It was about 5 p.m. when we started making moves.
My morning was spent in Providence, shopping it up and running (yet somehow, still failing) close to 3 miles in preparation for a race in a few weeks. The BF was there so we hopped in DeeDee and headed towards the Bean -- a friend was having a barbecue we were going to drop through.
Now, this was huge. Ever since I've been in RI, I have wanted to go to a real barbecue. Not just grilled meat in someone's dining room. A barbecue. With music. And watermelon. And pie. And people I don't know. Yeah, I wanted to go to a BBQ. So the BF and I were pretty excited about actually having plans this Independence Day.
They got cut short when we realized that none of our other friends were going to the shindig. And while we were cool with the host, we didn't want to be the only ones we knew there. So as we pulled onto his street around 5 p.m., the plan had already been hatched.
I bought a tabletop grill and charcoal on Friday, because I had a feeling I might want to barbecue this weekend. It was still in the trunk because I'd been too lazy to bring it into the house. But we needed something to grill. We hopped into the car and made a mad dash for the liquor store.
Allow me to explain. GQ had a feature on Fizz -- the bubbly carbonation added to some "adult" drinks. They came with three recipes and the BF and I decided to try a few of them out. We needed to get ingredients from the liquor store because, well, who knows how long they'd be open on a holiday. And you can have a holiday without hot dogs. You cannot have one without cocktails.
Two liquor stores later, we make it to Stop & Shop, split up and grab the fixings for a simple barbecue: beef patties, Ball Parks and baked beans. I already had some chicken marinating in the fridge.
We get to the house and unload our bounty. I ask the BF to assemble the grill -- I figure it's a tabletop, it couldn't take that much, right? I'm unpacking the groceries when I see him whizz by me, grab my car keys and say he'll be right back. I keep unpacking. Five minutes later, I'm done and I head to the back porch to check on the grill progress.
There was little. The BF had gone to get a screwdriver because they didn't have a good one in the house.
I wasn't prepared to wait.
I grabbed a folding chair and whipped out the instructions. I couldn't believe a $20 grill could be this complicated. I started twisting on washers and hand tightening things and before you know it, the BF was standing at the door behind me.
"What step are you on," he asked, a screw driver in his hand.
I peek at the directions. "Six." Of nine steps. He assembles the legs to the grill and we decide that really, we didn't need the screwdriver because everything could be tightened by hand. With a grill firmly assembled, I set about making my first charcoal fire.
The BF was assigned a more important task: mixing up those fabled cocktails.
First, I tried putting the coals in a single layer on the grill floor. They lit, but soon extinguished. So I turned to the Internet. As the sounds of "Summertime" played from the BF's speakers, I googled "how to start a charcoal fire."
I love the Internet.
In no time, I learned I needed to assemble the coals in a pyramid shape. And possibly throw some little newspaper balls (pause) in the midst to keep the fires burning. I assembled, lit and waited. It was getting dark and I was getting hungry. I went to check on the coals. Some were glowing, some were ashen, others were black. I rearranged the black coals so they could get more heat and threw a few more paper balls into the mix. By the time I'd whipped up an impromptu macaroni salad (please get like me), my coals were glowing red and ashen. It was time to cook.
It was about 7:30 when I put the first pieces of chicken on the grill. The vinegar in the marinade made it flame up, and I worried that maybe barbecuing in the dark on a wooden porch wasn't a good idea. I tried to arrange the various meats around the grill so they'd get varying levels of heat. Chicken in the hotter places, burgers next and hot dogs around the perimeter.
Meanwhile, the BF stumbled upon what I believe is my new boogie: the Gin Fizz. And it's super simple: equal parts gin, simple syrup, lemon juice, club soda. That's it! And it tastes like divine lemonade.
It didn't take long for the food to cook and I even caught a glimpse of some fireworks from over the treeline in the backyard. I piled the cooked meat into a disposable pan and headed inside.
"Food's ready, guys," I yelled to the BF, his roomie (Magic) and another friend who'd popped by. We fixed our plates, dilly-dallied a bit and then sat down to eat. By the middle of my pasta salad, I started to feel the fizz creep up on me. The BF and I sat amazed at how (relatively) simple this had all been. And while we were always sulking about not having a barbecue to go to, we realized, it's not that hard to throw one. We did it in about 3 hours.
Now we just gotta find some people to invite.