Eat Shrink And Be Merry

It’s finally grilling season, which means just about everything I cook for dinner will be prepared over burning-hot coals if possible. Fish, vegetables, steak, pork tenderloin, and even pizza just somehow taste better when cooked on the barbecue, don’t they? I’ve already lugged my two huge propane tanks to the gas station for their annual fill-up. (Can you believe the price of gas? That’s it. I’m buying a scooter.) What I WON’T ever do again is run out of propane while in the middle of cooking expensive steaks, as I did last winter while entertaining 8 hungry, out-of-town guests.

The story goes something like this: It was mid-January and about 20 degrees below zero, but that didn’t stop me from hauling out my well-worn Weber barbecue so that I could impress my guests with perfectly seasoned, medium-rare beef tenderloin steaks. Problem was, I forgot to check my fuel level and just as I put the zillion-dollar steaks on the grill, the fire went out. Kaput. No heat. No sizzle, just fizzle. Oh no! Now what??! I’m the ultimate perfectionist and admitting that I goofed and that my steaks would have to be cooked in a pan on the stovetop (gasp!) would be the kiss of culinary death for me. I’d rather have a branding iron sear my rear than deliver bland slabs of beef to the dinner table. People have high expectations when they come to my house for supper and I must not disappoint!! What to do?! Think, Greta! Think!

Then I remembered my spare tank. Phew! I’m saved! But, there was a small problem: the spare tank was stored in my garden shed, out in the back yard, about 150 snow-bank-covered feet from the garage where I stood panicking in my high heels, sheer control-top pantyhose and short black party skirt. Still, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I fumbled and stumbled my way through drift after drift in the pitch-black darkness (remember, it was January!) on a mission to find my spare propane tank. Never mind that the sharp, ice-covered snowbanks were cutting into my legs and shredding my nylons to pieces! Never mind that I fell twice and sliced my hand on the snow fence! Never mind that I was developing frost bite as I took step after icy step in my brand-new Isaac Mizrahi pumps that I just bought off the clearance rack at the Designer Shoe Warehouse in Florida! These were beef tenderloin steaks, after all, and they needed saving! The spare tank was full, thank goodness, so I dragged all 30 pounds of it back through the snow drifts and into the garage, my bare legs now completely exposed as the snow had literally “eaten” my pantyhose right off my body, my hair tangled in ratty knots from the gusting, freezing winds combined with copious amounts of firm-hold hairspray (unscented), and my skirt now on totally backward, with the sexy, 12-inch slit positioned straight up the front. But, never mind! There’s meat to cook! Hungry mouths to feed! I attached my spare tank to the barbecue nozzle with trembling, frozen hands and ta-dah! I had fire! Halleluialuja! (Or however you spell it!)

About ten minutes later, as if nothing unusual had transpired, I calmly delivered, in Martha Stewart-like fashion, 8 perfectly cooked, medium-rare beef tenderloin steaks and their accompanying grilled vegetables with balsamic reduction to my ravenous guests at the dining-room table. They were either too polite or too shocked to comment on my appearance. The steaks, on the other hand, drew rave reviews, and for that I’m tankful.