Grill Inspires True Ancestral Cooking Urges

Memorial Day weekend is one of the prime barbecuing weekends of the summer, rivaled only by every other weekend of the summer.

So I thought I would share some of the history and lore of the barbecue, as well as some cooking tips that I have picked up over years of saying to guests, “Don’t worry if it looks a little raw. That’s the way pork is supposed to look.”

Humankind has been barbecuing since the taming of fire. In the prehistoric era, the techniques were rudimentary: a pit, a wood fire and - for the marshmallows - crude willow sticks.

Today when we barbecue, we are reaching back to those same vestigial memories, stored deep in our primitive cerebral cortexes. Powerful and mysterious ancestral memories are unlocked by the timeless aroma of wienies curling into blackened commas over a hot fire.

Today, millions of people all over the world enjoy the art of barbecuing, although only in North America is it actually called barbecuing. People in Indonesia, for instance, just call it cooking dinner and can’t figure out what the big deal is.

But in America, barbecuing has become a ritual with many delightful regional variations. In Texas, “barbecue” has come to refer to beautifully slow-smoked ribs and beef brisket. In the Carolinas, “barbecue” has come to mean pork cooked over a fire, then shredded and piled high on a bun. This process is referred to as “pig-pickin’,” a charming regional term which is only slightly less appetizing than “swineyankin”’ or “goat-proddin”’ or “mutton-jabbin’.” Here in the great Northwest, barbecue has come to mean lighting up the old propane reactor and tossing on anything from burgers to wienies to salmon to eggplant and cooking them ‘til sooty. We are proud to have developed our own regional style, borrowed from the cultures of Asia, Polynesia, the Mediterranean, Dallas, Oscar-Mayer, and Cro-Magnon.

Let’s go over a few basic barbecue terms: Indirect: Cooking an item not directly over the coals.

Lit up: What the cook very often is.

Briquette: A female brique.

Blackened: A cooking technique you pretend to be using when you char the catfish so severely that dental records will be required for identification.

Engine steam-cleaning: The only way you’ll ever get the grease off the grill.

Now, let’s follow a master barbecuist - I guess it might as well be myself - through a typical barbecue party:

I prefer real charcoal over propane, so as soon as the guests arrive I start the fire using the natural “chimney” method which leaves no off-taste from the starter fluid. I am free to mingle with the guests for a half-hour, at which time I check the coals, apologize for the fact that dinner will be late, and nuke the stone-cold coals with lighter fluid or vodka or unleaded gasoline or chainsaw mixture or whatever is handy. I always make sure that my wife has the phone handy to call 911.

After the coals burn to a coating of white-gray ash, I put on the longcooking items. These might be new potatoes for roasting, ribs, brisket or whole chickens. I cover the kettle and check on these 45 minutes later, and discover that I have forgotten to use the indirect method. No harm done! The food retains a crispy texture and smoky aroma, even after being extinguished with a hose.

Now, we add a few more coals to the fire, and put on the fastercooking items such as burgers and fresh king salmon filets. I preside over the kettle with spatula in hand, like a king with a scepter, although it’s hard to imagine a king wearing an apron that says, “You the Spam!” However, there’s a small problem with the salmon. When I attempt to turn it, it disintegrates into flakes and falls through the grill with a sinister hiss. Or maybe the hiss comes from the crowd, which is beginning to turn ugly. Fortunately, the burgers turn out perfectly, with the added flavor benefit of being smoked over smoldering salmon chips.

Thus ends another successful barbecue ritual. Once again, humankind has connected with its primordial roots, although, frankly, if ancient humans ruined as much food as I do, it’s a wonder the species survived.

, DataTimes The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Jim Kershner The Spokesman-Review