My Small, Grilled Victory.

I win. Want to know why? I successfully started a gas grill with no supervision! To be completely honest with all of you, I have this ridiculous fear that one day I would have been so clumsy to the point that I’d influenced complete devastation around everyone in closest proximity to me; like catastrophic levels.

 

Ever since I was a kid I’ve had the roughest time with accomplishing any task without getting hurt in some form or fashion.  Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. The last handful of posts probably have some reference to my shoulder injury I’ve been dealing with all summer. It’s just turning fall in Indiana and I’m JUST now able to hit the weights again. I feel so behind, but what can you do? Always listen to your body…

 

…it’s a kind of intuition, right?! Well, my intuition has always told me “stay the hell away from that explosive-ass’d propane tank! Are you crazy?!” S has shown me at least twice how to turn the gas on and off and how to ignite the grill. Growing up with charcoal grill skills in Alaska, I have a way different set of grilling knowledge – we never let snow stop us from throwing down on the grill. Slay, I say! So when the time came for me to fire up the monstrosity on my own… I had to take a few deep breaths and tell myself “maybe this isn’t the end.”

 

I open the hatch exposing the propane tank resting undisturbed in its home under the burners. “Here goes” I think to myself as I reach for the knob. “Turn counterclockwise…” I close my eyes as I perform the simple action. “Alright, we’re in the clear.” I quickly close the hatch as if to race a bomb, seconds away from reaching zero. Turning the knobs and pressing the ignite switch was way less stressful. My neighbors have already seen me do hot yoga on the patio, have the occasional cigar and bourbon in nothing but short-shorts and a tank, and now, probably the gayest-victory-dance ever invoked by the lighting of a grill.
I’m most proud that I didn’t need to wait for S to get home, out of fear of burning down my home. Let’s face it… there’s always a glass of vodka or bourbon not too far away from me when I get home, so I’m sure that would help fuel the fire that inadvertently would have started. My husband has taught me a lot in the almost five years of being with him – more than I can write about, for sure. Starting a gas grill without help proves to me that fear with S is non-existent.

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Buttered n’ Grilled Chicken. It’s What’s for Dinner.

S and I recently bought a new grill and decided to have some fun with it tonight. We melted real butter – you know the kind with only two ingredients and no hidden sugars or random chemicals that are, pretty much, sugar?  – and added seasoning to the melted butter. We placed 6 bone-in-with-skin chicken thighs in a large bowl and worked the seasoned butter mixture around the chicken until it solidified; making it easy to manipulate and cover every side of the thighs in a glorious explosion of healthy fats.

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I’m pretty sure the neighbors thought we were burning the place down. Some weeks back we had a good friend over who covered his steaks in a sugary marinade that flooded the bottom of our new infrared grill. This resulted in the grill smoking like a bomb had just gone off until the last of the marinade burned off. At just below medium heat, the chicken was ready to sizzle and dance on the marinade stained grates.

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I like to keep it simple, so I added some spinach to my plate with some homemade keto Dijon sauce on the side. The sauce was made by mixing a couple tablespoons of Dijon mustard, a dash of full-fat mayo, and a couple teaspoons of MCT oil. The oil is tasteless and is an easy way to add some healthy fat to your meal. Be careful though! Too much of this and you’ll be running to the toilet.

Everything is better on the grill. There’s no arguing that. Putting the damned thing together was a pain in the ass, but I’m thrilled now that we can do a little more than our stove-top or baked creations for dinner. Summer may be coming to an end, but you’d better believe we’ll be grilling our low-carb-high-fat hearts out until the snow arrives. But then again, growing up in Alaska, my parents often grilled with snow on the ground…