Welcome to Grill-osophy 101

I have to come clean. I am a heavy smoker. But it gets even worse than that.

I am also a habitual griller.

There is no brisket, turkey breast or rack of ribs safe with me around. In my house, I am the Maestro of Meat, the Sultan of Steak, the Boss of Beef, the Prince of Pork, and even the V.I.P. of Veggies. If it once moo’d, oinked, clucked, or made whatever noise fish or vegetables make, then it has probably experienced the business end of one of my smokers or grills.

Yes, you heard me right. I’m such a man that I have multiple smokers and grills. Most of my weekends are spent beating my chest, grunting, and grilling. By the end of a Sunday, if my knuckles aren’t bleeding and I don’t smell like I’ve been laying in a campfire pit for a week, then I did something wrong.

There is a purpose for each of my grill babies. My offset smoker is for when I want to smoke the larger hunks of a beast. The electric smoker is for the smaller portions and when I don’t feel like wasting a chimney of charcoal or a pile of wood. The Weber charcoal grill is for when I want to get back to my basic roots.

And then there’s my Blackstone propane griddle. This is my youngest child, my newest toy.

Oh, I’ve been spending a lot of time with this bad boy!

When I suit up to take this grill for a drive, I feel like a master hibachi chef. I have all the same tools. I make clanking sounds with the metal spatulas. I attempt an onion volcano that turns out to be more of a smokeless, onion bunny hill. Who cares? It’s still awesome. And if you’re standing outside with me, go ahead and open your shirt pockets, because here come the flying shrimp tails!

Now that you know the purpose for these prodigious contraptions, I’d like to welcome you to my Grill-osophy class. Consider this column your syllabus. While I am aware that I’m sitting here spewing out hefty amounts of testosterone, I also realize that there are just as many women who excel at the BBQ pit as there are men. So, henceforth, I will refer to any home chef as a grill master, or GM for short. Mainly, so my wife doesn’t smack me for being a sexist pig.

Since this is the first day of class, we need to go over all the ground rules. These are exceptionally important, so pull out your pen and butcher paper.

Rule No. 1

Never touch another GM’s grill. This is simple, but pivotal. The smoker or grill is the GM’s domain. Enter at your own risk. You don’t like when others mess with your stuff. So, keep your oven mitts to yourself.

Rule No. 2

Never critique another GM’s grilling style. Don’t tell me to turn the heat up or down or show me how to adjust the pipe on my smoker. We all cook differently since we probably watch different YouTube cooking channels to hone our skills, so BACK OFF! Sorry, did I yell? I get passionate about these things.

Rule No. 3

Never ask a GM to cook something well-done. It goes against a GM’s instincts and all rules of nature. Don’t be that guy. Just don’t. If I ever cook anything past medium rare, it should be because it was my turn in the cornhole game and I neglected to check the internal temperature of the meat in a timely fashion.

Rule No. 4

Never ask a GM for steak sauce or ketchup. Would you like it if someone walked up to you and said, “You know what? You suck!” This is exactly how a GM feels when you ask for steak sauce. So, have a heart. Eat what you’re given.

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So, that’s all for today’s class. The moral of the story is … where there’s smoke there’s fire. Hopefully with a well-seasoned steak on top of it! Enjoy, my fellow grill masters! I’ll see you at the next Grunters Anonymous meeting.

Tim Rathz can be reached at 40somethinginfishers@gmail.com. Follow on Facebook or Instagram.