PROC Guide to Cork Barbecues


Feens all around the Rebel county have been hanging to get their barbeques on the go ever since they forked out their hard earned spondoolies at the end of last summer when those running Aldi and Lidl realised their mistake that it’s not unlikely that we could go the whole summer without weather warm enough for a barbeque.

No sooner had the half-price adverts hit newspapers in late September than the scobe-mobeels were backing up to the German multiples’ front doors to cart off hopeful dreams of sizzling sausages and blazing sunshine all over Cork in 2016.
 

Barbecue in Ballyphehane


With seven or eight months of Irish winter rain, cold and damp the barbecues’ designed for more reasonable climates have been festering in back gardens all over the county. When opening back their covers this week shams will uncover large cultures of mysterious soggy green gank welded to the grill bars while cities of creepy crawlies scramble desperately for dark corners.

Put down the packet of sausages feen. The first hour of your barbeque is scrubbing!

THE BBQ BOSS
Many feens who can barely boil an egg decide that they, and not their old doll who once auditioned for Master Chef, will boss the cooking. This is one of those peculiar ‘man things’ - like kicking tyres on a car, talking about traffic and shouting at the telly when the football’s on.

Lighting it up for the first time is always tense and if you can get away without fourth degree burns you’re doing well. Fiddling with gas knobs while nervously lowering a lighter down into the barbecue could spark instant success and satisfaction or, if you didn’t realise that the gas was actually whistling through the whole time you were conducting your slightly tipsy operating, an embarrassing visit from a large red truck with blue lights from Anglesea Street. 
 

Barbecue in Ballyvolane


All Corkonians know that the most important food to bring to any barbecue is beer. When guests turn up they are far more likely to bring a bag of cans than a sack of sausages. By the time the sun goes down the result is usually ten people sharing a single sausage while sitting next to a six foot mountain of cans and wine bottles.

MEAT AND TWO VEGGIES
Vegetarians have to understand that barbecues mean meat.  Loads of it. Racks of animal flesh blazing on the barbecue for no other reason than the primal satisfaction of humans is in fact the main reason for this party - aside from drink.

Yes, you can cook your toadstools and grass on the barbecue if you want and sprinkle them with all the miserable wheatgrass and essence of weed salt you like but don’t expect us to scrub the grill to remove any scent of meat before you use it.

And to be totally honest with you Daffney, the best thing you could do is throw off the organic kale shackles for a few hours, neck a few tinnies and join the meat-fest. You might think you’re operating on a higher level of consciousness with your gluten-free vegan diet and your ability to wrap your legs around your head at yoga class but have you ever had a spread of giant spare ribs and lamb burgers after a feed of cans? It’s as pleasurable as seeing a Corkonian walk up the steps of the Hogan Stand to collect a cup.

Basic and low level consciousness it might be but it’s the job.

WEATHER BEATEN
At half five when heads first start arriving you’re all in shorts and t-shirts. The lads hitting the cider hard will have their tops off and aul dolls who didn’t have to dump their flip flops at the Ryanair baggage check on the way home from Santa Ponza last summer will be giving their pasty white toes their first outing of the year - their blue feet acting as a helpful coolant for beers when the ice melts in the rain.
 

Barbecue in Buttevant


Unless you’re very lucky though, by half seven everyone has their hoodies on and the food has all been transferred into the kitchen oven. Your barbecue party has now become a just regular house-party/drinking session but everyone’s too locked to realise that their burgers no longer taste of your hard-earned purchase.

IN MY COUNTRY ALL THE TIME WE ARE HAVING BARBECUES
By now, the foreigners you’ve invited will be banging on about how in their countries they have barbecues every evening from March until November because the temperature never drops below anything you’d have to put a long pants on for and it only rains at 4pm every day for ten minutes to provide water for ice cubes for everyone’s glass of free rum that they get from their government.

Along with some flamenco, salsa or French hip-hop on playing on the decks (you did hire turntables didn’t you?) inviting foreigners from hot countries to your barbeque adds a distinctly international feel and stops, or at least delays, locals from getting shamefully locked too early.
 

Barbecue in a place very far away


Their accented English and sultry tones ensure all your Cork born guests say things like “c’mere this is unreal, sure you could be in Spain or wana dem quare places, like” as they pack their fourth burger of the evening with tufts of black pudding and burned rashers while motioning to a shy Portuguese girl to pass over the bucket of potatoes she thought was a bin.

Your barbecue has been so successful that your Cork friends feel they actually went on holiday for a few hours even if it has started hail-stoning again outside and you all have to leg it into the house. But sure, what harm – aren’t you closer to the fridge where all the cans are now!

 
 
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