A Serious Grilling Philosophy

Not long ago, I was hovered over our grill with friend and pitmaster John Richardson (no relation), who was gearing up once again for an appearance at Memphis in May. There, he and his team, Suspicious Rinds, would compete in the amateur division of this seminal BBQ cookoff. John really knows his grilling, so I like to pick his brain over a few beers about how long to cook a butt or a brisket, or what marinade works well with the carcass in question. Somewhere in the throes of all this guru worship, I caught myself apologizing for our sorry excuse for a grill—a piece of junk purchased nearly a decade ago at Lowe’s that seems to’ve lost a part every year. Most recently, it was one of the four grates, leaving us at 75% grilling capacity. “Look at this thing,” I told John. “It’s obviously time to get a new one.” John shook his head immediately and replied, “Absolutely not. There’s where the magic happens.” Indeed, John and his posse have routinely hauled horrible-looking grilling devices to Memphis, the kind that make the gear-heads smirk — until they get their backsides handed to them.

Grilling tends to be a guy’s sport, and admittedly, I defer to my husband these days to tend our fires. But I never tire of tossing a slab of perfectly marinated meat (seafood and veggies, too) onto grates made scalding by charcoal. Fourth of July is a main event for grillers, so stretch your routine and toss all sorts of items over those coals, from new potatoes for grilled potato salad to whole heads of romaine lettuce to meats, cheap and fancy.

And if you’ve got one, celebrate the poor man’s grill, because that’s where the magic happens.