Chomp!

By Ron Aiken

 

Fourth of July! ‘Merica! Disaster?

 

The next disaster movie coming to theaters won’t be about a tornado, tsunami, earthquake, robots, aliens, alien robots or any other such epic-osity. It’ll be my grilling experience over the Fourth of July weekend.

Folks, it was bad.

With about 15 people over for the Fourth of July on Friday, I had a plan – hamburgers on the grill. I’d make them the same way I do usually – couple eggs to bind, Worcestershire sauce, coarse black pepper, kosher salt and some sprinkles of a Chicago Steak seasoning I’m fond of. It’s a hit every time.

‘Cept this one.

 

I was worried about having enough hamburgers for everyone – several of the people were in the 10-18 range, so I was counting (accurately) on about two per person there. So, I made the patties smaller than I usually do, and they looked fine on the plate before the grill.

Now whether I didn’t do my egg-to-hamburger math correctly or I had too much Worcestershire sauce I’ll never know, but boys and girls, those jokers began to fall apart on the grill almost immediately. I mean, FALL APART IN FRONT OF YOUR VERY EYES. This began to churn the beads of sweat on Chomp!’s head, but since thankfully the gaggle was indoors, there was no one around to see my growing panic.

With about 12 burgers on the grill (it’s a goodly sized gas grill and pitifully sized burgers) disintegrating one by one, I suddenly had another problem – fire. Fire everywhere as the fat from the burgers dripped everywhere on top of the burner covers, flaming up like crazy.

 

Calmly but sweating like Hulk Hogan at the barber shop, I closed the lid, smoke billowing out in plumes, walked inside and got a tall glass of water. Alternatively cutting the burners off, shuffling the little mini burgers about and dousing the apparatus with water I was able to finally get the fire situation under control, but what I was left with of all my burger-making efforts were about half that were well-done (I’m being generous with myself), half OK to eat but comically tiny, falling apart and boasting a distinct char on at least one side, if not both. It was probably the saddest plate of hamburgers in America, I kid you not.

Still, it was OK, I told myself. I had a whole other thing of hamburger beef, which I then opened, quickly seasoned and put to the grill, though I didn’t use any eggs this time – I had the need for speed! Determined to get them right this time, I was monitoring the fire situation carefully and things looked OK for about three minutes. Which is when the gas went out.

Not even half done on one side, I now had about 12 more burgers – though larger – and no more fire. Sweat is pouring fourth like an ocean at this point. I go inside and make a decision to finish the other burgers on the stove-top.

It only made things worse. They fell apart worse than the ones on the grill had – which was horrendously bad to start with. In the end, I had to concede total defeat, chopped them up with the spatula and put the “deconstructed” hamburgers (I tried this line out on my guests with a panicked smile) in a large serving bowl.

The worst part of having a full house on a holiday is there’s no place to go cry.

 

In the end, people are people, and they’re kind. They went out of their way to compliment the burgers, which also can be a bad sign – too many or too few compliments and you know you’re in sketchy lands. The best compliment, of course, is no leftover food. I had plenty of that, including the entire bowl of hamburger meat both looked like and literally became dog food. Only I ate some.

In my defense, the flavor of the burgers was fantastic, but my first Fourth as grill-master was anything but. Note: If you’re waiting to see pictures of the hamburgers I made, you’re going to be disappointed because I took none in an effort to hide my shame. However, the internet has a treasure trove of images to pick from, so I rounded-up a couple to give you an idea.

 

Think a hamburger this size:

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That falls apart like this:

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Then this happens:

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So then it goes to a pan and does this number:

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Yeah. Sad.

 

And yet, by God’s grace Chomp! had a chance to rally THE VERY NEXT DAY at his mom’s, where the much more grill-friendly ribeye steaks awaited as did his brother and sister-in-law for another celebratory get-together. With only nine to feed this time, I couldn’t miss. Steaks are my specialty, after all, which you can see by looking at these juicy babies I’d made just two days before:

 I cannot describe in words how beautifully tender and succulent these steaks turned out. I can still taste them!

 

This time, I put the steaks on the fire and my attention waned as I began watching my brother do an impromptu karate demonstration (he’s a fourth-degree black belt) on my 15-year-old stepson. I turned around some moments later, and basically saw this:

 

The steaks were on fire and completely black. In the space of about seven or eight minutes, the beautifully marinated ribeyes were beyond well-done. There was no going back.

Only my lovely fiancee and my stepfather, who both like steaks well done, were well pleased. The rest of us chewed through our fillings. I’m actually not kidding here. My brother lost a filling trying to eat his, which caused a terrible toothache, trip to the dentist and now he has to get a partial root canal. Happy Fourth, bro-ski!

So my grand ideas and simple plans were all a tragic failure with real-world casualties, not the least of which was my confidence. On Monday I cleaned my grill thoroughly to like-new status, and I think at least part of my trouble was that I couldn’t control the fires from all the dripping. I also am going to make a little water spray bottle like my dad used to use for such times. And finally, I’m going to suck it up and do some research on just how to have hamburgers stay together before grilling them. Clearly, I wasn’t doing something right. Humbly, I’ll accept your suggestions at [email protected]. Til next time, yours in defeat, Chomp!

 

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