The Great Grillmaster in the Sky

Carrying on my dad's legacy

Yesterday was Father’s Day, a notoriously weird holiday for anyone without a dad. I’m one of those lucky people who had a dad once (and a Good Dad at that), but five years ago he died and things haven’t been the same since.

Every year the same few commemorative days come around: his birthday, his death day, and Father’s Day. Of all the days out of the year, those are the ones most likely to put me in a funk. My emotional state can range from why-am-I-crying-in-the-grocery-store sad to just a general sense that things feel off.

Yesterday was more the latter, and I took my usual Father’s Day precautions to prevent spiraling into the former. I largely avoided social media and my inbox, which is always full of ads, posts, press releases, and newsletters that have something to do with dads. That in itself isn’t too big of a deal, but it does make me feel low when I come across something that maybe my dad would have liked, or see something that would have been fun to do together. So my safest bet is just to keep to myself and stay offline.

All in all, it was a pretty average Sunday. The weather was nice, so my partner Ryan and I decided it was time to test out our new grill (which was gifted to us as a surprise by his parents). We actually did not plan to do our inaugural grill on Father’s Day, but that’s just how the cookie crumbled. And I think my dad would have been proud.

For those of you who didn’t know my dad, Steve Walter was the Grillmaster Extrodinaire. In the summertime, we could count on him to cook up the best burgers, ribs, chicken, and brats. The ribs were my favorite, since he always grilled them to perfection — tender and falling off the bone, with a generous layer of dry rub or completely slathered in BBQ sauce.

And yet, he was humble about his cooking — to the point of self-depreciation. We’d all sit down to eat and he’d ask, “do you like it?” and of course we’d say “yes!” Then he’d reply something like, “you don’t like it. These are the worst ribs you’ve ever had.” And we’d have to insist, “no, dad, these are really good!” He liked to tease, so it was all in good fun, though I hope he actually believed what we said.

Since my dad died, no cookout I’ve been to can compare to what he grilled up. That’s not to say I haven’t had good BBQ in five years — quite the opposite, between local restaurants and family gatherings. But the nostalgia for my dad standing at the propane grill in my childhood backyard while the smell of roasting meats wafted in the air pales everything in comparison.

Losing someone close to you means that you also lose traditions. I know that I’ll never get to watch my dad grill again, or pound through a pile of ribs at my family’s kitchen table while he asks for an off-the-cuff review of his cooking. But I can create new traditions — in this case, ones that center around our new charcoal grill.

Yesterday, Ryan and I spent a half hour fumbling to get the thing to light. Initially we didn’t use enough lighter fluid, so we couldn’t even get a flame going in the charcoal pile. When we finally succeeded, we realized that you have to let the grill sit for another 30 minutes before it’s even ready too cook. Ugh. “I get now why people drink when they’re grilling,” Ryan said.

We grabbed a few beers and some snacks and waited in the garage. Then, our neighbor-friends spontaneously showed up and joined us. It was nice to have some company — and also led us to plan a future outing where we’d all grill together.

Once it was time to cook, I brought out four tinfoil-wrapped veggie packets and placed them one-by-one on the metal rack. After 45 minutes, we began to smell the roasted veggies mixed with the scent of charcoal. Mmmm.

I took the packets out and cooked five brats afterward. (No ribs this time, but we’ll get there.) We were outside for about two and a half hours total, which is quite a while to cook dinner. I guess I forgot that grilling is supposed to be a social thing, where you get your friends and family together in order to pass the time while waiting for food.

It makes sense why I am so partial to my dad’s grilling. Though I truly believe he had a supreme taste for barbequed meats, there was something special about the days when he chose to grill. It was an hours-long process of preparing, cooking, tending-to, serving, eating, and cleaning up. Our backyard transformed into a BBQ joint, filled us with anticipation, and gave us a meal we couldn’t forget.

I hope our little blue charcoal grill helps us carry on that legacy.