I lit the fire last night. The grill sat dormant for too long. Don, proprietor of the Don Funk Sports Grill where I watch most of my football, donated a propane tank to the festivities.
I’m trying to think of the proper comparison to the moment right after you’ve started the gas and turned on the burners and are about to press the electric igniter for the first time. Prom night? Wedding night? There’s a lot of anticipation for this event. It promises to be memorable. I clicked the button and nothing happened.
It’s no fun when your lighter won’t light. Luckily I had a quick solution. I don’t understand why, when you buy electronics, that they either come with no batteries or batteries from a company that no one has ever heard of. You’re guaranteed to have to replace said batteries quickly. I took out the off-brand battery and replaced it. I heard the beautiful clicks and we had one, two, three, four burners going with that pretty blue flame.
I burned the time for the grill to warm up by continuing the amazing undefeated season of the San Francisco 49ers on Tecmo Bowl. I played the Cowboys. This was the 1989 1-15 Cowboys. Daryl Johnston had 212 rushing yards that year but in this game he had about 150 yards and two touchdowns. I won but didn’t feel great about it.
The grill has a temperature gauge. I set all the burners to high because that’s what men do. The temperature was at the top of the gauge, 600 beautiful degrees. I had to cool it down to almost the minimum to get the temperature to around 450. That much heat instantly seared our steaks. Don had his Don style, which is about 30 seconds warmer than uncooked. Mine were in fairly rare so I gave them another minute.
The steaks were good. I had a few sweet potato fries. I even ate a couple of grape tomatoes. Speaking of grape, Don’s a big fan of the Cab Sav and I have been known to partake so we drank. And ate. And played Wii golf. I won twice, but Don blamed his controller for a poor performance. Real men don’t blame the controller. They blame the controllee.
I now have the uber TV and the uber grill. And the uber wife, of course. She smartly avoided our man cave grunt-off.
What else could a man want? Um, how about an HD TiVo. Because real men don’t watch commercials.
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