My dad loved having cookouts when my sisters and I were kids. He would buy the cheapest grill on the market, which would last one summer before the bottom rusted out, pile it high with charcoal, squirt about half of an industrial-sized bottle of fluid on it, and then light it right away.
He didn’t know you were supposed to let the fluid soak into the charcoal briskets and marinate for a while. He would just douse it well, stand back a couple of feet, and toss a lit match on it. WHOOOM! It would explode as a mushroom cloud formed above the house. I always imagined people in Fort Payne probably thought the nuclear power plant in Scottsboro had blown up.
Dad would just be standing there, face black, his shirt smoking, his eyebrows gone, and smiling as he looked at what he had created. There’s something about men and fire. When a man builds a fire, he suddenly becomes a toddler who just went number two on the potty. He’s not only proud of it; he wants everyone to come see it.
As the fire would die down, which didn’t take long, Dad would continue to squirt lighter fluid to keep it going. Finally, he would throw the raw hamburger meat and hotdogs right into the flames and cook them the way we all loved them — burnt on the outside and raw in the middle.
When I lived in Montgomery, I decided to have a cookout one Saturday and invited several friends from the gym. It was awesome. We played games like Frisbee, Football, horseshoes, and see how long you can keep the soccer ball in the air before sending it through the neighbor’s window. We had so much fun we decided to do it the next weekend as well.
More friends showed up the next time, bringing food and drinks. Again, it was a lot of fun, so we decided to make it a regular Saturday thing. Hence, “Neal’s Cookouts” was born. Soon, the crowd started growing, and often, people would show up that I didn’t even know. They had simply heard about it.
Cookouts are still a part of Americana that hasn’t faded away. I read posts constantly on Facebook throughout the summer about people having cookouts. Even with the onslaught of technological devices to distract us and Foreman Grills to convenience us, I don’t think cookouts will ever go away.
It’s still the best way to sit around with family and friends, eating good food, drinking cold beverages, and having a laugh or two. I sure miss my old gang in Montgomery. One day, I’m going to have a Neal’s Cookout reunion.
Neal Wooten is a columnist in the Mountain Valley News and North Jackson Press newspapers. He can be reached at [email protected].
