It was snowing. The roads were slippery. It was cold. Real cold. And then the wind blew. Standing outside for more than 15 seconds made you want to collapse into a pile of jittering bones.
This weather speaks to Mike. It speaks in a hateful, taunting voice. It tells him to stay indoors; to make chili; to cuddle up in a blanket. It calls him a big baby. A wimp.
Mike is a man of few words, so he doesn't say anything in return. Instead, he puts on his stocking cap, his gloves, and his windbreaker. He sets his jaw, walks outside, and fires up the grill.
Old Man Winter will not keep Mike from grilling pork chops tonight. And just for spite, Mike is grilling everything we're eating for dinner. The pork, apples, corn, and bread. Winter: meet the business end of Mike's spatula.
Mike thoughtfully arranged that picture with a cookbook on display, but I'm not sure he actually used it. All I saw was a lot of cinammon and brown sugar getting rubbed all over the pork and slice apples. The corn got grilled plain and then doused with butter.
While Survivor Man grilled on the deck, Jack and I enjoyed making a winter craft together. This was a craft from Spanish class today, so we worked on parts of the face and colors in Spanish while we made our muñeco de nieve.
Jack acted much naughtier than any of my students, and the end product represents about 98% effort from me, and about 2% contribution from Jack. Once it was made he enjoyed toddling around the kitchen showing it to the various appliances.
Aha, here is one of his favorite kitchen toys: the trash can.
Jack! Don't throw that away! I worked hard on that!
Fooled ya!
By the time I had safely stuck the snowman on the fridge, Mike stumbled in from the deck. The kitchen towel that he carried with him while he was cooking had been damp when he went outside. When he came inside it was frozen. I expected to see him return with frozen eyelashes, purple fingers, and a runny nose. Instead, he was jubilant, pink-cheeked and bouncy.
He came bearing a week's supply of beautifully grilled food.
I ate about a third of this serving and felt full, while Mike gobbled down his entire meal. Everything was warm, smoky-smelling, and crispy in all the right places.
After dinner, Mike went outside and fired the grill to full blast. He offers this picture as proof that ceramic cookers retain heat. Please notice the snow, sitting on the countertop right next to the grill.
By this point I was getting pretty tired of the wet boot marks crisscrossing the floor, and the highway of cold air that trailed Mike each time he came inside. We closed the door and declared Mike the vicotr of the evening.
Take that, Winter!
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