Dear Crabby, Everywhere I Went Over the Holiday Weekend People Were Serving BBQ, Why is it I Only Saw Men doing all the Grilling?
Sincerely, Anna Kitchen
Dear Anna,
Seems as though I just read something about this. Yes, it’s true. Men do all the grilling outside.
While we are perfectly happy to let the women folk mill around the kitchen chit-chatting, men are in charge of the outdoor cooking – grilling meat that is. We have a long tradition of killing wild game, building fire, and grilling our dinner. It’s sort of like the TV remote – the man must have control over it. That reminds me of a Jerry Seinfeld episode where he sums it all up – women watch TV to see what’s on – men watch TV, to see what else is on.
Anyway, back to grilling. Just like the TV remote, when a man sees a grill going, he must have a spatula or tongs in his hand. It’s in his DNA. We tap the steak, flip the burgers, and slather BBQ sauce on chicken. The fire is the seventh game in the World Series – we must watch – we gather around the grill and act like men. We talk about cars and sports; and we tell others about the grills that we have used in the past – we’re attached to the event.
I think, women love this. For a brief moment – here and there – we’re pitching in and cooking. And we get into it. We plan ahead. We buy the goods, mix the sauces, and marinate the meat. We clean the grill, pre-heat until the temperature is just right, and we cook – from beginning to end. In addition, we narrate the process, “Just got done searing in the flavor,” “Flipping the burgers now,” “These ribs are looking might tasty.”
“Who wants medium-rare?” is announced as the grilling is just about ready to serve. Our fans, I mean our family and friends, line up. Eyes are wide, mouths are watering, and anticipation is high. Men do the grilling and men make hungry people happy.
This is why you see men grilling. All the summer holidays. Weekends. And vacations – where we get to tame an overused and usually rundown BBQ pit – proving our worth in the world once again.
Sincerely, Dear Crabby
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