Barbecues are almost always bad

Spectator

9 hours ago

I will never forget the horror of walking into the breakfast room, jet-lagged to hell, in a hotel in Chicago, looking for coffee and a sugar hit to wake me up. I was hit with the stench of barbecue, in waves. It was being deliberately wafted through the ventilation system. Apparently this is to help get the appetite going, but it had the opposite effect on me.
As I discovered during that trip, barbecue can be a beautiful thing; Chicago is known for its great smokehouses and rib tips. The fake smell, manufactured especially for hotels and the kind of smokehouses that buy their ribs in, bore no relation to the real thing. Closer to home, there are those local Turkish restaurants on Green Lanes in north London, with their enormous, hooded charcoal grills located at the entrance, allowing the copious smoke to escape outdoors.
Why, when so many professionals are doing great barbecue, would you even consider doing it yourself? Yes, some people have those huge, wildly expensive outdoor grills (invariably presided over by men, while the women make the salads). Barbecuing is a dude activity, with men brandishing their tongs like they are comparing penis size. I've seen their aprons, with 'My Grill, My Rules', or 'I Rub My Meat' splashed across their manly chests as they flame the hell out of everything, making sure that the ubiquitous chicken drumsticks are salmonella on one side and burned on the other. Meanwhile, the vegetarian option – inevitably shoe-leather aubergine and massive chunks of bitter green pepper, tasteless tomato and onion on a skewer – is as unappealing as possible.
At a house barbecue, so much time and effort goes into firing up the grill that the very things that make such a meal delicious – such as freshly made marinades – are usually shop-bought. Then there is the timing: everything takes way longer than it should, leaving guests standing around drinking too much in the heat. That is, unless the weather has broken and they are cowering – cold, starving hungry, and wishing they could order a pizza – in a corner of your kitchen.
Copious flies and stinging insects usually turn up to join in the fun, and I can only imagine the horror involved in cleaning the machine afterwards.
I fully admit to having been stupid enough, once, to buy a couple of disposable barbecues. My only excuse is that I was sun-kissed and happy at the thought of eating outdoors. I dragged them home, along with some sausages and chicken wings, and set about making lunch. The experience left me with discoloured paving stones, complaints from the neighbours, and a hefty bill for takeaway food. In my excitement, I'd invited a few friends over, all of whom were very polite, but they were more interested in eating than they were in watching me burn my fingers and get fat splattered over my nice shirt.
Barbecuing is a dude activity, with men brandishing their tongs like they are comparing penis size
The problem is, I think, the false assumption that barbecuing requires no culinary skill. Yet the fine line between a half-raw sausage and the burned and uneatable version is probably about 90 seconds – or the exact amount of time it takes to leave the grill to pour yourself a Pimm's (a vile drink that always makes an appearance once the sun breaks through the clouds).
To someone like me, who is very squeamish about food hygiene, the barbecue is a nightmare. Most of it, including of course the greasy meat items, needs to be eaten by hand, with knives and forks being of only limited use. There are never enough napkins or wet wipes to hand. Somehow, the idea of spending an afternoon in the sun with animal fat on my chin does not appeal.
I love barbecue only when it is the work of consummate professionals, either in a setting conducive to the process or in an air-conditioned restaurant. The only decent home barbecue I have ever had was in Turkey where, for about eight months a year, those with enough outdoor space go indoors only to sleep. On this occasion, my hosts had an entire outdoor kitchen equipped with work surfaces, fridge, freezer – and the biggest barbecue grill I've ever seen, fired by freshly chopped wood that lent a delicious smoky flavour to the food. The marinades were fresh and simple, and the salads gleamed with local olive oil and lemons from their own trees. The art of the barbecue should be left to the experts. If the sun is shining and you fancy eating outdoors, surely it's easier to just put out cold cuts, a cheese board, and some delicious salads? Leave your comedy apron and lighter fuel alone, and enjoy the added value of avoiding both food poisoning – and arguments over who cleans the grill.