Barbecue

The Easter holiday just flew by. Four days. Four gloriously sunny days. That said, no one cared about the exceptional — almost too-good-to-be-true — weather as much as they cared about the barbecue.

The first time I had a barbecue was at a party. Quite naturally. Barbecue always goes hand in hand with a crowd. Our revelry by the fire today is an instinctive commemoration of the fire that engulfed the forest God knows how many years ago, killing all deer and dinosaurs, and teaching us humans how to eat.

So we celebrate — taking a break from our battered Deliveroo routines and non-stick pans, heading out into the sun, and cooking with fire.

There is something about cooking with fire, and watching food being cooked over it. The thrill it gives — seeing theatrical smoke curl, trail, and rise from the garden. The oaky smell wafting through the air. So primitive. So human.

Barbecue makes one feel omnipotent. The joy of taming an element that could so easily spiral out of control. Being patient with the flame, flipping and serving slabs of meat straight from gritty, rusty grills onto waiting plates — making the whole gathering giddy with contentment.

Then again, I am not one to volunteer to man the barbecue. No chance — because I can’t. I’m short. My face would be far too close to the grill. I could burn my face, then watch everyone’s food go up in smoke. Might as well have sushi.

So, over the bank holiday, we sat around the table, shaded by a large umbrella, drinking, chatting, and sinking our teeth into sweet, delicious meat until the sun went down and everyone was drained of energy. Then we woke up the next day and did it all over again.

That’s it, really. Pretty self-explanatory — why barbecue always goes hand in hand with a crowd. Because it’s not about what goes onto the grill. It’s about connection. Connecting with our most primal needs — to be fed, and to be together.

Man with fire.
Man with man.

With love x