Sunday, May 31, 2009

No. 39

Beer: Whale's Tale Pale Ale
Date: May 28th, 2009

Place: The house, Somerville, MA

Leave it to us to throw a barbecue with friends on the one day where it gets colder than it should rightfully be in the summer, the day where 50% chance of rain is realized, the one day out of a year that we could finally get with Andi and Tony. The day right before they took off for Spain.

We'd put it off long enough weather be damned and thought that if we didn't just finally get together then it would never happen. Like volunteering or going to prison: until you finally just do it, it seems so hard to accomplish – the second you do, you get it.

The one thing that we thought would be great, at the time, when we forgot that we didn't live on the beach or in an arid or even seasonally warm place was to have a barbecue. What the weather didn't scare out of me the responsibility did.

Cooking is one thing I've never felt really accomplished in nor even really adequate. It's a skill that I think in my head belongs to those kids who have dads who teach them what to and how long to and why to grill certain things and not others and if those kids have dads who are not there or into museums or whatever else then they never learn. As of press time no one has ever died from eating my grilled bits and I reckon while I might not be a great cook I'm sure not a killer, and I don't plan on starting that up now.

So I sipped my beer talking with Tony by the grill as the chicken sausage sang, the coals died, and the party moved inside to panfry the death-factor out of the links.

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