Florida. 2019.

When you become a father there are certain rites of passage that come with it. Dad jokes, the dad bod (where did that fat roll come from?), getting your child’s shit on your face. Another, and arguably more pleasant one is grilling some meat for your family.

I say meat, but there are some great methods to grilling vegetables and even some fruits out there. I’m focusing on meat because a) it’s the most common grilled item, and b) it’s delicious. There may be some vegetarians or vegans that read this that may get offended when I talk about taking some raw, bloody animal flesh and cooking it over fire. I think veganism is dumb and unhealthy, and I would have no problem seasoning my meat with your tears (is that paprika?).

I love meat. Pretty much all of it. Most of the animals considered edible, I have consumed. The usual farm fare, of course. But also roasted dove, it was bland and rubbery. I once ate barbequed rattlesnake. Tasted like lightly peppered chicken, but you’re mostly eating the small strips of meat between the ten thousand ribs they have. You end up with a small handful of meat to slap on a hamburger bun with a splash of Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ sauce on it. A lot of work for not that much meat, would not recommend.

This story involves burgers. We have mostly tried to be more frugal when it comes to looking for sales and coupons on things we enjoy eating. There is a wholesale/box store called BJ’s in certain parts of the US. Similar to Costco, but you can get smaller portioned items in the event you don’t want to try and get an oil drum full of mayo into your car.

It was during one of those shopping trips the near fatal decision was made to get the cheaper, lower quality hamburger patties. I don’t even remember the name of them, because I would certainly have called them out on their shitty meat.

It was a normal day when I nearly burned the house down. I–, my three year old at the time was in his “help daddy with everything” phase. Sometimes it cute, like when he wants to make putting away laundry five times longer by helping or when he forgets that I can poop without supervision. Unfortunately, this was a meal that would involve the grill and a pot of hot oil. I tossed some patties on the grill and went back inside to put some fries in the oil. I had I–‘s two older brothers entertain him for a bit.

“Hmm, that’s a lot of smoke,” I say to myself as I make my way to the back porch. Looking out of the sliding glass door, smoke was billowing across the porch in front of the door. I slide the door open and I’m met with a wall of flames from the grill, reaching up to the covered porch ceiling. I quickly close the door behind me and shut off the propane, but the flames did not diminish.

For some reason, the underside of the grill lid was painted red. That paint was now burning and dissolving, becoming a chemical that I’m sure is not a carcinogen. I can barely breathe, then I hear from behind me “Daddy, hot!”. The three-year-old was just standing there in the doorway. I try to call for help, but I just start coughing.

Now I’m holding the door closed because he’s upset that I won’t let him out there and I can’t lock it from the outside. I’m stretching my foot to try and release the brake on the grill wheel so I can move it away from the house. This grill had a grease trap (basically a small metal bowl) underneath that captured grease and drippings from whatever you were cooking. That grease trap was currently on fire, and sitting right above the propane tank.

I need to take a moment here to salvage a bit of my dignity before we continue. This wasn’t my first time grilling, or even my twentieth. I’m not a grill master, but I’ve never been defeated by a goddamn burger. My grill was clean and maintained. The grease trap was clean and empty before I started. The burners were all at the correct settings before I added the patties.

Since I can’t yell, I manage to one hand text my wife “help”. She comes running, thinking it was a blood sugar thing, only to see me through the sliding glass door surrounded by flames and smoke. My sister-in-law was over for dinner, so she and the wife get the kids out and call 911. Now I’m trying to slowly move the grill toward the screen door on the porch. Slowly. There is a small lip on the ground where the screen door is that I will need to get the grill over.

If the flames from the grease trap fall onto the propane tank, is that instant explosion? Don’t know if they covered that on Myth Busters. My wife had also run next door to my neighbor’s house. Right before I was about to give up on my house and join my soon to be refugee family on the street, Fernando came running around the side of the house. A retired Army Ranger, he’d left fear somewhere back in the middle east.

He helped me lift the grill and carry it into the back yard. You are obviously never supposed to put out a grease fire with water, but I was using the hose and not a cup from the sink. The only way was to drown it. I had thought my wife had called emergency services, but apparently she called the fucking Avengers.

The first to show up was a giant police officer, running up with a fire extinguisher just as the flames went out. I swear his biceps were as big around as my thigh. He was casually carrying the extinguisher the way I would carry a Redbull. Then the fire department arrived. Most of us have seen professional wrestlers on tv. They wear the tight fitting spandex to show off their muscle definition. I was able to see the muscle definition on the firefighters through their giant, flame retardant jackets. I could have sat on their shoulder like a parrot.

They came over and reassured me that everyone was ok and the flames were out.

“Good job with that hose, son” the meat mountain of a firefighter said.

Son? He’s younger than me, but I had to fight the urge to say “Thanks Pa! Maybe tomorrow is when my testicles will drop.”

“Maybe, kiddo. Maybe.” He pats me on the head.

I was feeling emasculated and shamed, but everyone was fine and the house was still standing. All the neighbors came out to stare at the dumbass. I was researching a gym membership when the giant cop came to tell me he’ll hang out for a few minutes, but everyone else was heading out. I could tell he was disappointed that he didn’t get to use his fire extinguisher. I spied him through the window after, just standing there looking immense and forlorn, as if he just found out he was the last sasquatch.

I still needed to feed my family, so we decided to just pan fry the burgers. There were two patties in a large frying pan on the stove. After a few minutes, they were submerged in grease. They were swimming in it. What the hell? Were these 90% fat? I know now how the fire started. The amount of grease must have just dripped too much on the burners and ignited.

I’ve sort of been forbidden from grilling, but that’s ok. My kitchen skills are versatile enough to keep my people happy. Though I do buy the more expensive burger patties now.