A story about a grill

We’ve had our grill for… Maybe 5 years? It’s beaten and worn from countless dinner and enduring harsh weather. It’s on it’s last leg, ALMOST literally.

Here’s the story of it’s decline:

It started small. The grates were falling in when my Dad cleaned it. They looked thinner and thinner. Then they began looking a little holey…

The inside began to flake from excessive use and weathering. It’s a closed container so naturally it’s going to get a bit of moisture inside when it rains, freeze when it’s cold, etc. You might be thinking, “Well, but if you keep it covered..?”

We don’t. The squirrels kept jacking the grill cover so we’ve pretty much given up. And my Mom grills in all weather, rain, snow, sleet, doesn’t matter. If she’s making steak, stake will happen. It she’s craving a burger, burgers will happen. Chicken? Other grill-able meats? Year round food in the Bazinet residence.

Recently, the handle fell off. “That’s ok!” said Patty. “I’ll just use oven mits to open and close it!”

I said, “Really, Mom? Really.”

“That’s not so weird,” she says.  “I’ll just have to be extra careful not to slam it, so pieces of the grill don’t fall in our food.”

Last night she realized that the holes from where the hand used to be are making it hard for the grill to reach a proper temperature. But you know what? I ate that chicken anyway. And it was nothing short of amazing. But we’re having people over this weekend, so she’s a little worried.

Her official stance is that it takes too long to get used to a new grill. “I know how this one cooks,” she says. “I’m used to this one.” My Mom is delusional.

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