Cookout saves the holiday

“You feel like cooking out this weekend?” my wife asked.

Sure, I thought. It’s Labor Day after all. What better time for a cookout?

That was Saturday morning, and the rain which had persisted throughout Friday night’s football game was a distant memory. I figured I’d fire up the Weber and cook some burgers that night for dinner. I even cleaned the grill that afternoon.

But my wife had other dinner plans in mind. “I’m making moussaka tonight,” she said and for a moment I tried to figure out how she was going to keep it from slipping through the grill into the charcoal. Obviously, she was going to cook inside Saturday night.

It was okay with me. We were having good friends over for dinner, and besides the weekend was young. Plenty of time to cook-out on Sunday or — better yet — on Labor Day.

Sunday slipped away, with far too much of it spent at the office trying to write a newspaper management handbook for Central Asia, a little side project I’ve taken on that is turning into an extra thing on my plate I don’t have time for.

And Monday.

Well, we all suffered through Monday, watching steady, unending, disheartening, wearying, grouch-inducing rain fall from morning on.

Staring out at it about noon, I tried to console myself that at least we weren’t trapped inside with a bunch of irritable school children unhappy about having their holiday ruined. There were just the irritable three of us unhappy about having our holiday ruined.

But by mid-afternoon, I’d come to the conclusion that the rain was best ignored. Come on, I told myself, it’s Labor Day. Just do it, as the commercials say. Just do it.

“Let’s cook out,” I said. “If the rain doesn’t get any harder than it is right now, I’m game.”

My wife looked at me as if cabin fever had taken over. But she’d bought some salmon on Saturday and knew it would taste its best if I grilled it over some coals.

The drizzle slowed to a drip, then to a sprinkle, then ratcheted back up to drizzle level as I monitored things from the kitchen window.

Finally, about 6 p.m., we committed. I pulled on a windbreaker with a generous hood and headed to the garage to find some charcoal. While Connie prepped the salmon with some light seasoning and olive oil, I got the fire going.

Darkness had settled in by then, and the drizzle wouldn’t ever completely let up. But it wasn’t enough to dampen the fire, and soon enough the coals were perfect for cooking.

The salmon was perfect too, some of the best I’ve ever grilled. Almost good enough to salvage a Labor Day with rotten weather.[[In-content Ad]]