Beat you to it fellas, it’s BBQ season!

Hot fellas, HOT! That’s the way to do it, uh-huh. “Mütter können  nicht ständig die Welt retten, sie müssen auch noch kochen.” – “Mothers cannot constantly save the world, they have to cook as well”. Or, as I once read in a diner’s in the Mojave desert: “What took me two hours to cook, should take you at least ten minutes to eat”.

Which is why it is sooo much fun getting the guys to do the cooking instead! What male can resist the glow of hot coals and firewood? The pleasure of popping sounds when the ignition fluids start burning? The joy of wearing a long apron round that pot belly proclaiming Himself  the King of Kooks? ah, cooks, ahem.

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Meanwhile the helping housewife will have marinated the steaks in pineapple juice, pepper corns and sunflower oil over night.

She will also have fixed up some tasty SIDE dishes (and not overwhelming Himself’s sense of Heroism, such as

noodle salad (4 p.)

300 g pasta (I like Pfiffli the best) cooked al dente, about 10″, cooled

1/2 cucumber, peeled and diced

1/2 each yellow and red bell peppers, sliced and diced

1 onion or spring onions, chopped

4 pickles with curcuma, chopped

some spoonfuls of fresh/ frozen corn

(1/2 a round of Lyoner (or mortadella) chopped; only if not so much meat available)

some spoonfuls of mayonnaise  ( > Mahón, capital of Menorca)

1 cup of yoghurt, plain

salt, pepper, curcuma, pickle marinade to taste

Blend all ingredients and toss well, cool before serving. You can leave out the Lyoner if you’re having steaks and other meats.

Another delight is the salad Caprese: Tomatoes and Mozzarella with olive oil and lemon and fresh basilic leaves.

Do not forget the 5 l Barrel of beer, the crusty breads and Brezel, the ketchups and sauces and mustards (ah, that mustard joke!), the Smores for the kids and Big Kids after the BBQ is over, the fresh fruit salad and of course some homemade cake.

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Mustard in French:  moutarde de Dijon:

Two men happen to meet after having been in Africa for many years and agree to go to a restaurant together. As neither has been in France for a very long time, they begin to notice other people asking for a yellow paste which is spread thinly on the steak-frites. Since he is now well-off, the man on the left asks for a pot of this “moutarde”, dips in his spoon and puts a spoonful into his mouth.

His eyes begin to water, but he swallows the whole spoonful heroically. The second man asks, “Why are you crying all of a sudden?” The first replies, “Oh, it is nothing. I just happened to think of my poor father who was almost eaten by African cannibals.”

The other, encouraged, also dips his spoon into the moutarde pot and attempts to swallow. He, too, suddenly has teary eyes. Asks the first man, “Why are you crying now? Is the moutarde too spicy?”

Says the second, “Ah no, I was thinking of your father, you know, and wishing he had been eaten by those African cannibals!”

 

 

Author: Djinn

"To those of us with real understanding, dancing is the only true art form" (Charles Schulz)

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