On a recent trip to Philadelphia, I went to dinner with friends at a famous barbecue restaurant. Some of us were pretty hungry but, as usual, I was just homely hungry. Still, by the time we arrived, we could have eaten our meal off the lid of a garbage can.
To my surprise, this is what occurred.
Those of us who were at the point of imaginary starvation ordered a special designed for at least four large people, the sort of big eaters confident that their belts will not burst and send their buckles flying like shrapnel into the crowd of diners.
What a struggle it was for our poor waitress to bring the creaking load of ribs, brisket, chicken, beans, corn on the cob and corn bread to our table.
Yes, it was all piled high on the lid of a garbage can, presumably a clean one. Well, that awoke my inner raccoon, I can tell you.
It was called the BBQ Feast, or perhaps the Pig-Out Serving, or the Fatso Delight, or the Grub of Greed, or the Mountain o' Meat (and Corn Bread).
Actually, I am not quite sure what it was called. By the time I had finished the meal, my cheeks and the rest of me had become so larded that I could only squint to check the menu.
Not to endorse obesity, but oh it was good! Moreover, there were no wives present to say "ew!" -- the universal note of female disapproval -- at the sight of the tasty slag heap of food on the garbage can lid.
When I got back to Pittsburgh, the first thing I wanted to do was to fire up the old grill to relive the magic. Over the winter, it had hibernated, becoming even more rusty.
This was not a bad thing. It is possible for a person to get a daily quota of essential iron off the average American grill in addition to ingesting an alphabet list of vitamins from the delicacies long ago grilled and melded into the grilling structure. That is what makes this the home of the brave.
It is always important to choose a recipe carefully for the first grilling experience of the year. I always play it safe with an old standby, Dead Things in a Sauce. Of course, I do not serve meals on the lids of garbage cans. Never mind my inner raccoon. We need our lids to ensure that we only have outer raccoons around the bins.
In my recipe, you as grill master can choose your own dead things -- beef, chicken etc. The essential point is that you put the meat on the grill and then forget about it (beer can help in this). When great clouds of smoke summon your spouse or the local fire company, whoever arrives first, that means the food is done! So are you! Have another beer!
(If you are a vegetarian, don't feel left out. Just substitute rutabagas for dead things.)
As for the sauce, that is a very personal choice for consenting adult diners. Great dollops of Heinz ketchup, a Pittsburgh original, are always acceptable.
But for the exotic touch, I have become enamored of Salsa Lizano, which I discovered on my recent trip to Costa Rica. It is made from vegetables, not lizards, as the name might suggest, so you don't have to worry about having a Night of the Iguana dining experience.
I hope you do not think me too highfalutin for favoring a foreign sauce over more straightforward condiments. Unbelievably, this happened to President Barack Obama last week after he went out to lunch at a burger joint with Vice President Joe Biden, who talks like he is always out to lunch.
Various right-wing ratbags took the president to task for his elitist ways -- because he asked for spicy or Dijon mustard with his cheeseburger. As you know, Dijon mustard is morally suspect, as it comes from France.
In a just world, commentators like this would find their heads between cymbals when the cymbal players were using trash-can lids not yet cleaned from a BBQ feast.
I have news for the likes of Sean Hannity of Fox News: In America, we have the right to choose our own condiments. In America, we hold these truths to be self-evident: One man's ketchup is another man's Dijon and you can pry the plastic squeeze bottle from our cold, dead fingers before we will surrender our right to keep and apply sauces.
For this land is your land, and this land is my land, and this sauce is your sauce and this sauce is my sauce, so keep your grubby fingers and opinions off mine. You don't mess with the rights of eaters in a great land where BBQ is served on garbage can lids.
First Published: May 13, 2009, 4:00 a.m.