Jonny McCambridge: Barbecueing - there must be more to it than burgers and sausages

I move to the bottom of the stairs and shout up. "What have you done with my tongs?”

“What are you talking about?” my wife responds, a familiar trace of tired resignation in her voice. “My tongs...my barbecue tongs! Where have you put them?”

“I didn’t touch any flipping barbecue tongs. When did you last have them?”

I think about this for a moment before responding in a calm and assured tone. “Last July…but I know exactly where they were supposed to be…you must have moved them…."

Several years ago, I bought a gas barbecue; a very large barbecue. It was much bigger than I needed, and cost more than it was surely wise to pay.

I told myself at the time that I would justify the expense through the huge number of times I intended to use the shiny new cooking vessel.

Cooking indoors would become a thing of the past, the conventional oven would be all but redundant. There would be nothing that I couldn’t and wouldn’t cook on my imposing grill.

I intended to become a prolific aficionado of the art of cooking over a flame in the open air.

In all the years since I’ve used the barbecue on a handful of occasions. I can’t be exact, but it probably gets wheeled out on average about twice each summer. I used to have a large garden shed where it was stored.

Then the large garden shed fell down and the barbecue was too big to fit in the new smaller garden shed. Since then I have kept it outside but covered under a broad black tarpaulin.

Over the past year the sheet has begun to disintegrate in the face of harsh weather conditions. The barbecue has been soaked by the rain and buffeted by the wind. It is not so shiny as it once was.

I go back to the bottom of the stairs. Again, I shout up. "It’s a disgrace how seldom we have used the barbecue. All the money I spent on it. This summer I’m going to make sure I use it every single night.”

“You say this at the start of every summer,” my wife responds wearily. “And the enthusiasm always wears off after a day or two.”

Stung by this response, I take a moment to regain my composure. “Well, this year will be different. We’ll start by having barbecue tonight.”

“Ok then, but you’ll have to go to the shop to get the burgers and sausages.”

I shake my head sadly. “Every time I use the barbecue we end up having burgers and sausages. There are a lot more things you can cook on it than burgers and sausages, you know.”

“What else do you want to cook on it then?”

“Well…um….well, you can cook anything on a barbecue, so you can.”

“That’s grand then, I’ll look forward to it.”

I move away from the bottom of the stairs, mumbling bitterly under my breath. I go into the back garden where the grass is turning yellow and the soil cracked and dry after several weeks without rain.

I try to shake off the lethargy brought on by the stifling heat and haul what is left of the tattered tarpaulin off the giant barbecue. I notice the spreading patches of rust as I roll my hand over the exterior silver surface.

I open the lid and the first thing I see are multiple tiny insects startled by the sudden invasion of light, scurrying for cover.

The second thing I see are my missing barbecue tongs.

“There you are…right where I left you.”

I spend some time cleaning the barbecue. This involves removing all detachable parts and fitting those that are small enough into the dishwasher.

The rest are bleached and scrubbed with a wire brush. The unit is wheeled into the middle of the lawn where I hose it down before allowing it to dry under the harsh midday sun.

Then I go back inside. "We’re having barbecue tonight,” I proudly announce to my son, who is sitting in the front room, engrossed in a computer game.

“Yay,” he says, not bothering to remove his eyes from the screen and without displaying any obvious enthusiasm.

I try again. “Is there anything you’d particularly like me to make for you on the barbecue?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno. Burgers and sausages.”

I leave the room without further comment. I shout up the stairs. "I’m off to the shop to buy food for the barbecue.”

“Don’t forget to get ketchup for the burgers!”

Some minutes later I’m sitting in the supermarket car park staring at my phone. I have Googled ‘barbecue recipes’ and am scrolling through some of the rich variation of dishes that I could potentially cook.

Korean chilli, sesame and honey chicken. Spiced pork kebabs with chopped salad and flatbread. Rum-glazed grilled pineapple with lime crème fraiche. Crispy potato, pepper and chorizo skewers. Piri-Piri pork ribs. Barbecued ribs of beef with bearnaise sauce. Spatchcock gochujang chicken. Griddled vegetables with melting aubergines.

It is exactly as I always thought, the possibilities are endless. I am mumbling contentedly to myself as I locate a piece of paper and begin to scratch out a rough shopping list.

There are a few factors to consider. How much will the ingredients cost? What will my son actually eat? Are there ingredients which might prove difficult to find? How long will it take to prepare and cook? I spend a few more minutes scrolling through recipes before I come to a final decision.

Half an hour later I arrive back home. My wife shouts down to me from upstairs.

‘Well? What did you get in the end?’

“Burgers and sausages,” I respond, quickly moving on towards the back yard and my barbecue before I can be interrogated further.