Oiled Newspaper Hack for Charcoal Grilling

Today I want to write about a “hack” I have been using to get charcoal fires started.  By hack I mean a tip, a trick, a shortcut — in the fashion of a home remedy. 

Over a decade ago, I invited my friend Ray over for dinner and he noticed I was having trouble getting my charcoal grill going.  The method I had been using was to put scrunched up newspaper in the bottom of the kettle, topping that with the smaller of two round metal grills that fit in kettle.  I would dump charcoal on the smaller grill, then eventually place the larger metal grill on top of that.  It’s the larger grill that holds whatever you might be cooking: hamburgers, chicken, bratwursts, whole onions, whole peppers, foil packs of sliced potatoes and butter. Pork steaks, carrots, asparagus, shrooms.

The problem with what I’ll call the “straight newspaper” method is that the newspaper would often burn up too quickly, not having burned long enough to have caught the charcoal, the flame wasting away too soon.  In this event I would have to awkwardly lift the bottom grate, which was a little hot and which was still holding the unburnt charcoal. Then, in a vexed state, I'd have to shove more wads of newspaper down into the bottom of the kettle.  Sometimes I went through three rounds of newspaper before the charcoal would finally catch...


Get your charcoal fire started easily with this one simple trick...

Pages from An Old Woodshed

I've been clearing out part of the shed. One of the bays. I think of it as a future café, or perhaps even a place to sleep. I'll show ya. I'm taking certain old items—tire, rim, an old heavy plow, pure iron, the weight—and moving them into a different shed. A junk shed.

Now I'm taking my drill out there to reinforce the structure a bit. This is my playground, my school, my office, my church.


To read much more, including a new theory of the universe, continue here...

Portland

I.  Sitting in His Apartment.  

I have my old things, my talismen, my curios and artifacts, croutons of life dropped along the way, telling my story.  Roy does, too.  I can spot them, uncoached, in this two-bedroom place of his and Joyce's in Portland, a.k.a. Fog City, Raintown, CoffeeShopLand.  Cronos the dog is eight.  He is mellow and sweet, curled up on his pillow, waiting for the others to rise. I was there on Shenandoah in St. Louis the first weekend Roy had gotten him.  I've always thought Cronos remembered that, held an affinity for me because of it.  Or maybe he's just a sweet happy dog who can love everyone without condition or reason.  

Roy's got a few of our paintings.  A blind portrait I did of him in November 2005 (I just checked to see if the date was on the back, otherwise I wouldn't've known it).  Then there's the collaboration he and I did in his Allen apartment, a painting we dubbed "C.E. Gogh," consisting first of a sketch he did of me, with us then painting in the room scene all around it.  In that painting is a table and one of a set of four orange chairs that Roy has had forever, and which are here, having meaning to me but appearing to be underemphasized...    

Full travelogue and more photos here...

Ray & Serpent

Ray came by outside my window one afternoon.  We were chatting it up.  He had this big, light bulb-looking thing.

But it was actually a plant tuber.

It was long and cylindrical.  He had a package he said was associated with it that said something about When the cum stains on it turn brown.  It was African.  He was wearing it around his neck...


Full dream...

Leaving Aus-town

Actually, my knee is aching, and so is my back.  I’ve been packing things.  Got up at 4:34.  The garbage truck.  Did you hear it?  Banging mechanical arm, squealing brakes, beeping as it backs up.  That’s the last time I’ll ever hear it.  I’m drinking some iced coffee.  Ate a slice of toast with peanut butter.  Have showered, taken the pizza box to the trash, updated my blog.  Wow, I’m nearly ready to start drinkin’ again though it’s only 8:50.

Bad heartburn, though.  Need to get some meds for that, pepto or Immodium, Tagamet?  Don’t think I’ve ever had Tagamet.  Drinking some water.  Was not dehydrated this morning although I rinsed out four cans of Guinness, a bottle of pinot grigio, a couple Red Hook IPAs, a Bud Light, a big Lagunitas IPA, and our highball glasses...


The short story continues...

Anti-reality Sketch

by R.L. Wisdom

          I am on a bus with my wife.  I am talking to a tourist’s camera; saying, ‘The second time I died was because of a trolley.’
          A trolley races past, off its tracks.  The front of it misses the bus but by over-compensating our driver clips the rear of the trolley, sending the bus rolling, rolling.
          The rolling stops.  Everyone is startled for a long moment but people soon begin to move about and collect their bearings.  I can begin to hear sirens in the background.  Upon reaching the scene, emergency workers start to help passengers loose themselves from the wreckage.
          The workers keep walking past me as I lay there, still stunned.  This worries me.  I have died once before and the way I feel now is eerily familiar….
          Living people cannot see dead people.  And, being dead, I cannot see dead bodies.  My wife asks me what’s going on, so I explain.  We walk away from the wreckage and begin traveling down a side street.
          I must warn you that, at this point, I am not sure if my wife is dead or not.  I do not know myself whether I have been killed in the crash.  All logic is suspended.
          My wife asks me to walk back down the block to get some napkins from the take-out counter of a restaurant we’ve just passed.  There is a cut on her nose.
          I turn around and head back.  I come to a storefront with a big glass display window.  It is there that I become disoriented and almost lose myself in the mirror-like glass.  It takes all of my mental faculties what seems like a dozen minutes to extract myself from its reflective pool/pull...
Continue...

Art at 8:30

The baseball game

Hello? Yeah, so, ah, Rafe came over and we watched some baseball. Eleven to eighteen? No, that was the score, but…you have to say the, ah, the highest score first.

The Loop

No, that’s all right… ha-ha… Yeah, I, I like stockpiling those things. What about the Loop? Ohhh…we got completely soaked, so maybe…well, you know, I, I really enjoyed the rain…ah-hah-hah…it was fun. I hadn’t been out running in the rain for awhile… My sandals so I just took ‘em off.

Lenore

Oh, that’s good…yeah…alright…I did not. I did not. Nuh-uh. What did you say? I did not say that, Lenore… I don’t think I said that. I really don’t remember saying that…Hm. Yeah, I was also talkin to Rafe about it today… What’s that?…[laugh]… No, well we got up at seven instead of 6:45. See, you don’t even remember it that well. You forgot the time that it happened—a half an hour wrong! You don’t remember any of the details, do you? You just remember Things.

Time is irrelevant? Yeah, it’s not important. So are the words that I used, huh?…[sigh]…Well,…ah, wait (?)…12:42…no…. I was kinda gettin tired [clear throat] and I wanted to, to call you before it was too late, so…I kind of pushed ‘em out…at the same time.…

Chicken Salad

So your house was fine? Your house was fine?… Is there still stuff in the freezer in that house?… Yeah… mm-hm… Well, not now… [p-shaw]… Gonna make some chicken salad tomorrow… You have class 'til eight-thirty?…. Alright, I’ll make some chicken salad sandwiches,… and I’ll make I’ll make… I’ll make, ah—you come over here and I’ll make dinner… and, ah, then we’ll go to your house and eat ice cream… you wanna do that?…


Continue reading...