That One Time I...

…Nearly Broke Up A Marriage

PLEASE NOTE: I’ve decided not to write that memoir after all. Instead I’ll concentrate on my blogging, and once in awhile I’ll share with y’all some of the more interesting safe for work memories of my past. Including this one. Enjoy! — Robzilla

During my early years of apartment life, I didn’t worry about being held accountable for things. I came home whenever I wanted. I did my best not to disturb my neighbors, but when you have a fourth generation F-body muscle car (Camaro Z28) cranking out north of 300 horses it can’t be helped when the engine and exhaust system sounds like rolling thunder as it cruises along an access road at the posted 5 mph speed limit. I always made friends with my neighbors when possible, even when they had occupations like self employed cannabis dealer and exotic dancer. Who am I to judge?

One thing I dearly miss is barbecues. After the new furniture was delivered to my one and only apartment nearly thirty years ago, the first thing I did was visit The Home Depot and buy a gas barbecue grill. It wasn’t a fancy thing, nor was it the entry level model you’d find for sale curbside for just over $100, but it was the perfect size for my shoe box shaped patio.

Like any other man, I struggled to grill steaks to medium rare perfection. Digital thermometers weren’t invented yet, and the old fashioned mercury ones have always been hit and miss. It should be no surprise that my early efforts resulted in steaks that were more raw than rare, while others would’ve passed for hockey pucks if they were trimmed with a tuna can beforehand. But once I got the hang of things, there was no stopping my creativity.

I made really good money slinging cell phones at the mall back then, and I had enough disposable income to shop at places like Brookstone and The Sharper Image on a regular basis. While the latter was great for electronic gadgets like the latest Palm Pilot, Brookstone was the place to go for your grilling needs. After I discovered what a smoker box was and learned how to grill with mesquite scented wood chips I was unstoppable.

At about this time one of my long time friends, his combative wife, and their two daughters lived upstairs and one unit over from me. If I was home on a Tuesday or Thursday night, he’d come downstairs to hang out. We were big Los Angeles Kings hockey fans, and we’d grill steaks and cook all the fixings on my grill and kitchen stove. We’d literally feast like kings before the opening face off, no pun intended.

Soon what was a once a week activity became three nights a week. When I wasn’t looking for a one night stand(!) at the nearby dive bars, I used him and a couple of our mutual friends as practice for when I’d cook for that special someone. One evening his wife curiously called him on his cell phone asked why he was coming over to my place to eat dinner all the time. That’s when my friend committed one of the worst faux paus I’ve ever witnessed in my life. He replied, “He’s a better cook than you.”

I don’t remember what her exact words were, but between the phone and her actual voice carrying from upstairs whatever I heard was in surround sound. One thing I remember clearly is that he did that on a Tuesday night and slept on his living room sofa for the rest of that week as punishment. The marriage eventually failed about a decade later, but I’m pretty sure my cooking had nothing to do with that!

So why do I remember this story? Not long afterward I bought and learned how to cook with a small fondue pot. I’m heading back to my favorite store later today to splurge on one.