Cripple barbecuer

Rob is a social chap who regularly organises dinners and parties, and by some strange coincidence I tend to be out of town when that happens. This week would be no exception: he would organise a BBQ, and I would be in Wales, caving. But nothing's been normal lately, and it didn't work out that way.

As my ankle was still sore, and I was getting  restless about the not running, and worried about how much longer that would take, I went back to my physician before the caving weekend. She told me tendons take a while to heal, and if you don't grant them that time, they make you bleed for it. So her message was: let it rest, really REST, until it's finally really healed. There went my caving weekend. But Rob was glad, as now there was nothing preventing me from attending his BBQ!

If Rob does anything culinary he does it well, so this was not your regular charring of cheap sausages and wolfing these down with bland sauce; this was Rob style proper grilling of unimaginably large steaks, which then would be accompanied by self-made BBQ sauce and marvellous salads.

By the time the grilling was over and the company started engaging in drinking games I first switched to lemonade and then left altogether; I love Rob and his food, but I don't like drinking myself catatonic. And I think considering the circumstances I had the best deal; I had a lovely barbecue, and I trust I had a much better day after than those who stayed longer!