When I went to the hardware store last week I had no intention of buying another barbeque. Honestly, I went there only to get a couple mouse traps. Unfortunately the store was out of mouse traps, but to get to the mousetrap aisle I had to pass the big, beautiful barbeque that I had swooned over last May.
I hate leaving empty handed and, before I could go out the door with nothing, a brilliant - BRILLIANT - idea filled my head.
Snow next week. This baby's been sitting here unsold all summer. I should check with the manager. Maybe, just maybe, it'll be going on sale soon.
Well, what a coincidence. She was going to put a sale sign on it that very morning.
Who hustled quicker is hard to say, but I had my truck backed up to the door seconds before two guys had the grill there and loaded up.
That very same day I got my new shiny transferred to the boat and out to camp where it's a great addition to the deck.
Here's my first project - a loaf of whole wheat bread baked in the barbeque.
It's good that Mary doesn't use Facebook so she doesn't know this story. (For some reason she thinks I already have too many barbeques.) As I was baking yesterday she commented, "Oh, I see you brought the barbeque from home," and I pretended my hearing aids were off so as not to engage in a lie.
Luckily, she loved the bread. Ate two slices... hot... with butter.
We are getting snow this weekend, so by the time we get home Tuesday, the other new barbeque on the home deck will be covered and by spring when it gloriously appears again she'll kinda forget. And, if she doesn't, I'll remind her how wonderful that first loaf of bread tasted, and turn my hearing aids off for a couple hours as I knead a fresh batch of dough.
I hate leaving empty handed and, before I could go out the door with nothing, a brilliant - BRILLIANT - idea filled my head.
Snow next week. This baby's been sitting here unsold all summer. I should check with the manager. Maybe, just maybe, it'll be going on sale soon.
Well, what a coincidence. She was going to put a sale sign on it that very morning.
Who hustled quicker is hard to say, but I had my truck backed up to the door seconds before two guys had the grill there and loaded up.
That very same day I got my new shiny transferred to the boat and out to camp where it's a great addition to the deck.
Here's my first project - a loaf of whole wheat bread baked in the barbeque.
It's good that Mary doesn't use Facebook so she doesn't know this story. (For some reason she thinks I already have too many barbeques.) As I was baking yesterday she commented, "Oh, I see you brought the barbeque from home," and I pretended my hearing aids were off so as not to engage in a lie.
Luckily, she loved the bread. Ate two slices... hot... with butter.
We are getting snow this weekend, so by the time we get home Tuesday, the other new barbeque on the home deck will be covered and by spring when it gloriously appears again she'll kinda forget. And, if she doesn't, I'll remind her how wonderful that first loaf of bread tasted, and turn my hearing aids off for a couple hours as I knead a fresh batch of dough.
Francantonio Bastone commented, I'm sure there is a story about how you got it from the boat to the camp deck. Doh. I mean Dough. Do tell.
Frank, thanks for asking. You are a discerning man and appreciate a thoughtful approach to a problem rather than the brute force route. The distance from boat to deck is about 30 yards, uphill, on a rough trail.
I started with a bottle of Cabernet as I thought it through.
During the next hour I put my shrewd plan into action, slowly and deliberately closing the gap.
Getting off the boat was pretty easy. I wheeled the barbeque to the edge of the boat platform, gently set one end down onto the dock - about a foot or so - then gently pivoted the boat end down to the dock, as well.
The little grill wheels aren't really made for rolling on rough ground so I grabbed half a sheet of plywood - four feet by four feet square - and made my way up to the cabin by bending down to grasp the legs, pulling the whole thing the four feet to "step" off the plywood. Then, I locked the little wheels, went to the back and carried the plywood to the front, and did it again.
Like a piece of fine machinery, I required oiling with a sip of wine every four feet, and a short respite as I assessed the progress and made sure I was still dragging it in the right direction.
Eventually, I was at the foot of the five steps leading up to the deck. It took two sips of wine to implement the next stage. I screwed the half sheet of plywood to the steps, then gently, but firmly, pushed the whole thing up the ramp and onto the deck.
After that, I fired 'er up and polished off the rest of my wine while the factory grease burned off the grates.
It was beautiful, and in the glow of the wine I imagined myself a bit like Jimmy McQuat, single handedly building the Castle on White Otter Lake.
I started with a bottle of Cabernet as I thought it through.
During the next hour I put my shrewd plan into action, slowly and deliberately closing the gap.
Getting off the boat was pretty easy. I wheeled the barbeque to the edge of the boat platform, gently set one end down onto the dock - about a foot or so - then gently pivoted the boat end down to the dock, as well.
The little grill wheels aren't really made for rolling on rough ground so I grabbed half a sheet of plywood - four feet by four feet square - and made my way up to the cabin by bending down to grasp the legs, pulling the whole thing the four feet to "step" off the plywood. Then, I locked the little wheels, went to the back and carried the plywood to the front, and did it again.
Like a piece of fine machinery, I required oiling with a sip of wine every four feet, and a short respite as I assessed the progress and made sure I was still dragging it in the right direction.
Eventually, I was at the foot of the five steps leading up to the deck. It took two sips of wine to implement the next stage. I screwed the half sheet of plywood to the steps, then gently, but firmly, pushed the whole thing up the ramp and onto the deck.
After that, I fired 'er up and polished off the rest of my wine while the factory grease burned off the grates.
It was beautiful, and in the glow of the wine I imagined myself a bit like Jimmy McQuat, single handedly building the Castle on White Otter Lake.
