Way back when, just over three years ago, I wrote a journal entry called “Rocket Grill to the Rescue”. For the Fourth of July, you see, Jennifer’s family and mine all gather at our house here in northern California and have dinner. That first year, both families decided that I, as master of the house, would grill up some hamburgers, hot dogs, and other typical grill foods. I’d never grilled before, and I tried telling both my father and my father-in-law that I was a complete novice and that I’d prefer not to.

“Don’t worry about it,” they told me. “You’re a man. Cooking dead animals over an open fire is in your genes.” (Or words to that effect.)

So my father-in-law brought over his grill. I did what I knew I was supposed to do: I made a pile of briquets on the lower rack, doused them with lighter fluid, lit a match, and watched the flames shoot up to the sky. They calmed down, and I threw on the hamburger patties. These patties were those really cheap ones that you buy in bulk at Safeway: it’s a Cylinder O’ Meat, with the patties all separated by a piece of wax paper, and they all have enough fat and grease in them to soak the wax paper through to complete transparency.

Of course, once these lard — I mean, hamburger — patties got on to the grill, the fat started to drip down onto the coals. And the fat led to flare ups. These weren’t the minor flareups you get from time to time on the grill; these were major flames that shot up at least a couple of feet. I stepped back, frightened for my beard. My father-in-law said, “Put the lid on the grill!”

So I grabbed the lid, and slammed it down on the grill. And then, I swear to God, the flames shot OUT OF THE VENTS ON THE BOTTOM OF THE GRILL. It looked like a rocket about to take off. This was, of course, the cause of much hilarity among my family members, and I still get teased about it to this day.

That night, out of sheer cussedness, I decided that I would be a Grill Master. My wife got me a Weber kettle grill for my birthday, along with various accessories, as well as an apron (decorated with a drawing that my friend Keith did of a grill launching into the air on a pillar of flame).

Last night, I invested in a couple of books on grilling. One of them was Weber’s Real Grilling. Since the fateful day of the Rocket Grill, I have turned out some pretty good dishes, if I do say so myself, but many of the tips in this book I wish I’d known years ago. Who knew you could control the temperature of your grill by arranging your coals into three “zones”? Who knew that the food grate would be so much easier to clean when it was hot (seriously, one swipe with the grill brush instead of twenty minutes of scrubbing with anything abrasive I could find and ruining my elbows). When it was done, I didn’t smell like smoke and grease. The chicken was cooked perfectly, not too dry and cooked all the way through, and the corn on the cob was juicy and very flavorful. I’m used to oiling the food rack before grilling; this time, I just put a little oil on the food itself; and the chicken and the corn came off the grill easily and cleanly without leaving any chunks. I tried adding a few water-soaked hickory chips to the coals to get some smokiness to the food, but that didn’t seem to work out for some reason.

Anyway. It was just a simple dish, a spice rub on chicken, but I still feel like it was a breakthrough grilling session. Maybe someday I’ll be bold enough to try hamburgers again.