Back in Ohio, I had a lot of things. A house. A yard. Shrubbery. The whole kit and kaboodle. Sure, most people save downsizing til they’re empty-nesters, but me? Oh, no. I cut ties with three-quarters of my belongings at age 26, leaving behind my beloved hedging shears, lawn gnomes, and my beautiful propane grill (complete with double burners), and headed south. Since then, I’ve dreamed of the day I’d once again cook over an open flame, just me, my meat, and the great outdoors.
I spent the Memorial Day weekend at home in Ohio, and one morning I convinced my dad to teach me how to light a charcoal grill. As a soon-to-be-thirty, self-declared independent woman, I’m ashamed to publicly announce my ineptitude in this area. But standing in the backyard, listening to him explain the mechanics of the offset smoker while the flames licked at the mound of coals put a fire in my belly.
And when I returned home to Charlotte, this:
Even before I’d taken the grill out of the box, I invited a few friends over for sausage party. I stocked my fridge full of Johnsonville brats, opened up a bottle of wine, and got to assembling my new grill.
In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to give the ole grill a trial run. Nothing like going at it green with a crowd full of hungry bystanders. Though my dad had showed me how easy it was to light a charcoal grill using a charcoal chimney, I was overcome with a sudden confidence in the grilling aisle at Lowes, and when I picked up the chimney to put it in my cart, I thought, “oh, no, I got this,” and put the chimney right back on the shelf. Flash forward a few hours later, with the aforementioned starving bystanders, and me with nary a chimney, shred of newspaper, or drop of lighter fluid in sight.
An hour and one burnt thumb later, there was ash-covered charcoal… sort of.
And we waited.
Several mistakes were made this day, but I did do one thing right. Friends, ALWAYS have snacks on hand. The simple Johnsonville Andouille smoked sausage and caramelized onion pizza I threw together kept my friends from rioting while we faltered with the grill. This is sausage and onions done right. Classy, even.
And after two hours of “grilling” we FINALLY sat down and enjoyed some Johnsonville original brats plus some brat-stuffed jalapeno peppers. And you know what? It was fantastic. Even with all the flubs, as long as you don’t pierce the brat with a fork and leach it of its juices, that thing is sure to be delicious.
(As soon as everyone left, I logged onto Amazon and ordered a charcoal chimney.)
like I have George’s. They’ve been on my mind and in my dreams, succulent and meaty and begging to be eaten, for weeks. Of course we’re talking mussels here, not muscles, of which 
