Amerika; Ist Wunderbar!

Today is the Fourth of July. In the United States of America, this means it's the day when even B. Hussein Obama pretends to like this country – and he perhaps even remembers to wear a flag pin the right way up.

I've been in the USA for about a year and a half now, and feel that I have correctly assimilated your culture. To wit, I drive a Hummer to my mail box.

But, there is one aspect of American Kulture which I feel that I have not yet truly assimilated – and this is the barbecue. While it is indeed the case that Liza and I own a grill, I felt that my masculinity was being impugned by the fact that it was only just big enough to cook a single chicken. It's a bit like going in the communal shower and seeing that your wedding tackle is embarrassingly small – it doesn't matter how effective it might be, you want something a little more impressive.

(Just so everyone knows, my wedding tackle is freakishly awesome. I was merely using that as an example.)

So, on this 4th of July weekend, Liza and I bit the bullet and went to Kroger and purchased their special offer (actually, we purchased several special offers – one of which was every single burger in the place because they were half off) – a grill large enough to cook a fully-grown bear.

No, seriously.

Look, I have taken a long, hard look at your culture. I have eaten Key Lime pie, I have read Hemmingway, I am not a Communist. And I think that the only centrally-unifying theme which you have is the fact that you tend to cook outside. Which, from a practical point of view, I understand. When your homes began life as a buffalo hide stretched over three poles, graduated to a log cabin, even today are built of untreated pine and plaster, and even the large, stone structures tend to get burned down in wars of 1812 (in your face!) this isn't the worst idea you have had.

No, the worst idea was that universal franchise thing – we tried to warn you. There are some people who cannot be trusted with the vote. I refer to them as Democrats, or – as Ann Coulter calls them – traitors.

Hey, I didn't say it myself.

So, the grill which is large enough to cook a fully-grown bear. It is a dual fuel model – with one side for charcoal, and another for gas. It has a side burner, and a condiment tray. Yeah, bitches – a condiment tray. You don't see that anywhere but on the finest grills. Because, as all men of learning know, serious pit masters don't wanna reach for the 'chup and 'stard any further than they have to.

(The term “pit master” is not, as some of my chums from Yorkshire will think, a title given to “t'bloke in charge of t'pit”. It, in fact, refers to the barbecuer, the dude with the oven mitt and the tongs. Some people might think that the feminine is “pit mistress”. To people such as this I say; the Hell with that noise. Women don't go near a grill such as this – it is a magnet of such masculine potency that any woman coming within five feet of it would immediately turn into a Russian shotputter.)

(As a matter of interest, I picked up the term “pit master” from a TV show on PBS which – the weekend before the 4th – ran for about ten straight hours! Yeah, one episode after another of this dude with shades and a Tony Stark beard incinerating every single kind of animal that walks, crawls, swims or flies in this country from sea to shining sea. Actually, I think he may have gone a fair way into the sea itself – Blue Whale Steaks with Cilantro sound really pimp.)

We went and got this grill, as I mentioned above, from the Kroger store and not from the store which actually specializes in such things. Do you know why? I'll tell you why – the grill store appears to charge about twice as much for the same product. I'm a serious pit master, not Rockefeller!

Anyway, we buy this thing – which masses somewhere in the region of a metric ton. We get the thing home and I open it up and lay all the pieces-parts out on the ground.

That is, if you will forgive me, a lot of pieces to simply construct what is, basically, just an upgraded firepit. Still, I set to work.



That's me fitting the wheels on – you will notice I am hammering in some little end caps. Liza and I had the devil of a job finding them. They were stuffed inside a little bag which was stuffed inside some kind of grill – a grill which was liberally coated with some kind of extra-galactic slime. I jest ye not – slime. Sticky slime that got all over my hands and stuck the screwdriver to my palms. What's that all about? Is this some kind of Islamic Terrorist plot to mess up my grilling on the 4th? “Ah, yes, Achmed” (note, Achmed must be pronounced with extra-phlegm) “Let us defeat the infidel west by covering their grills in sticky-slime!”

Damn you, terrorist! I'm going to grill anyway – and I'm going to grill pork!

Well, not today, as it's Friday.

