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So I was barbecuing tonight for a family gathering and my dudes, some of it did not go well.
It was a simple BBQ brief: 'cue up 8 or 9 burgs, cheese it up, and get the meat on the table in ~ 10 minutes from preheating completion.
Simple, yeah?
So at the last minute, being a Dad, ask #TheBoy whether he wants a burg or a 'dog and because he's a kid and his dietary instincts are like his dad"s - for shit - he of course opts for a dog.
Here's where, stupidly, I somehow end up in over my head. I manage the 'burg sitchy ok, but truth be told, I really had no clue when and where to fire the dogs on to have them cook properly and finish on time with the 'burgs.
No two ways about it, I put those dogs on waaaaaay too early. When I opened the lid to put the cheese on the 'burgs, the two dogs looked like something from the final scenes of Raiders of the Lost Ark. It was like a zombie at sand and then died from dehydration in tubular form
So I took the two dessicated abominations off the grill and arranged my affairs to cook a couple replacements, thus avoiding the abuse opprobrium from my son that would have been associated with delivering those heat blistered links to #TheBoy's plate.
