Quaintrelle Weekender

A barbecue story.

My American friends are celebrating the Memorial Day long weekend. Last Monday, we (and by “we” I mean my fellow Canadians and me) honoured Victoria Day. And the week before that, if memory serves, my British friends marked … a bank holiday (well look, perhaps that’s less romantic, but heck, I’d toast Vlad the Impaler if it meant a day off.)

Since barbecues are igniting across the western world and northern hemisphere in the good name of the first long weekend of the warm weather, I thought I’d take moment to remind everyone about barbecue etiquette.

And by barbecue etiquette I mean properly cooking your meat (apologies vegetarians.)

I’m not going to name names, but I attended a barbecue recently (purposefully leaving the date out so as not to offend the guilty party) and the BBQ-er in question flat out refused to use a thermometer. And I do mean refused. I proffered one to this unnamed person, and the response was a simple, but firm, “no.” And, as the personal growth experts on Instagram tell me, no is a complete sentence.

It was as if I offended his masculinity as if I offended this person’s barbecuing prowess. Proverbially spitting in the face of this guy’s the cook in question’s power to master fire. That my act of thermometer offering was so disrespectful to a man’s right to a person’s right to freebase barbecue, I was well beyond the pale in my insolence.

I don’t get it.

Even if meat weren’t double-take expensive right now, why would you want to risk ruining it? (And yes, the beef came back so bloody, that most of the medium-rare crowd asked for a quick second pass over the coals. It then came back delightfully medium-well-plus.)

A thermometer is among my most used kitchen implements, and dutifully used for every meat I cook. It’s not a slight to the chef. No one has the x-ray vision required to see inside the steak or chicken or whatever, and that press-on-the-palm trick is a rough gauge at best (Gordon Ramsey notwithstanding.)

I live in a high rise condo, and from my lanai, I look out over townhomes with roof top patios like a feudal lord surveying my kingdom. It’s endlessly entertaining to watch the dudes fire up the gas barbie, turning knobs higher and higher until the smoke clouds mushrooming from their balconies threaten calls to the fire department (once again, fellas, bigger isn’t always better.) These cowboy cooks look so pleased with themselves in their dissociative fugue; they catch each others’ eye and toss a chin upwards, bravado and joy palpable even from my grand distance.

I mean, I don’t want to harsh anyone’s vibe, but …

They raise the lids and fire roars out, flames nearly catching the roof tops. The barbecuers heft up a piece of raw meat and fling it on to the flames. They close the lid, sip a beer, check the phone. A minute has passed. They open the lid and prod their meat. Take a quick selfie with the 5-alarm barbecue and post with a “Grill Master🥩🔥” caption. Open the lid again. Flip the meat. Check the phone. No one’s liked their BBQ selfie yet. Another poke with that long fork thingy that came with the Pandora barbecue set that was on sale at Canadian Tire. Flip. Move. Flip. Move back. Poke it once more. It’s been two minutes. Is it done yet? The phone dings … someone’s commented, “🔥”. The barbecuer responds, “🙌😎🍻” Now bored, the cooks take their meat off the enormous flames that have blazed through half a tank of propane and go inside.

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This Week’s 3 Things …

Digital Thermometer. I have an earlier version of the one linked and I use it every single time I cook meat. I prefer how the probe is attached by a metal wire to the reader; I find the handheld ones (like the one shown in the sausage picture above) are tough to negotiate holding over heat. The probe-and-wire style also allows for the meat to be placed in the oven or closed barbecue and I don’t have to remove it to test its doneness.

Digital scale. Another thing I just don’t get is not using a digital scale. A cup is not a cup. A teaspoon is not a teaspoon. You need ounces and grams and pounds for accuracy. I’ve had the one linked for years and it’s fantastic (but there’s no way I would pay $75 for it… I think I paid about $30. It’s a great scale but you can find cheaper models that are just as good.)

Green Pan. My sister bought me one for Christmas and I use it every single day. From searing steak to frying eggs, it distributes heat beautifully, and cleans up with zero elbow grease. Honestly… even stuck on egg almost washes away with just the faucet stream. I do not recommend using it on the barbecue or over a camp fire (that’s what your cast iron is for!) but for stove top, nothing beats it.

The Weekend Menu

Last Sunday’s Dinner: Grilled flank steak (try this marinade) with quick boiled asparagus in awesome butter sauce.

Tonight’s Dinner: Lemony scallops with fresh peas and asparagus

The Weekend Cocktail: Floradora

The Weekend Wine: Domaine Vetriccie “Corse” 2023, Corisca, France $24

Bon Weekend, Mes Amis!

Long or short, it looks like we are bounding into lazy, hazy territory with gusto.

A reminder that if you’re in Toronto next Wednesday, join us at Vantage Venues for our Chillable Reds for Summer wine tasting. It’s going to be delicious. And, you can see all of June’s events (pizza making and wine pairing! Beer 101! Conversations with Christopher Waters!) here.

xo – Erin

Thank you for reading Quaintrelle.

This newsletter is written by me, Erin Henderson, journalist-turned-sommelier-turned-entrepreneur. I literally drink and throw parties for a living, and on the weekends, I share some thoughts on stylish living.

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