Spring is upon us and summer is fast approaching. It’s time again for our annual family barbecue.
Every year, it’s the same—your cousin Joey ends up passed out in the bathroom, Grandpa finds someone to rant about Millennials to and your uncle Steve tries (again) to hit on your girlfriend. Why go back? Because, your family don’t fuck around when it comes to food. Here’s my best interpretation of what we’re pretty sure are the most delectable summer barbecue recipes from my own family’s summer gathering.
1 absolute shit ton of dirt-cheap chicken breasts from Sav’n Big Mart. Tell everyone you got them from Whole Foods or a local, free-range poultry purveyor. They have absolutely no idea and there’s no reason they need the ugly truth.
Gluten-free flour for Julia’s portion, regular flour for everyone else. You can cook hers first, to avoid cross-contamination, but to be completely honest, we’re pretty sure it’s all bullshit and have never bothered. She seems fine.
Whatever spices you have that are red. That’s the only necessary unifying theme. Plus salt, pepper and a good portion of passive-aggressive sniping, as Grandma Pearl reminds you that you still haven’t gotten married (and, you remind her that she’s done it four times).
Grab Steve for this one. He’ll only be touching chicken breasts, but for him, that’s enough (and he’s got a way with them).
Flour, egg wash, flour again.
Now, chuck ‘em into the fryer that you use only on this one single occasion every year and otherwise just sits in your garage gathering dust. Last year, a small family of mice had babies in it. You can still taste the Hantavirus (that’s the secret ingredient).
A buncha grits.
Some other stuff.
Grandpa brings this and he won’t tell us what he adds to it, to give it that certain something. We’re torn between that "something" being either PTSD, poorly veiled racism, sharp cheddar or some combination of the three.
The most expensive, organic, collard greens money can buy.
Organic shallots, locally sourced farm fresh butter, black truffle shavings and some truly exotic spices.
She may be in serious financial trouble after investing in that essential oils pyramid scheme, but Julia still insists on buying the best. We’re reasonably sure she’s putting cannabis in these somehow, as well.
Sauté the shallots in the "special butter" and lower the temperature when you add the collard greens. As you stir them, cry bitter tears of regret, for the life choices that brought you to the point where you have to ask your mom to borrow money. She agreed, but gave you that look. The despair gives a good, steady stirring pace—and, the tears add all the salt you need.
Baked beans.
Cheese.
Some chopped up chives to make it look homemade.
God, Ben is weird. He’s been dating Julia for a while, and this year he brought these baked beans. We’re on the fence about whether he made them or just took them out of a can and said he made them. Better than the beans was when he got drunk enough to propose we all start a big family commune. Everyone laughed and he looked crushed. That was a good time.
2 heaping cups of disappointment in every single member of your family.
2 large eggs.
1 tablespoon of irritation, that your current husband, Ronald, gave you a hard time when you told him he needed to come to the family barbecue. "They’re not my fuckin’ family!" he’d said, and you would immediately considered divorcing him.
1 cup margarine.
5 apples, chopped slowly, as if you’d contemplated whether killing him would be better than divorcing a fourth husband. You could make it look like an accident and you’d get all that life insurance money. Hell, you’re getting older—you’ve got nothing to lose.
Cook apples down, say you made a crust but use a store bought one, because it’s much, much easier and no one can tell, anyway. Bake. Serve with vanilla ice cream and a simmering sense of resentment.
Tortilla chips
Cheese, green onions, chopped tomatoes, fresh cilantro, micro-chopped red onions, hot sauce and a roguish sense of humor.
Dad’s Nachos are just normal nachos, but all have a modest quantity of normal grade hot sauce on top. On one helping of them (you’ll never know which) appear the "worlds spiciest hot sauce." One year, Pearl got them and almost had an actual heart attack—there was an ambulance and everything. Dad’s got a great sense of humor, even if he insists on Hawaiian shirts and socks with sandals.
Shaved ice.
Colorful liquor, in as many varieties and shades as possible.
Fruit juice.
Possibly a little meth thrown in, just for fun.
Joey’s unpredictable and the ingredients of his boozy slushies are always changing, much like his rotating stable of slag-heap girlfriends. These drinks truly make these events bearable, though, so we must include them. He doesn’t really have a lot of extra money to throw around, considering his ex-wife and kids, but he really goes all out on these and it shows! There’s nothing else in the whole world that can turn a conversation about the weather into a fist fight on the lawn, like these bad boys.
Joey does like his own medicine a bit much, though, so make sure to take his keys from him before he starts serving them, or he’ll end up putting his car through the fence again.
If there’s only one takeaway from this, let it be that, no matter what dish you end up bringing to a family barbecue, you’ll always be the most popular if you bring the booze.
