Real Soup

On Barbecues

It is important to watch the sunset on occasion. It illuminates the mundane and renews the mind with wonder.

Grasses, ordinary and green all day, turn gold and mauve and silver in the late slanting light. Glaciers warm to pink; jet streams go iridescent; faces light up to a pearly rose; curly hair becomes a halo. Cobwebs, insect wings, long clusters of pine needles fill with a lively, comforting light.

Lingering over an outdoor meal, bound together in the sun's afterglow, we have freely what restaurants, photographers, and romantic movie directors work hard to achieve--the feeling that yes, this is where I want to be. This is the hour. These are my people.

To achieve a fine meal, prepared over charcoal, an entreé to this atmosphere of pleasure and philosophy, takes a bit of practice. Failed first efforts are often so miserable, as well as memorable, that it is tempting to just make a stir fry and haul it outside.

We have produced many grim, deeply blackened, strangely powdery hamburger discs, too small for a bun, too tough to eat. Then long-charred chicken, distressingly pink inside. Followed by hotdogs which have turned, somehow, hairy and shriveled prompting tedious low humor from the assembly.

But one must not be daunted. I invested in a barbecue cookbook wherein not only were the freshly coiffed and immaculate backyard gourmets capable of spectacular successes over charcoal, but their adroit and circumspect children.

We learned from these people. We began to get the heat right. We became more venturesome with marinades using lime juice, Tabasco, garlic and herbs. We started stuffing burgers with Stilton or sharp cheddar cheese.

We tried making a single, giant burger for the whole family. Served on a giant, custom-made bun top

ped with sesame seeds and cut into pie shaped wedges.

We found precedent and validity for the practice of microwaving chicken for ten minutes before grilling it. Less authentic but foolproof.

On our own we eliminated the use of starter fluid. This is probably the greatest improvement of all. A little newspaper, a few pinecones, a bit of kindling, and the coals come to temperature beautifully and without a hint of chemical taste.

Grilled Marinated Eggplant, originally from the Greens Cookbook by Deborah Madison, a great and simple recipe, easily tampered with: Remoulade-generic recipe

Slice a firm, glossy eggplant crosswise into 1/2 inch slabs. Brush them lightly with a neutral oil--olive, safflower, canola. If your barbecue is not at home, you can wrap the slices up at this point and they are ready to grill later.

Place the slices over medium hot coals, turning often until soft and tender. Remove them to a cutting board and chop them into bite-sized pieces.

Sprinkle the pieces with:

chopped fresh garlic

balsamic vinegar

salt and pepper to taste

At this point you may begin the debate regarding whether or not to defer gratification and refrigerate it overnight for further melding of flavors. We attack it immediately.

Pass it around with wooden skewers or put it all into a bowl with black olives, diced cheeses of your choice (mozzarella, feta, jalapeno jack), scallions finely chopped, good ripe tomatoes seasoned with minced basil.

You may thus convert the eggplant opposition in the crowd