Man and the Art of the Grill

About author / Amy Powell

World traveler; gourmet 30 minute meals; lover of exotic ingredients; winner on FoodTV's Chefs vs City; graduate French Culinary Institute. Her recipes will tantalize your taste buds.

Amidst the power tools and golf gear, every year around Father’s Day there's an abundance of advertisements for grills and their various accessories. I realize that most ad agency copywriting done in regard to grilling probably is both aimed toward and written by men. Now, there's nothing wrong with this, especially during the time of year when we honor the fathers and grandfathers who have done so much to nurture and raise us. And to be sure, it was my father who “manned” the grill in my youth, and my brothers who later carried on the tradition. It’s just that it had me wondering, is there something inherently male about the art of the grill?

As a woman, I am apparently unqualified to answer questions about the mystique and draw of this cooking device. So I decided to delve into the minds of a few male friends and acquaintances to try and shed some light on this mystery. My huge and reliable sample pool consisted of 5 men of various ages (The fact that three of them are related to me should be of little consequence; I'm sure the good people at Gallup would agree). What was most interesting is that each subject’s hypothesis as to the reason for male dominance of the grill in our culture was nearly identical. In short, they are cavemen: they seem to feel a genetic connection to their ancestral roots in the act of handling raw meat over an open flame.

Fair enough. On delving deeper, the subjects revealed more. One man, when asked why he prefers to cook via the grill but not in the kitchen, replied that grilling allowed him to "be in charge of a meal while maintaining (his) masculinity." I believe we are to assume that the kitchen remains, for the most part, a woman’s domain. As my younger brother responded, the grill is all about testosterone.

From the perspective of this Day of Dads, I was also interested in the process of learning and passing down the art of the grill. My father grew up in Nebraska where meat, the best T-bones and Porterhouses, were a daily affair. My grandmother ruled the kitchen, but it was my grandfather who ruled the grill with nothing more than hot coals, quality meat, and a little salt and pepper. I can’t remember ever learning to grill, or wanting to for that matter. I know my father never taught me. However, both brothers and my father attest that while my father passed on the basics of the grill to the boys, it was they who have taken the grill to an art form. One of my interview subject's father passed away before he was old enough to work a grill. His mother taught him. But recently divorced, he has taught his teenage son, who in his absence has assumed the duties of grill master, as opposed to his daughter or ex-wife.

It is tempting to spin my little investigation into a post-feminist rant on equal opportunity for household cooking both indoors and out. But when I really think about it, this man-and-his-grill gig is actually kind of sweet. This male primal urge to control the flipping and charring of our Sunday barbecues isn’t really a chest-beating alpha male expression of dominance. Really, this obsession with the grill might be the most significant expression of the essence of Father’s Day. With no more mammoths to hunt and with women so clearly in control within the kitchen walls, grilling is the expression of the innate fatherly instinct to provide, as dictated by thousands of years of social structure. So cheers to the fathers who brave the fires and smoke to bring to the table a perfect medium rare. Cheers also for ensuring that the generation to come is as adept at providing for hearth, grill, and home, as the ones who came before.

Serves/Makes: 1

• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
• 2 sprigs thyme
• 1 clove garlic
• 1 shallot
• 1 New York strip steak
• coarse black pepper
• kosher salt