When
It all started in the late Spring of 2005. Our close friend Dillon, between interviews for teaching positions at local colleges, needed to let off some steam. What better, we thought, than to tip back a few brews and throw some skewered meat over hot coals? And to chat out the nuances of the grueling interview process over a few healthy rounds of competitive lawn bowling.
This was a Tuesday.
Wednesday came, and with it, Dillon's next interview. The results: he got his first tenure-track gig — yes, a working philosopher. What better way to celebrate, we thought, than to tip back a few brews and throw some basted chicken legs over hot coals? And to chat about the nuances of retaining students' waning attention over a few healthy rounds of dog wrestling (let's just say that Luke The Dog unnaturally craves Dillon's attention.)
This was also a Tuesday.
But this time around, since the food had been so good that previous Tuesday, we invited a few more friends. By the end of the night, bathed in the goodness of stout and mesquite smoke, we all agreed that this should happen every Tuesday.
We let yet a few more of our friends know: every Tuesday — tip back a few brews, bring something to throw across the hot coals, and chat about the nuances of...
So it came to pass that BBQ Tuesday was born. Every Tuesday, All Summer. That's how we advertised it. Everyone we ran into got the invitation and everyone who came was free to bring more and more people along. Our rotating guest list grew: from fashion designers to building contractors, from philosophers to historians, from city planners to programmers, anyone and everyone got involved.
Where
We live in a modest house in a modest neighborhood in an historically working-class city, grown from a booming 20th C. citrus trade. Our 1912 Craftsman Bungalow sits on a narrow, quarter-acre lot, slightly wider than the house. Every week, on our four-foot-wide solid-oak door, we would put up a sign inviting everyone to follow their noses to join us in the back yard. The signs set the mood with whimsical word jokes such as "Birth-B-Q Tuesday" on birthdays and "Baby-Q-Saturday" — a special event to celebrate the birth of fellow barbecuers' triplets. (Disclaimer: we have never actually grilled a baby.)
Centrally located, and with very tolerant neighbors, the regular BBQ attracted a solid crew of about a dozen people and a rotating list of semi-regulars. In all, every week 25 or so folks would wander into our official barbecue area to partake in the merriment.
Article comments
1 - chantal stone
you're on the West Coast, right? man, I'm really hating that I live in Ohio right now. BBQ Tuesday sounds great!
2 - Brian Sorrell
We're 60 miles east of Los Angeles. So we rarely have to contend with weather problems -- though we remain prepared. I think that you could pull off a BBQ Tuesday in Ohio. Do it! Or if you find yourself in the LA area on a Tuesday....
3 - Ruvy from Jerusalem
You never know where a brilliant idea will come from, Brian. Way to go! Hmmm... Yom shlishí etz'l'mangál; hakól 'al ha'ésh. (Tuesday by the BBQ - everything is on the fire...)
4 - Dave Nalle
Sounds very cool. Sadly if we were to BBQ on a summer tuesday night here in texas we'd probably lose half the people to heat stroke unless we did the BBQing at about 10pm.
Dave
5 - Brian Sorrell
Well Dave, I live on the edge of the Southern California desert, so it gets pretty warm in the middle of summer. To handle the heat, the lightweights start inside, then filter outside toward 8ish (we're late nighters).
The rest of us stand over the fire and consume copious amounts of top shelf beers. Dehydration + alcohol + Barbecue Tuesday = Hangover Wednesday. Somehow though, it always seems worthwhile....
Brian.
6 - sr
BBQ, AND CHILI. IM THE MASTER OF CHILI. WHAT IS YOUR MEANEST CHILI RECEIPT? BBQ. PORK OR BEEF. TELL ME MORE. IM HUNGREY.
7 - Brian Sorrell
We've developed a pretty mean three-bean chili because one of our close friends is (brace yourselves!) a non-meat eater.
However, the carnivore version I prefer is beef -- usually tri-tip steak or something like that -- and black beans. I go light on vegetables -- typically only onions and red pepper. And the usual spices and tomato-ish bases, plus a dark beer.
Then the real variety starts: the hot peppers. For the regulars, we'll go with serranos or jalapenos. But for the truly hardcore, we err on the side of scotch bonnets or habaneros (personally, I prefer the taste of the scotch bonnet).
A couple of times we obtained some fresh red savina peppers. That was just plain ridiculous, so I don't bother going that hot anymore -- hell, I want people to eat the stuff.
My mantra, learned from my dad, is to "season the meat not the mixture." Wise words.
Cheers!
(If you can make it, July 4 is our official chili festival. It might be worth airfare?)
8 - -E
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