The grill is gone – There’s nothing like moving to make you realize the ridiculous amount of unnecessary stuff you’re holding onto.

There’s nothing like moving to make you realize the ridiculous amount of unnecessary stuff you’re holding onto. Some things, however, go easier than others.

A couple of weeks ago, we moved—for what I hope will be the last time—to a house we’ve long admired in the Garden District, our fourth in this particular part of Baton Rouge. Along the way, my husband and I and our three children purged all sorts of stuff that wasn’t being used, creating a hefty pile for a charity.

In the culinary department, I got rid of pots and pans that had been in my kitchen for years, along with some goofy gadgets that served no real purpose.

At heart, I’m a minimalist in the kitchen, returning to the same reliable tools day in and day out. They don’t have to be expensive or highly rated. They just have to work.

Which brings me to the subject of our grill, that scary-looking, rusted out item in the accompanying picture, which sadly, didn’t make the cut. One slight push toward the edge of the yard and the old girl began to leave behind a trail of parts. I’m sure our friends who swear by Big Green Eggs, or who have built stately outdoor kitchens are thoroughly grossed out by our taste in outdoor cooking equipment, but we have proudly cooked on that reliable contraption for the last decade.

Long after it began to show its age, I asked my friend, John Richardson (no relation), a practiced tailgater and a Memphis in May competition barbeque award winner, what he thought about our gone-to-seed grill. He loved it. He and his cooking buddies have been known to take decrepit grills to Memphis, forcing snooty teams with their pricy rigs to look at these upstart Baton Rougeans askance. It only inspired them more.

“Are you kidding? Anybody can cook on something expensive. That right there,” he said pointing to our hunk of metal, “that’s where the magic happens.”

But things do come to an end, so we dragged the old girl to the curb, several parts missing and the original thermometer coils sprung like a pig’s tail. I was a little concerned that our new neighbors would think we’d sullied the street for the rash of daily dog walkers and joggers, but we shouldn’t have worried. Within 20 minutes someone scooped her up, leaving a thin trail of corroded metal and ash. I guess they saw it, too—a grill like that is where the magic happens.