"The only time to eat diet food is while you are waiting for the steak to cook."

My new grill is ready for its first outing tonight. In honor of the occasion, my guests and I will dine on steak fajitas, corn souffle and Mexican rice. The flan is already made and in the fridge. It is the warmest day so far this spring so I'm hoping we can start with appetizers on the deck. Yesterday I hung lanterns from tree branches, and, tonight when I light them, they'll give the trees a bit of magic.

When I was young, we never had barbecues. We had cookouts. I don't remember too well the cookouts from when I was really young as I suspect I never hung around to watch, but I do remember the ones from when I was older. My dad always cooked. I think every dad always cooked. It is a rule still observed today that men, the mighty hunters of old, cook the meat. Find any picture of a barbecue, and there is a dad wearing an apron and even a silly chef's cap. Guys who had no idea how to turn on a stove or wash a dish cooked the meat. My mother, meanwhile, made the potato salad, the pasta salad or the regular salad. She stuffed eggs, cut up pickles, chopped onions, set the table, poured the drinks and washed the dishes. Anything my dad needed, she handed to him. He never left his post. Dad would poke his head through the open kitchen window making requests of my mom who would pass the items to him. When the meat was cooked, he'd triumphantly carry the platter to the table. Dad had provided his family with freshly cooked meat. His job was done.

I loved to watch my dad barbecue. He'd stand there with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other watching the meat cook. Every now and then he'd grab a fork and turn the meat. He sometimes set himself on fire and another time lit a tarp near the grill. We'd keep him a safe distance from the house but close enough to his window service. "Pop me," was a favorite request, and my mother would hand him another drink. Barbecuing was thirsty work.

As for me, I'll do the cooking tonight, and I'll hoist a glass of wine in my dad's honor. He would have loved my new grill and there's a window right behind it into the kitchen. I can hear him now, "Pop me."