiously trying to work in overdrive, and not doing very good. I don’t do very good when put on the spot. “Weelllll . . . . somebody should be able to help you then. When you call back later I should be able to tell you then.” Delay, I think. Get some time to think up an intelligent answer. At least Lachlan can help him.

“Okay,” Joe says, and hangs up.

I have a fire going, I’m supposed to cook supper, and Joe is going to want people to help him hay. At this point things begin to really feel like they’ve gone beyond my comfortable control. In between tending the fire and making the salad for supper I go around trying to figure out who can help Joe hay. On top of everything there is the pressure to get the meat cooked before Joe calls so that those going off to work won’t have to leave starving.

At such times as these I try to be fatalistic. What will be, will be. All I can do is tend the fire and cook the meat as soon as possible. I can’t make things go any faster. But it is a clenched teeth fatalism, mixed with a dash of ire (maybe a bit of fuming) that haying had to be thrown into the middle of my carefully orchestrated dinner plans.

In the end I managed to keep everything together. Supper was finished late, but Joe called late, too. Those of us who had to go off to hay managed to eat just before we left. I cooked the food without ruining it. In all respects events turned out better than they could have, but I’m still hoping it all goes better next time.

[Footnote: For those of you who don't know what a tedder is, you can see what some tedders look like, and what they do, by going here.]