After a few minutes of not too hard work (this is America, after all) I had produced the following;

There is a thing attached to the grill with a chain – I have no idea what the Hell it is. Look at it;

Anyone know? I certainly don't – it confuses me. It is a long bit of wire with a squirly end. I have no concept of what to do with this. Do pit masters heat it up and brand themselves with it? I think that must be the explanation – burn-scar tissue is like a Saville Row suit when you're naked!

At this point, the element I was somewhat worried about. So far, this whole assembly has just been a big Meccano kit (note to Americans, you don't have Meccano – you call it an “erector set”. Note to non-Americans, no lie. They call their version of Meccano an “erector set”. Only in the USA with its complete failure to understand innuendo could they call a child's toy a term which means “a set which causes to be erect” with a completely straight face. Viz; “That's quite an erector set you have there.” “Yes, indeed – it's Bianca Beauchamp and Kim Kardashian wrestling nude in baby-oil.”)

What is that, now? The third penis reference? I lose count.

Where was I? Oh yes, Meccano.

So far this has just been a case of shoving bolts in holes and screwing them tight (fnar-fnar). But now we get to slap the gas elements in – the “control panel” (basically, three turny-valve-things) and the side burner. Yeah, this thing comes with a condiment tray AND a side burner. I warn you, it is so pimp that even the uncool crowd will find themselves spontaneously mutating into Henry Winkler as they approach this thing.

However, this device has been designed to be so simple even a child could put it together (a child in this country is, of course, not allowed to purchase a grill – because then they might be able to celebrate the abortion they can get without their parents' knowledge with a cook out, and we can't have that. Remember, kids – wholesale murder of children is a-okay provided you don't cut down any trees or say any prayers while doing it!)

The end result of the worrying about gas is that I have now installed my side burner with no real difficulty, allowing me (ironically enough) to heat my beans without moving. And, as well all know, the purpose of grilling outside is to eat as much as possible and burn off as few calories as possible. It is this that won the Cold War – that and the fact Communism really sucks, obviously.

Now came the part which was, on paper, really easy but was, in fact, quite tricky. Why, you ask? I shall tell you – by means of a tale from my youth.

A friend of mine, Alison Munro, back in the UK, bought a great big house – huge thing, looked like a Republican wedding cake (rich, white, square). Massive garden. Also bought a big old greenhouse to go in the garden. Greenhouse is another one of these Meccanno kits on steroids / erector sets on Viagra – the instructions say “You and your friend can assemble this in about two hours”.

You and your friend? Two hours? Let me tell you, myself, Alison, her boyfriend John and our friends Jenny (a medical doctor, no less) & Sara took eight hours to assemble that damn thing. Eight freaking hours.

You and a friend? Two hours? Let me tell you, the only way you are going to be able to assemble that thing in two hours with just a friend is if your friend is some kind of octopus with a degree in civil engineering. Two hours my ass.

The issue was insufficient hands – human beings only have two of them. And the grill now required at least three. Helpfully, the instructions tell you to get your helper at this point.

(Actually, ONE set of instructions tell you to do this – the others tell you to get your helper in Spanish. Am I the only one who is ticked off by having to press one for English? I live in the USA – I shouldn't have to press one for English. You know what? I personally think it should go like this. “For English – the language of the Founding Fathers, the people who wrote the Constitution and built this country from nothing – don't do a damn thing. For Spanish – the language of people who can't be bothered to accept our culture yet want our dollars – dial Pi.”)

So, I get my helper – who proceeds to attempt to take a photograph of the grill in its unfinished state when all the stuff is wonky because I haven't put the hinge bolts in, and can't – because (like most humans) I am not some kind of octopus with a degree in civil engineering. I prevent the image being taken in my best “Paparazzi baiter” manner.

The bolts go in without too much trouble, and the end result is thus. Shown is me, holding the English instructions. Not shown are the Spanish ones (I am lighting the first fire on the grill with those).

And that was basically it – a few more things applied to it, the grill plates put on, the little warming trays hung in place and so forth and we are ready for the final photo opportunity.

Behold the total awesomeness of the interior of this bear-roasting monster!

We Christen the grill tonight – we are having grilled oysters with barbecue sauce and lemon-herb butter, and shrimp, and pineapple, and corn on the cob and that.

God bless America. Where else can you get a grill so large its carbon footprint can be seen from space?