wherein lindsay learns how to grill.

Barbeques were a thing while I was growing up – like a Big-Deal-Rarely-Occurring kind of thing that happened once or twice a year (and usually only once). Usually in the company of others, copious amounts of food were cooked and consumed: wings, steak, pork chops, sausages, fish, corn, other veggies. These were always delicious, but grilling was exclusively a summertime activity and there was none of this business of tossing-a-steak-on-the-BBQ-for-dinner. For the longest time, I was under the impression that everyone had a BBQ as clean as ours. My learning curve with the BBQ I’m sure will be reminiscent of my journey with the humble potato (e.g. mind being blown with shepherd’s pie). I’ve always loved grilled goodies, but admittedly have left grilling to the men. Thanks to the boy and tonight’s happenings, the tides are shifting.

The boy whipped up a BBQ sauce (onions were caramelized, a can of tomatoes was tossed in with chipotle and garlic along with a hodgepodge of delicious spices: paprika, smoked paprika, thyme, coriander, cumin, celery plus salt & pepper; honey, molasses and cider vinegar were also added. The mixture reduced for a while until sticky, and a bit of cornstarch was added for texture). Then, he handed me raw chicken, the tongs, a brush and some oil and told me I would be making supper.

Me? The grill? I had to be shown how to turn the damn thing on! It’s not as though I’d never used the barbie before – in fact, we used it quite a bit last summer to make sense of our massive amounts of zucchini (an aside: apparently compromising to two plants from last year’s four means the boy planted three when I wasn’t looking). I even managed not to set the shed or my eyebrows on fire while flipping courgettes. It’s just that, well, I needed a bit of a reminder after a winter of boy-manning-the-barbeque.

Apparently chicken thighs do not behave like zucchini. In fact, they’re even different from steak and pork chops because of their lovely fatty skin (when it comes to chickens, thigh > breast in awesomeness). Conscientiousness must be practised to minimize rendered fat causing a surge in flames. First rule of grilling chicken thighs: do not let the chicken catch on fire. Thankfully, I didn’t have to sacrifice more than 1 of 6 (very charred) skins off the thighs, and I’m happy to report my eyebrows are intact.

These babies were slathered in BBQ sauce and thrown over high (direct) heat for approximately 3 minutes on each side. Then they were shuffled over to be finished slowly over indirect heat (the 2nd burner was off) for 20 or so minutes. I kept a close eye on them, flipping and slathering on more BBQ sauce. I’m pretty pleased with myself: they were spot on – just cooked, super tender, and delicious. Perfect with a bright summer salad tossed with the remainder the boy’s blue cheese dressing from yesterday, along with my cauliflower blue cheese soup I discovered in the freezer. I’m already excited for tomorrow’s lunch of chicken sandwiches, and the boy’s promise of teaching me heat management required for burgers and sausage the next time we fire up the barbie.

• bbq
• bbq sauce
• chicken thighs
• dark meat
• grilling
• learning
• recipe