No matter how you spell it, barbeque, barbecue, or BBQ, cooking on the grille, outdoors while bare can sometimes present some serious challenges. To yourself physically, to the food or to your guests. Being bare isn’t the problem. It isn’t even the cause of the problem or challenge. As humans, who are prone to make mistakes, we, not our undressed status, are the source of all of the mishaps that can and do occur. Sometimes, we are our own worst enemy, no matter where we cook.
Just think, if being bare practitioners were the cause of problems grilling, wouldn’t we have more barbecued nudes? Wouldn’t we have grills sold with labels cautioning users that operating while nude was hazardous to one’s health? Our nakedness is in no way impairing our ability to cook on an outdoor grill. If anything, our nudity, in my mind, would increase our caution while grilling.
We all practice common sense when we barbecue clothes-free. We all know not to stand too close to the grill, particularly if we’re not wearing an apron. The “family jewels” (our male genitalia) are too precious to sacrifice for the sake of feeding our friends. This isn’t being inconsiderate but rather it’s being both cautious and realistic! Besides, human sacrifices are illegal here and in many other nations.
Even grilling wearing an apron, which I strongly encourage, besides protecting the family jewels from hot grease spatter, offers what some consider an “enticing” or even sexy view for one’s guests. Especially on a windy day when the apron flapping in the breeze manages to frame the buttocks.
I’m not really positive I understand what exactly causes this phenomenon but whenever there is a barbecue hosted, everyone seems to congregate around the grille. It suddenly becomes a magnet attracting every bare same gender loving and bisexual man within a 20 km radius. Either everyone wants to watch the meat cook or else everyone is suddenly infatuated with the chef’s buttocks. I’m not sure which case is the real reason! Perhaps it is a little of both!
Late last summer, my spouse, Aaron, and I were guests at a friend’s house along with other couples. He’d asked me to grill the chicken for our lunch and I was more than willing to help. He’d placed the jar of barbecue sauce on the grill and knowing that it was there, I never gave to issue another thought. A serious mistake on my part.
As most of the men in attendance were mutual friends of ours, almost all were already familiar with my innate challenges in the kitchen. Aaron assured everyone that even though I struggled to just boil water for a cup of tea, I was completely competent in grilling meat. With this information, most of the guests relaxed and sat on the patio to admire my buttocks (or so I hoped).
The time arrived for me to flip the chicken breasts so they could cook on the other side. I managed to successfully master this task and knew that I needed to apply the barbecue sauce to the exposed side. Half of my job was over.
Without a second thought, I reached my left hand out to grab the barbecue sauce – without putting on a mitt (glove). A very serious mistake!
Our host had placed the jar of sauce directly onto the grill instead of using the utility extension (not impacted by the hot charcoals). It was hot! I burned my hand. I spilled the sauce all over me (including the “family jewels” – my genitals)! I next dropped the jar. It shattered. Broken glass on the patio. Hot barbecue sauce all over my bare skin – including my penis!
It was most definitely not a pretty sight! I was a mess. Aaron was busy wiping barbecue sauce off me. Our host was hovering about trying to grasp the situation. His boyfriend was asking if he should dial for emergency medical assistance.
Some of our friends were laughing. A few were concerned about the meat on the grill. I was signing profanity profusely using only my right hand and wondering what the hell had just happened. Was this blood all over me? Were my reproductive possibilities permanently and prematurely over before I had ever produced a child?
Once Aaron assured me that it was only barbecue sauce that he had wiped off me and not blood, I immediately calmed. We kissed and both began to giggle. Then we broke out into uncontrollable laughter. My spouse had just communicated to me how he missed the perfect opportunity for a very tasty treat: using his tongue to clean my barbecue covered manhood!