Grilling Champ

"We need a new grill," my husband said as he handed me the advertising supplement from the Sunday paper. The glossy, color spread was a joint ad for both Weber grills and Kraft barbecue sauces, with coupons and a sweepstakes incentive.

"Odds in sweepstakes are not good,” I said.

He smiled and countered, "It's not a sweepstakes; it’s an essay contest. You're a writer. One hundred words to nominate someone as America’s grilling champ.” And we both knew who that someone was.

My husband is a fabulous cook on any day of the week, indoors or outdoors. Though his gold standard of kitchen resources is The Joy of Cooking, his impressive cookbook collection spans ethnic anthologies of Thai, Indian, Jamaican, Mexican, Swedish, Creole and Chinese fare. Outdoors, there isn’t anything he can’t cook on the grill. In addition to meats, he’s grilled items from Brussels sprouts to fruit to pasta. And because he's a guy, and because guys grill, he has a number of barbecue books. He was right, it wouldn’t be difficult for me to craft one hundred words about his grilling skill.

"Not to put pressure on you," he added, "but I already own the Weber Big Book of Grilling, which is the second prize. So your entry will have to win the first prize, which is the grill and $10,000."

Indeed, I was feeling some pressure. "You've never made anything from the Weber cookbook,” I challenged. “I'd have more credibility if I could mention one of their recipes in the entry."

He got out the grilling book, chose a recipe, went shopping and returned with a 5-pound whole chicken announcing, "How does beer can chicken sound?"

It sounded fine. All upper Midwesterners know that beer is an acceptable ingredient in nearly any dish. We cook our bratwurst in beer. We make beer cheese soup. We bake beer bread. Most of these recipes call for a 12 oz. can of beer, though I found some that purposely called for 11 oz. of beer so that you can take a swig during preparation.

But the Big Book of Grilling recipe didn't just use the brew. It used the CAN, too. After rubbing the whole chicken with spices, the recipe directs you to take a half-full can of beer and “slide the chicken over the top so that the can fits inside the cavity.” I watched my husband stuff the can into our chicken. He lit one side of our double-sided grill to use indirect heat for roasting. With mock ceremony, he set the chicken upright on the unlit side of the coals.

The recipe promised, “Steaming beer keeps a whole chicken moist while heat crisps the skin for a perfect bird every time.” The photo in the cookbook looked like chickens in a dance line. The bird on our backyard grill resembled a chicken sitting on a beer can toilet. I looked at it and said, “This is why people are vegetarians.” It wasn’t a joke and we didn’t laugh. We stood grimacing at the bird.

My daughter took one look at it and reminded us of her DARE pledge (Drug Abuse Resistance Education). She said she couldn’t eat it anything with beer in it, even though we explained that there would be no alcohol left after roasting. From the look on her face, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just the beer that dissuaded her. All three of us looked as though we’d just eaten lemons.

As I labored in my garden, my husband would occasionally open the grill, call my name and point to the chicken. He thought my reaction was funny. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to eat it and I certainly couldn’t watch the careful removal of the can. I was nearly ready for Spaghettios when I heard a shout from the kitchen. “Come and taste this!” my husband exclaimed.

By golly, those Weber folks apparently tested this recipe because the chicken was as moist and tender as any chicken I’ve ever eaten. It was even good enough to make me forget the sight of the chicken sitting on the beer can. When I think of all the chickens I've dried up or incinerated, this simple technique for a perfect roasted chicken amazed me.

So, my husband will get his contest entry from me for his grilling excellence and his adventuresome spirit. The only problem will be keeping it down to one hundred words.

I'll eat his beer can chicken again, too. As long as I don't have to watch him make it.

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