Grillmaster? HARDLY!

I have a decent amount of talents and I do alright with feeding my family. I've never given anyone food poisoning and with the exception of Kate and Ean (who's opinions with food don't count) my family usually enjoys what I've prepared.

Obviously I do some things better then others. I've, quite pridefully, mentioned that I am very adapt at baking. I have a good feel for bread dough, instinctively knowing how much flour, how much kneading, how warmth the bread needs. My pastries are exceptional most days and when they're not, it's usually because I was completely distracted with a child disaster.

Some humorous mishaps include the great banana bread smoke out, that happened not once, not twice but three times using this one recipe where the bread really rises fast and if you don't get it in the oven immediately the pans just overflow. The first overflow, flames were involved.

I'm pretty sure this happens to keep me humble.

However, grilling alludes me. I mean, what possibly could be difficult. Throw food on fire, allow to cook, make sure it's done, eat.

Oh yeah right.

Grilling is right up there with dutch ovening in my book. It's hot, messy and makes my hair smell. Using real fire, whether the source is propane or charcoal is just not something I like to mess with. Please note the controlled flame on my gas stove does not count. I know exactly where to set my knobs, thank you very much.

I had six chicken quarters, that had been sitting in this fantastic marinade for over a day. I was expecting to feed the missionaries so I had more then I'd use for just my family. To go along with the chicken, I had mashed potatoes planned (cheated and used instant since it's to hot to make them from scratch) and a garden salad with greens provided by Kent's boss, from his own garden.

It should have been fantastic.

The obstacle standing me and dinner perfection, that darn grill.

I lit it. I turned the heat down. I placed the meat on the newly scrubbed racks and closed the lid. Then I asked Jane to wash pots and pans because I really needed the help so I could do the rest of dinner. Ten minutes later, I notice Jane is gone, so I go looking for her.

*insert swearing and panicked running around.*

Loads of smoke pouring from the grill and the child that "should" have been washing pots and pans? Out on the lawn, facing the opposite direction and petting the neighbors dog.

I gaze just a moment at my eldest and resist yelling at her as I focused on the grill. SCRUD, five times more flames then the great banana bread fire, most coming directly off the chicken. Apparently those birds had a lot of fat on them.

Grrrrrrrr.

Blacked chicken was in front of me. I turned the heat down more, moved the chicken up a rack and flipped it, hoping it'd be okay. Oh no, went to check a few minutes later and there were even MORE flames. There was nothing to do but turn the grill off and let the chicken sit there. Carcinogens and all.

Kent said it was fine and went to look, said peel the skin off and it was all good. He then realized the chicken wasn't actually cooked. Well, I could have told him that. I mean, I may suck at grilling but I knew it wasn't enough time to get the center done, even if the outside was in flames.

Did I mention the complete meltdown I had in the kitchen after turning the heat off? Greg came in, very concerned and asked what was wrong. I told him no one was helping me and that made me sad. He promptly took two dirty dishes off the table and told me I couldn't be sad. The dirty dishes were carefully balanced on the pile of unwashed pots and pans my teenager left to do more important things. Like pet the neighbor's dog.

Kent turned the grill on, left the chicken on the top rack and finished cooking them. We managed to find enough meat under the blackened outside to feed the family and we never did hear from the missionaries to find out when and where they wanted dinner.

So I could have kept this to myself.

But if you lived in the neighborhood, I'm sure you were wondering about the smoke. Oh and Kent ever helpful said "we should have just dutched oven these". Thanks hon, that's a fabulous idea, four hours to late.