LET’S FACE it – we just cannot handle hot weather in this country, and perhaps it is just as well we do not have too much of it or we would make complete idiots out of ourselves altogether.
Now, I fully accept we cannot handle very cold weather either, but it is the hot weather that leads us into areas where we should not venture, the most dangerous one being barbecue land.
We get one day’s sunshine and the next thing out comes the barbecue, complete with charcoal briquettes and firelighters – and I suspect there are a few people who use flamethrowers into the bargain.
Your average Irish suburban area in sunshine looks exactly like a war zone that had been visited by bombers dropping napalm. Huddled around the back gardens are badly burned red- and white-striped people.
These are the ordinary citizens who ventured out into the sun with or without sunblock or proper hats or cover and are badly sunburned by the rare visitation of the sun.
Above them hangs a pallor of smoke which would remind one of the sky photographed when Saddam Hussein was retreating back to his own country during the first Gulf War and he set fire to all the oil wells . . . remember? A similar sight could be viewed in suburbia, and with it the strong smell of burning oil wafting in and out of the streets and houses.
The streets become deserted while all activity heads to the back gardens.
The food has either been overcooked to a cinder or is raw, but all the time the sun’s dying rays are being hidden by the smoke. Small sunburned children squat waiting for badly burned daddies to feed them.
I have a terrible confession to make. I dragged out the barbecue and found out for the umpteenth time that I must be the single most unsuccessful barbi-man in suburbia.
I first soaked the briquettes of charcoal in special lighting fuel and made a small pyramid of them, as instructed, in the centre of the barbecue. I then tried to light them with a match and, of course, they failed to ignite.
I resorted to plan B which, as you all know, is not a great idea. I found unused firelighters under the sink and cheerfully put them under the briquettes that I had already soaked with the lighter fuel.
There was no problem with ignition on this occasion and I hope my eyebrows grow back quickly. The burns I received to my wrists and arms were lessened by the fact I was already suffering from sunburn, so a little extra pain made little difference.
When the flames died down and the barbecue lid stopped glowing like a red-hot poker, I was sure I had cracked it. I felt very included as there was a good strong smell of burning oil and plenty of smoke coming up from my back garden and so I felt very neighbourly.
But dammit, when I lifted the lid, the charcoal was still as black as soot, and I heeded the warning that cooking could only be done when the briquettes are covered by a fine white ash.
I closed down the lid again and the plume of smoke continued to rise up into the evening sky like a small volcano.
Twenty minutes later, I checked again and only one or two of the charcoal pieces looked suitable enough for cooking, even though you could have fried an egg on either of my arms or forehead, and I smelled like a troop of boy scouts.
Then I had another flash of inspiration. I spotted a very cunning piece of garden equipment, the weed burner which is a gas-operated device to burn unwanted weeds. I lit it and approached the smoking barbecue and blasted the charcoal.
It was magic. I added more briquettes and bingo, it was cooking time.
Steaks are easy to handle on a barbecue grill, but I can tell you, never attempt to use wooden skewers for cooking mushrooms, onions or anything else on the barbecue. I did not have steel ones, and I watched in horror, as my mushrooms and onions dropped one after the other through the grill into the white ash.
I did burn my thumbs when I took the hot plates out of the oven in the kitchen but that only added to the excitement of the evening. The steaks tasted magnificent. I did get an aftertaste of the firelighters – but not too much. I managed to rescue one slice of onion and a badly charred mushroom.
It was nearly midnight before I managed to get to eat and most of my neighbours were either in bed, coming home from the pub or watching television, but I don’t begrudge them that.
May the Lord forgive me, but fuelled by my mini-victory of the night before, armed with my weed burner, charcoal and a few lovely pork chops, I decided to try a second go the following evening.
I built the pyramid, blasted it with the weed burner and in no time at all, I had a shimmering barbecue with ash-covered briquettes in less than 30 minutes and a quarter bottle of good French red wine.
I cooked the mushrooms and onions in the electric oven, using oven gloves to extract them on hot plates from the oven. I checked the grill, all was well – except I had run out of briquettes and the cooking area on the grill was only the size of a small plate.
I had well-cooked mushrooms and onions with undergrilled pork chops and the rest of the wine.
Roll on the average, Irish wet summer. Goodbye to the barbecue.