I apologise for the rash of “moving in” posts, but it’s the most notable thing that’s happened recently. Today I’m not gonna talk about the move, you have my word. Well, not about the move per se, but the most miraculous feelings that’ve been brought to light as a consequence. You know how sometimes something small will happen that completely reinvigorates your lust for life? A myriad of possibilities unfold before you that were always there, but long forgotten? I’ve been brought back to parts of myself I deeply cherished but lay long dormant. It’s all thanks to one of the great loves of my life. Someone who brings a sparkle to my eyes and a skip to my step. Someone who reminds me to reach for what could be rather than settling for how things are. Someone upon whom any amount of admiration and honour I placed would fail to convey the depth of feelings I hold for them. It’s for that reason that I extend sincere gratitude and heartfelt thanks to the one, the only…
Quite likely the largest perk of my girlfriend moving in, aside from waking every day beside the woman I love (etc etc etc. Get to the meat of it, poindexter —Ed), was discovering she had a George Foreman Grill to bring with her. Sitting virtually untouched on her shelf it looked dirty and neglected. I saw it and almost did a double take. I’m sure you’ve all got a picture in your mind of an old beatnik coming across a prized vintage record, well that’s how I was. At first I told myself it’d just be some third party piece of shit that would’ve been picked up off the footpath. Closer inspection revealed the immaculate and immensely descriptive “LEAN MEAN FAT REDUCING GRILLING MACHINE” logo in all its glory. I feel like everything slowed down to bullet time while the grill was wreathed in focus lines, but that may have been a lack of blood flow due to my rapidly hardening penis.
It brought me back (the grill, not the fictional hard-on) to years long past. I still remember my mother bringing home the brand new George Foreman Grill. It was a small grill with a translucent purple lid. The grill was all smooth lines angling downwards. A small plastic fat catching tray promised healthy meal after healthy meal. There was a bun warming tray on the top which would lead to many a lightly toasted bun. Steve Jobs would weep with the perfection. It grew to be a vital part of our household and eventually we pawned the cutesy sized unit for something more family appropriate. If we wanted to cook six burgers simultaneously, we would. Just because we could. We did.
Any chance I had to use it, I’d take. Grilled capsicum, chicken breast, burgers, paninis, eggplant, steak. Everything was simple and adroitly cooked. The fat drained off into its cosy reservoir and all was right in the world. Then the breakup. I moved away from home and left my love sitting in the cupboard. I had dalliances with ovens, cast iron pans and slow cookers, but nothing was the same. I longed for those gradient grooves drifting towards the potential of lighter meals. I craved the sweet smell of grilled meats filling the kitchen its savoury aroma. I missed George.
With George back in my life once more, meal times can return to the pure joy of simplicity. I can feel the rush of owning a kitchen barbecue, tasting those succulently seared steaks and for one moment, touching divinity.
Even better, now I have someone to share my passion with.