BBQ Etiquette

Yep...that about sums it up!!!

Hehe, that was funny!!

It sounds good to me. I don't see a problem with it... :bigsmile: :bigsmile:

Oh my, thanks for the chuckle today!

oh man...right on!!!

:laugh:
Except...I'm also the one doing the grilling.

The Tong Master


Mike was at the barbecue and Dwight was at the barbecue and I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them alone. We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational force, a man-magnet. Dwight said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I reckon the thin ones could use a turn, Mike said yeah they really need a turn it was a unanimous turning decision.
Mike was the Tong-Master, a true artist, he gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto their little backs. A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard; the sausages would've gone full circle, back to where they started. Nice, I said. The others went yeah.
Ron was passing us, he heard the siren-song- sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning, Ronnnnnn ...come. He stuck his head in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle; Mike shuffled to the left, Dwight shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left, Ron slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer. Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Mike gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers -fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental. The jalapenos were tiny, they could easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten hot-bead-netherworld below. Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the grill, clever thinking. Mike snapped his tongs with approval; there was no greater barbecue honour.
Carlos came along, he said looking good, the irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and did the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Ron, we sipped our beer. Five men, lots of sausages. Dwight was the Fork-pronger; he had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he showed a lot of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire holes up and down the casing. Carlos was shaking his head, he said I reckon they cook better if you don't poke them.
There was a long silence, you could have heard a jalapeno drop, and this newcomer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; first the Tong-master, then the Sausage-layer, then the Fork-pronger -and everyone below was just a watcher. Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now -don't rock the Weber.






Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said. She was trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads down and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah yeah yeah, but making no room for her. She was keen, going round to the far side of the barbecue, heading for the only available space . . . the gap in the circle where all the smoke and ashes blew. Nobody could survive the gap; Dianne was going to try. She stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes filling her nostrils, sausage fat spattering all over her arms and face. Until she couldn't take it anymore, she gave up, backed off. Ron waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our beer, yeah.
Mike handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility? Yes, I was. I held them up high and they glinted in the sun. Don't forget to turn the thin ones Mike said as he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing toward the house. Yeah I called back, I will, I will. I snapped them twice, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little bellies. I was a natural, I was the TONG-MASTER.
But only until Mike got back from the toilet.

Love the tong-master story...well-written

BBQ RULES

We are about to enter the BBQ season.
Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity.

When a man volunteers to do the BBQ'ing.... the following chain of events are put into motion:

The Routine...
(1) The woman buys the food.
(2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.
(3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill - beer in hand.
(4) The woman remains outside the compulsory three meter exclusion zone where the exuberance of testosterone and other manly bonding activities can take place without the interference of the woman.

Here comes the important part:

(5) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.

More routine...
(6) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
(7) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is looking great. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he flips the meat.

Important again:
(8) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.

More routine...
(9) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table.
(10) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.

And most important of all:

(11) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.
(12) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed ' her night off ' and, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there's just no pleasing some women!!


I thought we should set the ground rules before the season begins.......Ladies, Enjoy!

YOU TOTALLY HIT THE NAIL ON THE HEAD WITH THAT ONE!!!!!!! LMAO :laugh:

HILARIOUS:laugh: :laugh: :laugh: & SOOOOOO TRUE:bigsmile:

Of course we gave Dianne a beer. We like Dianne.

Too funny! If the Packers are on I usually have to take the meat off the grill. My distracted husband will get sucked into the game and let it burn. :laugh:

The Tong Master


Mike was at the barbecue and Dwight was at the barbecue and I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them alone. We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational force, a man-magnet. Dwight said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I reckon the thin ones could use a turn, Mike said yeah they really need a turn it was a unanimous turning decision.
Mike was the Tong-Master, a true artist, he gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto their little backs. A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard; the sausages would've gone full circle, back to where they started. Nice, I said. The others went yeah.
Ron was passing us, he heard the siren-song- sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning, Ronnnnnn ...come. He stuck his head in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle; Mike shuffled to the left, Dwight shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left, Ron slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer. Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Mike gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers -fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental. The jalapenos were tiny, they could easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten hot-bead-netherworld below. Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the grill, clever thinking. Mike snapped his tongs with approval; there was no greater barbecue honour.
Carlos came along, he said looking good, the irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and did the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Ron, we sipped our beer. Five men, lots of sausages. Dwight was the Fork-pronger; he had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he showed a lot of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire holes up and down the casing. Carlos was shaking his head, he said I reckon they cook better if you don't poke them.
There was a long silence, you could have heard a jalapeno drop, and this newcomer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; first the Tong-master, then the Sausage-layer, then the Fork-pronger -and everyone below was just a watcher. Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now -don't rock the Weber.






Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said. She was trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads down and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah yeah yeah, but making no room for her. She was keen, going round to the far side of the barbecue, heading for the only available space . . . the gap in the circle where all the smoke and ashes blew. Nobody could survive the gap; Dianne was going to try. She stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes filling her nostrils, sausage fat spattering all over her arms and face. Until she couldn't take it anymore, she gave up, backed off. Ron waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our beer, yeah.
Mike handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility? Yes, I was. I held them up high and they glinted in the sun. Don't forget to turn the thin ones Mike said as he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing toward the house. Yeah I called back, I will, I will. I snapped them twice, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little bellies. I was a natural, I was the TONG-MASTER.
But only until Mike got back from the toilet.

This produced a bunch of giggling here!!.........ahhh guys and their "pits"...what a brotherhood!!...LMAO!

Hilarious! So true.. love the rules and the story! I'm lucky, at least my husband prepares the meat too, lol.

Ahhhh, bbq-topia